“I don’t fancy him very much, myself,” agreed Mat, “but I don’t think he’s a bad sort when he’s sober. Let us stay on a bit here; he’s got a chap coming to break in colts, and I want to see him at work.”
So they stayed on until the breaker arrived—a long limbed, actively built Victorian native (i.e. a white man born in Victoria).
Mat had heard that this station of Burns’ carried some notorious buckjumpers amongst the mob of horses which pastured on it, so after a few general remarks, he asked the man whether he could sit out a real bad one.
“Buckjumper!” answered the breaker, “me sit a buckjumper? There ain’t a horse in the whole country I can’t ride, and smoke my pipe on ’im, and without a ‘kid,’ too.”
“What’s that?” asked Mat.
“Why, it’s plain, you’re a new chum, not to know as a ‘kid’s,’ what boobies use, a stick strapped in front to keep ’em on. I never uses it, as Burns will tell you.”
“All right,” cried Burns, who now came up and joined in the conversation, “We shall have the mob up to-morrow, and see how you shape on Satan the First.”
This sudden challenge somewhat sobered the bragging tone of the trainer, to whom it was addressed; for after examining Burns for some seconds with a bleary eye, he remarked,—
“You’re in such a blooming hurry, I must prepare a bit first.”
“Which means,” said Burns aside to Mat, “that with a few more nobblers he will get some Dutch courage into him. I can see that he has heard about the horse from the change in his tone.”