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Me want 'em catch Lathy-chap before pollis-man come. That feller pollis-man take Wombo long-a gaol. Mithsis' the gin implored. 'BUJERI you! Mithis tell pollis-man Wombo plenty good blackfellow. No take Wombo long-a gaol. 'What has Wombo been doing? asked Lady Bridget. 'Did he steal the gun?
And Moongarr Bill with the horses' reins over his arm, and the two black-boys agape, beady eyes twinkling, white teeth glistening, emitting their queer guttural clicks of approbation, and an occasional 'My word! Bujeri you, Lathy-chap, the nearest they could get to Moongarr Bill's accepted form of address.
But she had only gone a few steps, when out of the gidia scrub, came Oola the half-caste, her comely face bruised, her eyes wild with grief and terror, her head tied up in a blood-stained strip torn from Lady Bridget's lacy undergarment, the gaily-flowered kimono hanging in dirty shreds upon her brown bosom. 'White Mary! Lathy-chap! she cried. 'Plenty poor feller Oola. Plenty quick me run.
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