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Updated: June 13, 2025
Re-cross the river. December 23. This morning all hands were at work. Some good pinetrees were brought to the saw-pit, and one laid upon it. The sailors were set to paint the inside of the canvas for the boats; The Doctor to clear out the dock previous to laying down the keel, etc.; and the bullock-drivers and smith to make a stockyard.
Just as I sit here, and these cursed irons rattle whenever I move my feet, I can see that very evening, and father and the old dog with a little mob of our crawling cattle and half-a-dozen head of strangers, cows and calves, and a fat little steer coming through the scrub to the old stockyard.
Daisy did not give any milk, but she gave instead three rapid kicks, which scattered Tom, the bucket, and the stool all over the stockyard. I could not think of anything that it would be safe to say under the circumstances, so I went away while the farmer was picking up the fragments. "Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do."
Next morning we found that one had been seized, slain, and partially devoured by a big wolf at the very gate of the stockyard; probably the beast had seen it standing near the yard after nightfall feeling miserable after its journey, in the storm and its unaccustomed surroundings, and had been emboldened to make the assault so near town by the evident helplessness of the prey.
The whole country was on fire; but although our guide frequently drew our attention to recent footmarks, we could not discover a single native. We encamped near this stockyard, beside a lagoon of still water which was as broad and deep as the main stream.
And yet such a beautiful beast. Even as I looked some wild young colts were let out of the stockyard, and came galloping and whinnying towards him, and then it was a sight to see the old fellow as he trotted towards them, with his nose in the air, and his tail arched, throwing his legs out before him with the ease and grace of a four-year-old, and making me regret that he wasn't my property and ten years younger; altogether, even then, one of the finest horses of his class I had ever seen, and suddenly a thought came over me, and I grew animated.
December 17. Leaving the ground at an early hour, the party travelled for about two miles along the riverbank, the stream appearing deeper and broader as we proceeded. Six miles on we came upon a narrow branch from the river, which we avoided by turning a little to the right. We next reached a very large stockyard which the natives said had belonged to George The Barber, meaning The Bushranger.
No mustering-mob being driven to the stockyard; no running up of milkers or horses for the morrow; no goats to be penned they had been killed off long ago; no beasts grazing or calling no audible life at all except that of the birds, who, since the rain, had found their notes again and were telling each other vociferously that it was time to go to bed.
"Well sir," said Sam, "Jim spends his money, but he generally makes pretty good investments in the horse line." "Such as that sweet-tempered useful animal Stampedo," replied the Captain, laughing, "who nearly killed a groom, and staked himself trying to leap out of the stockyard the second day he had him. Well, never mind; Jim's a good boy, and I am proud of him.
The cart returned with some fine timber which was soon placed on the saw-pit; meanwhile a stockyard for the cattle was erected on the higher ground. No fish could be caught this day, and we supposed that the natives were busy taking them above and below our camp for, in their mode of fishing, few can escape.
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