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Updated: August 8, 2024
"An' this is the last of Brummy," he said, leaning on his spade and looking away over the tops of the ragged gums on the distant range. This reflection seemed to engender a flood of memories, in which the old man became absorbed. He leaned heavily upon his spade and thought. "Arter all," he murmured sadly, "arter all it were Brummy. "Brummy," he said at last.
So he brought the sheep home early and made arrangements for the burial by measuring the outer casing of Brummy and digging a hole according to those dimensions. "That 'minds me," he said. "I never rightly knowed Brummy's religion, blest if ever I did.
Brummy must have touched something responsive in that old Scot somewhere, but his lack of emotion upset Brummy somewhat, or else an old deep-rooted superstition had been severely shaken. Anyway he let Swampy do the cadging for several days thereafter. But one bad season they were very hard up indeed even for Brummy and Swampy.
The shed cut out within three weeks and the two sundowners took the track again, Brummy with two pounds odd in his pocket he having negotiated his cheque at the shed. But now there was suspicion, envy, and distrust in the hearts of those two wayfarers. Brummy was now a bloated capitalist, and proud, and anxious to get rid of Swampy at least Swampy thought so.
Five Bob whimpered, and the old shepherd, though used to the weird and dismal, as one living alone in the bush must necessarily be, felt the icy breath of fear at his heart. He reached hastily for his old shot-gun, and went out to investigate. He walked round the but several times and examined the roof on all sides, but saw nothing. Brummy appeared to be in the same position.
They were out of tobacco, and their trousers were so hopelessly "gone" behind that when they went to cadge at a place where there was a woman they were moved to back and sidle and edge away again and neither Brummy nor Swampy was over fastidious in matters of dress or personal appearance. It was absolutely necessary to earn a pound or two, so they decided to go to work for a couple of weeks.
They wanted to make out Brummy was the man as owned the dorg a remarkable dorg he was, too, and had been seen driving the sheep. 'Well, what did the dog do? Identify the prisoner, didn't he? 'Well, the dashed fool of a coolie did. Jumps up as soon as he was brought into court, and whines and scratches at the dock rails and barks, and goes on tremenjus, trying to get at Brummy.
'The troopers called him Solo. I have heard of a notorious gold robber of that name. Mrs. Macdougal says a new shepherd called Brummy recognised him. She gave Done a concise account of the arrest and Ryder's escape. 'That is Wallaroo you are riding, she said in conclusion, 'and Mr. Macdougal is furious over his loss. I believe it was he who shot Mr. Ryder. 'If Ryder dies, I'll kill Macdougal!
"All the same it wasn't him; for the real Brummy turned up later on; but he couldn't make the people believe he wasn't dead.
'How did his master like it? 'Oh! Brummy? He looked as black as the ace of spades. He'd have made it hot for that dorg if he could ha' got at him. But I suppose he forgived him when he came out. 'Why should he? 'Because the jury fetched him in guilty without leaving the box, and the judge give him seven years. You wouldn't find this old varmint a-doin' no such foolishness as that.
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