Cockatoo Bill's tribe drove away a lot of Parson Irvine's sheep, and
broke a leg of each sheep to keep them from going back. The Parson
and Francis went after them, and one of our stockmen named Walker,
and another, a big fellow whose name I forget. They shot some of the
blacks, but the sheep were spoiled.
"There was a tame blackfellow we called Alick, and two gins, living
about our station, and he had a daughter we called picaninny
Charlotte, ten or eleven years old, who was very quick and smart, and
spoke English very well. One morning, when I was in the milking
yard, she came to me and said, 'You look out. Cockatoo Bill got your
axe under his rug--sitting among a lot of lubras. Chop you down
when you bring up milk in buckets.'
"I had no gun with me, so I crept out of the yard, and sneaked
through the scrub to get into the hut through the back door, keeping
out of sight of Bill and the lubras, who were all sitting on the
ground in front of the hut. We had plenty of arms, and I always kept
my double-barrelled gun loaded, and hanging over the fireplace. I
crept inside the hut, reached down for the gun, and peeped out of the
front door, looking for Bill. The lubras began yabbering, and in an
instant Bill dropped his rug and the axe, leaped over the heads of
the women, and was off like a deer. I took a flying shot at him with
both barrels.
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