“We’re on it now, Mr. ‘Eathcote.” They were both on the side of the fence away from Gangoil station.
“I don’t know how that is, Karl. I think Gangoil goes a quarter of a mile beyond this. But we did not quite strike the boundary when we put up the fence.”
“Brownbie’s cattle is allays here, Mr. ‘Eathcote, and is knocking down the fence every day. Brownbie is a rascal, and ‘is cattle as bad as ‘isself.”
“Never mind that, Karl, now. When we’ve got through the heats, we’ll put a mile or two of better fencing along here. You know Boscobel?”
“In course I know Bos.”
“What sort of a fellow is he?” Then Harry told his German dependent exactly what had taken place between him and the other man.
“He’s in and in wid all them young Brownbies,” said Karl.
“The Brownbies are a bad lot, but I don’t think they’d do any thing of this kind,” said Harry, whose mind was still dwelling on the dangers of fire.
“They likes muttons, Mr. ‘Eathcote.”
“I suppose they do take a sheep or two now and then. They wouldn’t do worse than that, would they?”