"Come! A'll bate ye fifty poun' A'm betther rairt nor you! Houl' an'!— A'll bate ye a hundher'—two hundher', if ye lek, an' stake the money down this minit"——
"Stiddy, now! draw it mild, you fellers there!" thundered Cooper from behind.
"Must n't have no quarrellin' while I'm knockin' round."
"Ye'll be late gittin' to the ram-paddock, Tamson," remarked M'Nab, treating Cooper with the silent contempt usually lavished upon men of his physique. "Axpect thon's where ye're makin' fur?"
"I say—you better camp with us to-night," suggested Thompson, evading the implied inquiry.
Without replying, the contractor put his horse into a canter, and, accompanied by his esquire, went on his way, pausing only to speak to Mosey for a few minutes as he passed the foremost team.
"Curious sample o' (folks) you drop across on the track sometimes," remarked Rufus, who remained with us.
"No end to the variety," I replied. Then lowering my voice and glancing furtively round, I asked experimentally, "Haven't I seen you before, somewhere?"
"Queensland, most likely," he conjectured, whilst finding something
of interest on the horizon, at the side farthest from me.
"Native o' that district, I am. Jist comin' across for the fust time.
What's that bloke's name with the nex' team ahead—if it's a fair question?"
"Bob Dixon."
"Gosh, I'm in luck!" He spurred his mare forward, and attached himself to Dixon for the rest of the afternoon.