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Updated: June 4, 2025
It seemed that Chukkers, who was riding Jackaroo for Ikey Aaronsohnn, had thought he was well through, and was sitting down to idle home, when two fences from the finish Albert Edward, riding an any-price outsider, came up on his right out of the blue and challenged the star-spangled jacket. Chukkers, who was on the favourite, with orders to win, had drawn his whip and ridden for his life.
My friend was experimenting and trying to discover a simple process for separating the ingredients of plum pudding when a fresh supply of provisions came along. He says he was never so sick of anything in his life, and he has had occasion to be sick of a good many things. The new-chum jackaroo is still alive, but he won't ever eat plum pudding any more, he says. It cured him of homesickness.
A few days later a Sydney Jackaroo visited the station. He had a good pea-rifle, and one afternoon he started to teach Mary to shoot at a target. They seemed to get very chummy. I had a nice time for three or four days, I can tell you. I was worse than a wall-eyed bullock with the pleuro. The other chaps had a shot out of the rifle.
The gate was six feet or more, and the jackaroo raised his hat and hastened to open it, but Mary reined her horse back a few yards and the "dood" had barely time to jump aside when there was a scuffle of hoofs on the road, a "Ha-ha-ha!" in mid-air, a landing thud, and the girl was away up the home-track in a cloud of dust.
If there was anything humiliating in being rated as an 'able-bodied young man who wasn't worth his salt, as a loafer who was hardly fit to 'jackaroo' on a station, as a 'lazy lubber' who would 'go to the dogs if it weren't for his father, George never betrayed that he felt humiliated by so much as the twitching of an eyelid.
I ought to know something about carrying loads: I've carried babies, which are the heaviest and most awkward and heartbreaking loads in this world for a boy or man to carry, I fancy. I've carried a portmanteau on the hot dusty roads in green old jackaroo days.
He was a dude, with an expensive education and no brains. He was very vain of his education and prospects. He regarded Mary with undisguised admiration, and her father had secret hopes. One evening the jackaroo was down by the homestead-gate when Mary came cantering home on her tall chestnut.
"So Chukkers has chucked you." "So I believe," answered Silver. "I wep' a tear when they tell me. I did reelly," said the old man, dabbing his eye. "He's goin' to ride Ikey's Jackaroo that donkey-coloured waler he brought home from Back o' Sunday. That's what he's after." Silver nodded. "I'm not altogether sorry," he said quietly. "And I'm not entirely surprised."
I wouldn't have `Swannie Ribber, or `Home, Sweet Home, or `Annie Laurie, or any of those old songs sung at the Lost Souls' Hotel they're the cause of more heartbreaks and drink and suicide in the bush than anything else. And if a jackaroo got up to sing, `Just before the battle, mother, or, `Mother bit me in me sleep, he'd find it was just before the battle all right.
"Ikey's got two other horses in." "Which?" "There's old Jackaroo in the purple and gold, Rushton riding." "Which is the second Dewhurst horse?" "This in the canary. Flibberty-gibbet. Little Boy Braithwaite." "He's only a nipper." "He can ride, though." "They're to nurse the crack through the squeeze." "She'll want nursing." "She's all right if she stands up till Beecher's Brook."
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