And so, by degrees, the animal came to be referred to as the horse
that's white when he's wanted, and at last settled down
to the definite name of "White-when-he's-wanted".

White-when-he's-wanted didn't seem much of an acquisition. He was sent out
to do slavery for Greenhide Billy, a boundary-rider who plumed himself
on having once been a cattle-man. After a week's experience of "White",
Billy came in to the homestead disgusted. The pony was so lazy
that he had to build a fire under him to get him to move, and so rough
that it made a man's nose bleed to ride him more than a mile. "The boss
must have been off his head to give fifteen notes for such a cow."

M'Gregor heard this complaint. "Verra weel, Mr. Billy," said he, hotly,
"ye can juist tak' ane of the young horrses in yon paddock,
an' if he bucks wi' ye an' kills ye, it's yer ain fault.
Ye're a cattleman -- so ye say -- dommed if ah believe it.
Ah believe ye're a dairy-farmin' body frae Illawarra. Ye ken neither
horrse nor cattle. Mony's the time ye never rode buckjumpers, Mr. Billy"
-- and with this parting-shot the old man turned into the house,
and White-when-he's-wanted came back to the head station.

For a while he was a sort of pariah. He used to yard the horses,
fetch up the cows, and hunt travelling sheep through the run.
He really was lazy and rough, and we all decided that Billy's opinion
of him was correct, until the day came to make one of our periodical raids
on the wild horses in the hills at the back of the run.

Every now and again we formed parties to run in some of these animals,
and, after nearly galloping to death half-a-dozen good horses,
we would capture three or four brumbies, and bring them in triumph