“Of course,” said Nic, frowning.
“The free men settlers is jealous of the government chaps, and hates ’em. I don’t doubt Leather’s a reg’lar crab, but set him to do a job and he does it. I never know’d him skulk or flinch anything. The master’ll ketch old Brooky at it some day, and then there’ll be a row. I do wonder, though, as Leatherhead don’t give him one between the eyes.”
“Perhaps he will some day, if Brookes goes too far.”
“Nay, nay, my lad, he won’t do that. That wouldn’t do. ’Signed servant’s got to take what he gets, and be thankful. Why, do you know what’d happen if Leather turned on Brooky?”
“Brooky would complain to the master, and Leather would be fetched over to Mr Dillon’s—magistrate, you know. He’d have the cat, and a warning that if he didn’t behave he’d go back to the chain gang, and it would be a bad mark agin him.”
“Then it would be very unfair,” said Nic sharply.
“Yes, sir, it would; but the world don’t allus play quite fair, and, you see, government has to be very strict with ’signed servants, for some on ’em’s been shocking bad uns, and if they weren’t kep’ down with what they calls a hiron han’, honest people wouldn’t come to live out here. ’Bliged to be very strict; if they weren’t, the convicts might get the better of us all. Well, this ain’t making cowcumber beds, is it? Going shooting?”
“Yes; I want to get some specimens to stuff.”
“That’s right, sir. You do? There’s some very pretty birds about these parts; but if I was you, my lad, I’d get one o’ the blackfellows to go with you. He’d carry what you shot—when you happened to hit anything.”
“All right. You needn’t grin, Sam. I can hold the gun straight sometimes.”