"O, go to (sheol). You're no (adj.) good. You ain't fit to (purvey offal to Bruin). An' here's them (adj.) sneaks gone; an' Martin he'll be on top o' me in about two (adj.) twos; an' me left by my own (adj.) self, like a (adj.) natey cat in a (adj.) trap. May the holy" &c., &c. "If I'd that horse," he continued, glancing furiously at Cleopatra, "I'd make him smell (adj. sheol)."
"Nonsense, Dixon," said I pleasantly; "the horse is not annoying you.
Ah! Willoughby; Ne ultra-no, let's see—Ne sutor ultra crepidam.
Let me try my hand there. I took my degree of B.D.—which doesn't always
signify Bachelor of Divinity—before you took your B.A.
Will you just bring up the unspeakables as Dixon points them out."
"Palmam qui meruit ferat," responded Willoughby, instantly recovering his temper. "Smoker—Nelson—dem your skins, come up once more!"
Dixon's bullocks were exceptionally docile, for that uncultivated animal was one of the most humane and skilful drivers in Riverina; therefore, about twenty-five minutes sufficed to place his team in readiness for a start.
"You might as well come along o' me for a change," said he to Willoughby.
"We'll git on grand together. I'm a quiet, agreeable sort o' (person),
though I say it myself; an' I would n't wish for better (adj.) company nor you.
Come on; you won't be sorry after."
"Quocunque trahunt fata sequamur," rejoined Willoughby, bowing gaily to me. Then taking up the whip—Dixon was a virtuoso in whips, and always carried one with six feet of handle and twelve feet of lash—he aimed at the team, collectively, a clip which, in the most literal sense, recoiled on himself. And so the officer's son and the sojer's son took their way together; to become, as I afterward learned, the most attached and mutually considerate friends on the track. Such is life.
Thompson and Cooper, now ready for the road, were repairing the fence as well as they could. This being done, and the relics of the fire kicked about, they put their teams in motion, leaving little trace of the camp, except Bum's mare, standing asleep outside the fence. The ominous speck on the plain had approached much nearer, but had taken definite form as an emu; and now the negative blessing of escape seemed like a positive benefaction. "If," says Carlyle, "thou wert condemned to be hanged—which is probably less than thou deservest—thou wouldest esteem it happiness to be shot."
Serene gratitude therefore shone in the frank faces of the outlaws; tempered, however, in Thompson's case, by salutary remorse, for his companion had reproachfully asked him what the (adj. sheol) good his swearing had done.
We could see Price's teams stopped, half a mile away; one of the loads appearing low, and canted over to the off side; bogged, evidently. Dixon's wagon was close in front of us; Willoughby was zealously flogging himself, and occasionally we could hear Dixon's voice in encouragement and counsel.
The place where Price's wagon was stuck was not a creek, but merely a narrow belt of treacherous ground. Mosey had n't gone down six inches, but Price had happened on a bad place, and his wagon had found the bottom. All Mosey's team, except the polers, had been hooked on, but with no result beyond the breaking of a well-worn chain.