and the drovers, whom we looked upon as natural enemies.

The men who came through with mobs of cattle used to pull down
the paddock fences at night, and slip the cattle in for refreshments,
but old Sandy often turned out at 2 or 3 a.m. to catch a mob of bullocks
in the horse-paddock, and then off they went to Buckalong pound.
The drovers, as in duty bound, attributed the trespass to accident --
broken rails, and so on -- and sometimes they tried to rescue the cattle,
which again bred strife and police-court summonses.

Besides having a particular aversion to drovers, old M'Gregor had
a general "down" on the young Australians whom he comprehensively described
as a "feckless, horrse-dealin', horrse-stealin', crawlin' lot o' wretches."
According to him, a native-born would sooner work a horse to death
than work for a living any day. He hated any man who wanted
to sell him a horse.

"As aw walk the street," he used to say, "the fouk disna stawp me
to buy claes nor shoon, an' wheerfore should they stawp me to buy horrses?
It's `Mister M'Gregor, will ye purrchase a horrse?' Let them wait
till I ask them to come wi' their horrses."

Such being his views on horseflesh and drovers, we felt
no little excitement when one Sunday, at dinner, the cook came in to say
there was "a drover-chap outside wanted the boss to come and have a look
at a horse." M'Gregor simmered a while, and muttered something about
the "Sawbath day"; but at last he went out, and we filed after him
to see the fun.

The drover stood by the side of his horse, beneath the acacia trees