Baldy went over to Nosey's hut one evening when the blue smoke was
curling over the chimney, and the long shadows of the Wombat Hills
were creeping over the Stoney Rises. Julia was boiling the billy for
tea, and her husband was chopping firewood outside.
"Good evening, Julia," said Baldy; "fine evening."
"Same to you, Baldy. Any news to-day?" asked Julia.
"Well, there is," said Baldy, "and it's bad news for me; there's ten
more of my fatteners missing" (Nosey stopped chopping and listened)
"and the master says I'll have to hump my swag if I can't find out
what has become of them. I say, Nosey, you don't happen to have seen
any dingoes or blacks about here lately?"
"I ain't seen e'er a one, neither dingo nor blackfellow. But, you
know, if they were after mischief they'd take care not to make a
show. There might be stacks of them about and we never to see one of
them."
Nosey was proud of his cunning.
"Well," said Baldy, "I can hear of nobody having seen any strangers
about the Rises, nor dingoes, nor black fellows. And the dingoes,
anyhow, would have left some of the carcases behind; but the thieves,
whoever they are, have not left me as much as a lock of the wool of
my sheep. I have been talking about 'em with old Sharp; he is the
longest here of any shepherd in the country, and knows all the
blacks, and he says it's his opinion the man who took the sheep is
not far away from the flock now.
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