A little fellow, with a big scar across his forehead. Came from Monaro way
somewhere. He said he bought the horse from you for fifteen notes."

The King's warrant doesn't run much out west of Boulia,
and it is not likely that any of us will ever see the drover again,
or will ever again cross the back of "White-when-he's-wanted".




The Downfall of Mulligan's



The sporting men of Mulligan's were an exceedingly knowing lot;
in fact, they had obtained the name amongst their neighbours
of being a little bit too knowing. They had "taken down"
the adjoining town in a variety of ways. They were always winning
maiden plates with horses which were shrewdly suspected to be old
and well-tried performers in disguise.

When the sports of Paddy's Flat unearthed a phenomenal runner in the shape
of a blackfellow called Frying-pan Joe, the Mulligan contingent
immediately took the trouble to discover a blackfellow of their own,
and they made a match and won all the Paddy's Flat money
with ridiculous ease; then their blackfellow turned out to be
a well-known Sydney performer. They had a man who could fight,
a man who could be backed to jump five-feet-ten, a man who could
kill eight pigeons out of nine at thirty yards, a man who could make
a break of fifty or so at billiards if he tried; they could all drink,