"What did you tell him?" asked Thompson.

"Ram-paddick, of course. You don't ketch me tellin' the truth
about where I'm goin' to camp. But you got a rakin' horse, Tom;
an' I give you credit for gittin' at the blind side o' the turf-cutter."

"He'll do me well enough for poking about," I replied modestly.
"But how did the other fellow get on with Pilot?"

"It was the fun o' the world," resumed Mosey. "The other feller he left
the shed three days ahead of us; an' when we drawed out, an' camped
at the Four-mile Tank, this feller's wagon was standin' there yet;
an' no sign o' him nor his carrion. I was thinkin' he'd have some fun
with Pilot, 'specially on account of havin' to do his bullick-huntin' on foot;
for he could n't afford to git another horse till he delivered.
Well, I never seen him agen till to-day when we stopped for dinner;
but the feller at the Bilby Well he told me about it when we was goin' back
to Bargoona, nex' trip."

"Seems, the other feller he goes out in the mornin' on foot,
thinkin' to fine his carrion among that mulgar in the corner to yer left;
an' when he got to the corner, there was a hole in the fence,
an' the tracks through. Course, he runs the tracks; he runs 'em all day,
an' at night he lays down, an' I s'pose he swears his self to sleep.
Nex' mornin', off he scoots agen, an' jist before sundown he hears the bells,
an' he pipes the tail end o' the string ahead; an' the front end
was jist at the Bilby Well--sixty good mile, if it's an inch,
an' scrub all the road. Pilot he had n't thought worth while to go roun'
by the Boundary Tank, to git on the wool track; he jist went ahead