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Updated: May 4, 2025
We left our wages, too, and never asked for 'em from that day to this. A trifle like that didn't matter after what we were going in for. More's the pity. As we moved off my horse propped once or twice, and Warrigal looked at us in a queer side sort of way and showed his teeth a bit smile nor laugh it wasn't, only a way he had when he thought he knew more than we did.
Warrigal had fired as he came up, and hit him too; but couldn't stop him in the rush. Dad got in at him, and knocked his brains out there and then. Afterwards, he'd sat down and drank himself pretty well blind; and then, finding the pains coming on him, and knowing he couldn't live, finished himself off with his own revolver. It was just the way I expected he would make an ending.
They didn't like it, going off their run either, poor devils. The women would try and run back after their pickaninnies when they dropped, just like that heifer when Warrigal knocked her calf on the head to-day. What a man he was! This was something like life, Jim and I thought.
Harold took his favourite horse, Warrigal, from the stable, and led him to the blacksmith's forge under an open, stringybark-roofed shed, nearly covered with creepers. He lit a fire and put a shoe in it. Doffing his coat and hat, rolling up his shirt-sleeves, and donning a leather apron, he began preparing the horse's hoof.
I forgot at the moment that one of my most profitable studies is a namesake of yours Warrigal Alf, a carrier on these roads." "What's his other name?" asked the boundary man, in a suppressed voice. "Morris." "Why don't you call him so, then? I hate nicknames."
He shook hands with me and dad, threw his leg over Rainbow, took Locket's bridle as if he was going for an easy day's ride, and cantered off. Warrigal nodded to both of us, then brought his pack-horse up level, and followed up. 'There goes the Captain, says father. 'It's hard to say if we'll ever see him again. I shan't, anyhow, nor you either, maybe.
He licked his chops, then, over a recollection of sundry whiffs and glimpses which had interested him of late in Warrigal, and as his nose dropped low over her trail on the near side of Finn's, it was borne in upon Lupus that it would be well for him to have a mate, and that Warrigal would be a pleasing occupant of that post. The stranger must be removed, once and for all.
'That near side one Moran's horse, pigeon-toes; me know 'em, says Warrigal. 'Off side one Daly's roan horse, new shoes on. You see 'um hair, rub himself longa tree. 'What the blazes were they doing hereabouts? says Starlight. 'This begins to look complicated. Whatever the row was, Daly and he were in it. There's no one rich enough to rob hereabouts, is there? I don't like the look of it.
I know you wouldn't like them to do that," he continued. "Arrah, go on, ye're only tazin'!" I retorted. "Don't you remember telling me that Warrigal was such a nasty-tempered brute that he allowed no one but yourself to touch him?" "Oh well, then, I'm floored, and will have to put up with the consequences," he good-humouredly made answer.
How the deuce did you get the office in time? 'The faithful Warrigal, as usual, gave me timely warning, and brought a horse, of course. He will appear on the Judgment Day leading Rainbow, I firmly believe. Why he should be so confoundedly anxious about my welfare I can't make out I can't, really. It's his peculiar form of mania, I suppose. We all suffer from some madness or other.
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