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White-when-he’s-wanted
by
We gathered round while MGregor questioned the drover. The man was monosyllabic to a degree, as the real bushmen generally are. It is only the rowdy and the town-bushy that are fluent of speech.
Guid mornin, said MGregor.
Mornin, boss, said the drover, shortly.
Is this the horrse ye hae for sale?
Yes.
Ay, and MGregor looked at the pony with a businesslike dont-think-much-of-him air, ran his hand lightly over the hard legs, and opened the passive creatures mouth. Hm, he said. Then he turned to the drover. Ye seem a bit oot o luck. Yere thin like. Whats been the matter?
Been sick with feverQueensland fever. Just come through from the North. Been out on the Diamantina last.
Ay. I was there mysel, said MGregor. Hae ye the fever on ye still?
Yesgoin home to get rid of it.
A man can only get Queensland fever in a malarial district, but he can carry it with him wherever he goes. If he stays, it will sap his strength and pull him to pieces; if he moves to a better climate, the malady moves with him, leaving him by degrees, and coming back at regular intervals to rack, shake, burn, and sweat its victim. Gradually it wears itself out, often wearing its patient out at the same time. MGregor had been through the experience, and there was a slight change in his voice as he went on with his palaver.
Whaur are ye makin for the noo?
Monaromy people live in Monaro.
Hoo will ye get to Monaro gin ye sell the horrse?
Coach and rail. Too sick to care about ridin, said the drover, while a wan smile flitted over his yellow-grey features. Ive rode him far enough. Ive rode that horse a thousand miles. I wouldnt sell him, only Im a bit hard up. Sellin him now to get the money to go home.
Hoo auld is he?
Seven.
Is he a guid horrse on a camp? asked MGregor.
No better camp-horse in Queensland, said the drover. You can chuck the reins on his neck, an hell cut out a beast by himself.
MGregors action in this matter puzzled us. We spent our time crawling after sheep, and a camp-horse would be about as much use to us as side-pockets to a pig. We had expected Sandy to rush the fellow off the place at once, and we couldnt understand how it was that he took so much interest in him. Perhaps the fever-racked drover and the old camp-horse appealed to him in a way incomprehensible to us. We had never been on the Queensland cattle-camps, nor shaken and shivered with the fever, nor lived the roving life of the overlanders. MGregor had done all this, and his heart (I can see it all now) went out to the man who brought the old days back to him.
Ah, weel, he said, we haena muckle use for a camp-horrse here, ye ken; wioot some of these lads wad like to try theer han cuttin oot the milkers cawves frae their mithers. And the old man laughed contemptuously, while we felt humbled in the sight of the man from far back. An whatll ye be wantin for him? asked MGregor.
Reckon hes worth fifteen notes, said the drover.
This fairly staggered us. Our estimates had varied between thirty shillings and a fiver. We thought the negotiations would close abruptly; but MGregor, after a little more examination, agreed to give the price, provided the saddle and bridle, both grand specimens of ancient art, were given in. This was agreed to, and the drover was sent off to get his meals in the hut before leaving by the coach.