It was sort o' cloudy moonlight that night; an' I takes the carrion
straight on, an' shoves 'em in the horse-paddick, an' shuts the gate.
Then I fetches 'em into a sort of a holler, where the best grass was,
an' I takes the saddle an' bridle off o' the horse, an' lays down,
an' watches the carrion wirin' in. Well, you know, ole Martin,
the head boundary man, he's about as nice a varmin as Warrigal Alf;
an' the young fellers at the barracks they 'on't corroborate with him,
no road; an' he thinks his self a cut above the hut, so he lives
with Daddy Montague, in Latham's ole place, down at the fur corner
o' the horse-paddick. Well, this ole beggar he's buckin' up to Miss King,
the governess, an' Moriarty, the storekeeper, he's buckin' up to her too"----

"Clever feller, that Moriarty," interposed Price, in pathetic sycophancy.
"Rummest young (fellow) goin', when he likes to come out. Ain't he,
Mosey?" He paused and laughed heartily. "Las' time I unloaded
at Runnymede--an' it was on'y one ton lebm; for we was goin' out emp'y
for wool, on account o' them two Vic. chaps snappin' our loads.
I disremember if I tole you the yarn when I pulled you at the Willandra.
Anyhow it was raining like (incongruous comparison) when I drawed up
at the store; an' Moriarty he fetches me inter the office, an' gives me
a stiffener o' brandy. Or whisky? Now, (hair-raising imprecation)
if I don't disremember which. But I think it was brandy. Yes, it was brandy."

"Well?" interrogated Mosey, after a pause.

"On'y jist showin' how one idear sort o' fetches up another,"
replied the old man, with simulated ease of manner.

"Well, you are a (adj.) fool. But as I was telling you chaps:
About eleven o'clock, who should come dodgin' down the paddick but ole Martin.