Upon this Jerry slowly rose, and, going to a cupboard, brought forth a modicum of spirits, which he called “Battle Axe,” but which was supposed to be brandy. This Boscobel swallowed at a gulp, and then washed it down with a little water.
“Come, Jerry,” said the old man, somewhat relenting in his wrath, “you might as well give us a drop, as it’s going about.”
The two brothers, who had now been thoroughly aroused from their sleep, and who had heard the enticing sound of the spirit bottle, joined the party, and so they drank all round.
“Heathcote’s in an awful state about them fires, ain’t he?” asked Jerry.
Boscobel, who had squatted down on the veranda, and was now lighting his pipe, bobbed his head.
“I wish he was clean burned out—over head and ears,” said Jerry.
Boscobel bobbed his head again, sucking with great energy at the closely staffed pipe.
“If he treated me like he does you fellows,” continued Jerry, “he shouldn’t have a yard of fencing or a blade of grass left, nor a ewe, nor a lamb, nor a hogget. I do hate fellows who come here and want to be better than anyone about ’em—young chaps especially. Sending up here to look for sheepskins, cuss his impudence! I sent that German fellow of his away with a flea in his ear.”
“Karl Bender?”
“It’s some such name as that.”
“He’s all in all with the young squire,” said Boscobel. “And there’s a chap there called Jacko—he’s another. He gets ’em down there to Gangoil, and the ladies talks to ’em, and then they’d go through fire and water for him. There’s Mickey—he’s another, jist the same way. I don’t like them ways, myself.”
“Too much of master and man about it; ain’t there, Bos?”
“Just that, Mr. Jerry. That ain’t my idea of a free country. I can work as well as another, but I ain’t going to be told that I’m a swindler because I’m making the most of my time.”
“He turned Nokes out by the scruff of his neck?” said Jerry. Boscobel again bobbed his head. “I didn’t think Nokes was the sort of fellow to stand that.”
“No more he ain’t,” said Boscobel.
“Heathcote’s a good plucked ’un all the same,” said Joe.
“It’s like you to speak up for such a fellow is that,” said Jerry.
“I say he’s a good plucked ’un. I’m not standing up for him. Nokes is half a stone heavier than him, and ought to have knocked him over. That’s what you’d’ve done; wouldn’t you, Bos? I know I would.”
“He’d ’ve had my axe at his head,” said Boscobel.
“We all know Joe’s game to the backbone,” said Jerry.
“I’m game enough for you, anyway,” said the brother. “And you can try it out any time you like.”
“That’s right; fight like dogs; do,” said the old man.
The quarrel at this point was interrupted by the arrival of another man, who crept up round the corner on to the veranda exactly as Boscobel had done. This was Nokes, of whom they had that moment been speaking. There was silence for a few moments among them, as though they feared that he might have heard them, and Nokes stood hanging his head as though half ashamed of himself. Then they gave him the same kind of greeting as the other men had received. Nobody told him that he was welcome, but the spirit jar was again brought into use, Jerry measuring out the liquor, and it was understood that Nokes was to stay there and get his food. He too gave some account of himself, which was supposed to suffice, but which they all knew to be false. It was Sunday, and they were off work at the sugar-mill. He had come across Gangoil run, intending to take back with him things of his own which he had left at Bender’s hut, and having come so far, had thought that he would come on and get his dinner at Boolabong. As this was being told, a good deal was said of Harry Heathcote. Nokes declared that he had come right across Gangoil, and explained that he would not have been at all sorry to meet Master Heathcote in the bush. Master Heathcote had had his own way up at the station when he was backed by a lot of his own hands; but a good time was coming, perhaps. Then Nokes gave it to be understood very plainly that it was the settled purpose of his life to give Harry Heathcote a thrashing. During all this there was an immense amount of bad language, and a large portion of the art which in the colony is called “blowing.” Jerry, Boscobel, and Nokes all boasted, each that on the first occasion he would give Harry Heathcote such a beating that a whole bone should hardly be left in the man’s skin.
“There isn’t one of you man enough to touch him,” said Joe, who was known as the freest fighter of the Brownbie family.
“And you’d eat him, I suppose?” said Jerry.
“He’s not likely to come in my way,” said Joe; “but if he does, he’ll get as good as he brings—that’s all.”
This was unpleasant to the visitors, who, of course, felt themselves to be snubbed. Boscobel affected to hear the slight put upon his courage with good humour, but Nokes laid himself down in a corner and sulked. They were soon all asleep, and remained dozing, snoring, changing their uncomfortable positions, and cursing the mosquitoes, till about four in the afternoon, when Boscobel got up, shook himself, and made some observation about “grub.” The meal of the day was then prepared. A certain quantity of flour and raw meat, ample for their immediate wants, was given to the two strangers, with which they retired into the outer kitchen, prepared it for themselves, and there ate their dinner, and each of the brothers did the same for himself in the big room—Joe, the fighting
