He wanted to know who'd put up that bloody line. He came over and sat
on the log. The chaps smoked a while.

`What did you git down so sudden for, Romany?' asked Jim Bullock presently.
`Did you hurt yerself on the pommel?'

`Why didn't you ask the horse to go round?' asked Dave Regan.

`I'd only like to know who put up that bleeding wire!' growled Romany.

`Well,' said Jimmy Nowlett, `if we'd put up a sign to beware of the line
you couldn't have seen it in the dark.'

`Unless it was a transparency with a candle behind it,' said Dave Regan.
`But why didn't you get down on one end, Romany, instead of all along?
It wouldn't have jolted yer so much.'

All this with the Bush drawl, and between the puffs of their pipes.
But I didn't take any interest in it. I was brooding over
Mary and the Jackaroo.

`I've heard of men getting down over their horse's head,' said Dave presently,
in a reflective sort of way -- `in fact I've done it myself --
but I never saw a man get off backwards over his horse's rump.'

But they saw that Romany was getting nasty, and they wanted him
to play the fiddle next night, so they dropped it.

Mary was singing an old song. I always thought she had a sweet voice,
and I'd have enjoyed it if that damned Jackaroo hadn't been listening too.