If he could find no fault with anything, he gave in
brief the word of command, "Patrol the forest road," or any other
road on which an enemy might be likely to appear. I never saw the
sergeant himself on horseback. He might have been a gay cavalier in
the days of his fiery youth, but he was not one now.
As we passed the "Crook and Plaid Hotel," on our return to the
court-house, after investigating the dispute in Murray Street, I
observed a stranger standing near the door, who said:
"Hello, Hyde! is that you?"
He was evidently addressing the sergeant, but the latter merely gave
him a slight glance, and went away with his noble nose in the air.
The stranger looked after him and laughed. He said:
"That policeman was once a shepherd of mine up in Riverina, but I see
he don't know me now--has grown too big for his boots. Cuts me
dead, don't he? Ha! ha! ha! Well I never!"
The stranger's name was Robinson; he had been selling some cattle to
a neighbouring squatter, and was now on his way home. He explained
how he had, just before the discovery of gold, hired Hyde as a
shepherd, and had given him charge of a flock of sheep.
There were still a few native blacks about the run, but by this time
they were harmless enough: never killed shepherds, or took mutton
without leave. They were somewhat addicted to petty larceny, but felony
had been frightened out of their souls long ago.
Pages:
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267