AT THE SIGN OF THE JOLLY BUSHMAN.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1157, 4 May 1894, Page 10

AT THE SIGN OF THE JOLLY BUSHMAN.

1 Very far out indeed was the Jolly Bushman. The house stood facing due west, and if jou drew an imaginary line from the front door to just shave the top of the Great Australian Bight, still going west, with the least bit of southing in it, you would hit Peith Town Hall fairly. Not in all that distance, either on the right hand or on the left, until jou came to York, -would you find another house of entertainment for man and beast.

But there were both cattle and sheep stations, and from and by those I)an Beale and Sooze ( Anglice Susan), his wife, than whom thore were not in Australasia a more accomplished pair of rogues, lived and flourished.

All fish were alike that came to their net —teamsters, drovers, shearers, and rouscabouts.

" What ? ’ would ask Dan reproachfully. “ Pass a sign like that? Look at it! It'll do your eyes good.” And thoy looked, and succumbed, and came in, and in a very short time departed bare, even as the lamb that is newly born. But far better than any crowd did Dan love to welcome the solitary traveller —the man with a thumping cheque, •n his way “down below for a spell.” Then how Dan would applaud his resolution 1 Nay, so interested did he become, that he needs must give him a letter of introduction to a friend in the capital. And whilst this was being written, wouldn’t he sit down and have a bit of dinner—Sooze, he knew, bad a roast fowl with potatoes and onions, all nearly ready ? Then, one nip just to give them an appetite—no, n® morel he didn't believe in a man drinking when he had business before him.

Another dose after dinner “just for luck on the road,” and the ill-fated wayfarer suddenly became for the nonce a ramping maniac, oblivious of time, his whereabouts, and his money, which last Dan, out of pure regard, had at length taken into his own safe keeping. Then, a few days later, a shattered, swagless, penniless wretch, grasping a bottle of poison, would stagger into the bush, whilst Dan would forward another sum to his banking account at Wilton. Sooze was the only white woman about the place ; the rest were all blacks and halfcastes. Tho nearest police station was at Wilton, eighty miles distant, and, at uncertain intervals, but generally about tho time of shearing, a vaguely-worded paragraph in Southern papers would inform the puzzled city man that—“ Terrible scenes of drunken immorality and disorder amongst bushmen are reported from the Far West.” The Jolly Bushman was one of the centres

at which siich ofgics took placd; Dan and Sooic rarely allowed a victim to fe'scdpb theif* clutch&s; . ... if, by uncommon stfcngtd of const!fcutlo’ii or the exercise of uncommon caiitjo'ii he sas enabled to, for a while; resist the effect of the stuff they dosed him with, and insisted on retaining possession of his money, then the blacks waylaid him. Dan, of courso, taking the lion's share of the spoil. At this day the Jolly Bushman has vanished. All that remains of it is a couple of rotting postsand some scattered hearthstones, over which young lambs skip at play. Its site is now well within the settled districts," and a dozen other houses have arisen on the road that seems to lead into the heart of the setting sun. * Once only was Dan met in fair fight and vanquished. Sooze has gone to a better world. But the widower has come in, pays rents and taxes, wears gold spectacles and his white hair long, and is highly thought of as a respectable burgess—a retired pioneer who made his money "out back.” His digestion is good, he is hale and hearty, and regularly once a week confesses himself a " miserable sinner,'* and prays devoutly to be delivered from all the " crafts and assaults of the devil, arid from everlasting damnation. u But# spite of all* he will at rare moments, when tho Whisky is mellower than Usual, and a foW othet "piOneCrs*’ are gathered about him, tell the story of how he Was onde ** bsUl” by a stranger with a stomach of steel;

Said the first Nomad, " Bill, I'm dead sick for a iprec, an’ soriie good 'igH livin’ 1 Trdmp, tranlp, tramp’s a tefrof.” “ Saiiic with rile; Jim, ’ said Nomad No. 2, and the pair lay under the shade of an apjile tree and chewed grass thoughtfully. “ Ever been about this part afore, Bill?” presently inquired No. 1. "Two year ago,” replied his companion, smiling as at a good joke, " I were on the bust at a shop they calls the ’Jolly Bushman mns’ be, as near ’s I can rekklcct, fifteen or sixteen mile ahead. I has a good 'orse, saddle, and bridle, and twenty notes in my pocket. Well, the cove done rac bad. The first nip or two staggers me, an* the next un knocks mo clean out of it. When I comes to myself—how long or how little arterwards there’s no tellin’—l picks myself up somewhere close to this very waterole. No ’orse, no swag, no 'at, not a copper, an’ a bottle o’ chain lightning in my fist.” “Ah, 1 ' said the other sympathisingly, but with evident enjoyment of the story. " That's his sort is it ? Hot coffee, an’ served out quick ! An', o’ course, you never goes back to the shanty.” " Not me,” said Bill with pride ; " I never cries over spilt milk. 'Bides, what use would it ha’ been ?”

"Not a bit,” assented Jim with that solemn tone of deep conviction born of past experience. • “ How much money ha’ ycr got on yer, Billy ?' he asked after a long pause. •* Four notes, an’ a cbequo for a tenner that nobody wouldn’t tako on the ether side, —cove that drew it's gone broke—jist my luck”

“ The very hidentical,” replied Jim. “If you 11 lend me the lot—l only got* a few shillin’B myself—l’ll show yer a wrinkle afore this time to morrer ; ay f an’ p’r’nps get yourprad back for you into the bargain—or another un as good.*' But Bill hesitated, and naturally. He had only been with his present mate a week or two, and he felt a little doubtful.

Seeing his indecision Jim said impressively, “ Ye ll get yer money back, Billy, leastways the good part on it. We’ll ’ave a week o’ ’igh livin’ an’ lashin’s o’ drink—such as it it. We’ll lose our Condaminers* here, which aint o’ no account ; but we’ll ’ave a couple of good prads for to ride away out o’ this cursed country. I’ve got the whole thing readied up in my head this long time.”

“ There’s none o’ them lambers,” he contined, “as can do me. I’ve tried lots, I can put away turps, carbolic, painkiller, kero sene, vitril, an’ bilod bacca, an* still keep light end up an’ a firm holt on the sugar. Ive had some queer mixchers shoved inter me, too. Why, only larst spree I was on there was a feller over at the Barrier tried to be too smart, an’ he found it out—’bout the same time as I done.

“ I’d drunk,” ho wont on, “ all his blarsted chemicals an’ things, an’ he was near played out. But there was a case o’ Sent Jacob’s Iloil in the shanty, an* he bottles it horf with kycen popper an’ serves it up for dark brandy. “ I was gettin’ a bit seedy-like, an’ I had a few notes left out o’ forty as I started with. Well, Bill, if you’ll blievo me, that stuff sobered mo up as straight as a rush afore I d finished one bottle. Then suddenly it comes into my*’ead to take his’n au’ bash it agen his own bar. I done that till he couldn’t speak, an’ then I clears. “ Well, sence then I've got it readiod up that when I gets into another shop o that kind, I’m goin’ to ’ave a lark. If you’s agreeable, mate, you an’ me’ll 'ave the lark with the feller as lambed you down so jolly clever an* clean, an’ who lives in the shanty sixteen mile ahead on us.”

Much more he said and explained, and at length prevailed. But I was not without some misgiving that Bill, early next morning, saw the broad, squat figure of his mate—a pocket Hercules in build—tramping steadily away with all his wealth in the direction of the Jolly Bushman. • • • • The general aspect of the tavern was not very much in keeping with its exalted position on the 25th parallel of latitude. It was, in truth, a ramshackle, manycornered place, built mostly of round poles, the bark of which, falling off as they dried, and hanging in strips, gave it an unkempt, squalid look. But the sign made up for all other shortcomings. So that none of its splendour might be lost, it was erected on two stout posts fronting the road, and between which it swnng majestically. This work of art depicted a red-shirted Iwagman, his late burden at his feet, with a # Blankets worn threadbare and thin.

full tumbler in one hand, and tho other extended tovfafda Daniel# standing in the backgrdurid;

Doubtless tHe ifltcfitlon had bdert to fcpfdSent the tratellef in tho rifct Of jofialiy gfeet* ifig the liost Whilst pfaisiifg his tipple. Biff either unconsciously; or of milled prppcfisd, the very opposite was corivcyep; the outstretched hand was clenched, and a threatening scowl distorted the features, whilst Dan himself seemed overwhelmed with confusion.

But no critic noticed these slight blemishos, least of all Dan himself, who was wonderfully proud of his sign, and never failed to draw attention to its beauties. Indeed, it was universally admired, and admitted, on all bands, to be “ as tip-top a bit of droring as you’d see atween ’ere an’ the big smoke itself.”

For some time trade had been very slack. In fact, for the past few weeks Dan had found little to do except sit in liis verandah and watch the grasshoppers. He was a stout, dark-compicxioncd, not unpleasant looking man, evidently not giren to indulging much in his own decoctions.

" Ali-h h 1” he yawned, getting up at last and squinting over the arid plain, " here's someone cornin’ anyhow.”

As the figure approached he made it out to be that of a swag man, and one to his practised eye "cheque*proud,” He had long learned to distinguish between the' Bbort ertger tread and light kit of a profitable ctistomef and tho listless slouch of the habitUal sundotimer or stone-broke Ira* vClief.

" Phew i” cxclalrtied the nlan, coining Up and dumping his swag oil tile vetandatq “ it’s been h scorcher hud without futtber fcUfciraony he followed Daii into tho bat and called for rum.

“ Fill your own glass, boss,” he remarked, genially, and Dan, taking anothor bottlo from the shelf behind him, containing coloured water, did so. They drank to each other, and tho traveller, opening tho front of his blue shirt, carefully extracted an object at sight of which Dan's eyes glistened. It was a dirty sock, whose contents bulged fatly and gave forth a pleasant rustling aa its owner extracted, seemingly quite at raudora, a cheque, and handed it over, remarking, as he tied the top of the sock tightly with a piece of bootlace, u There y'ar, boss. Tell us when that uu’s blowed. It's only a tenner, and there's whips moro where it came from,” patting his breast inglyDan grew deferential. He hadn’t soen such a fish for many months ; and ho decided as ho looked his catch over, that it would take careful handling. “ Been workin' far out, air ?” he asked, just glancing at the cheque. "A good way back,” replied the new-comer. " Fencin’ an' tank-sinkin’. Now fill 'em up agen, an' let's ’ave the best you got in tho 'ouse for supper. I'm a-goin’ in for a bit o’ ’igh livin’ 1” and he slapped his breast with a sound that woke responsive echoes in Dan’s soul.

“ Sooze," said Dan to his better half that night, “ there mus’ be a couple o' hundred in notes an' paper in that ole sock !" “ It'll come in handy," said Sooze, who was a fat sloppy brunette of forty, and a skilled distiller of vile liquids. “ There’s that last lot o’ loadin’ to pay for yet. he drinkinT

“ Well," said Dan in a puzzled tone. “He drinks right enough. Nothen don’t seem to come amiss to him. He's had a drop o' pretty near all as is in the ’ousc. He tays the rum wasn’t as good as they kep’ on the Barrier—no grip in it. Said that whisky as you brewed last week was like water. Went off to bod as sober as a judge. It’s my opinion,” he concluded despairingly, ** as he's a cove with a couple o* stummicks, an* that one on ’em’s steel 1”

“ Did ye trap him with the big square bottles from under the bar 7” asked his spouse angrily—“ the ‘ dea lfinish,' as I calls it.”

“ Too soon for that, yet,” said Dan, deprecatingly, as he blew out the candle. “ Damn it all, Booze, have a little patience I You’re that hasty you’d spile everythin* if you had yer own way.” “An* you’re too chickcn-’earted you old fool,” retorted the woman irritated at the indifference with which her deoctions had been treated. “ What stuff,” she asked, " did he seem most shook on ?”

“ Well, I fancy,” replied Dan, reflectively, '• as he took more o* that as ye made out o* them logwood chips, an’ pepper, an* likrissroot, an' nitric acid, an’ labelled dark brandy than of any of the others. He reckoned it were tasty.” “Ab,” grumbled Sooze, resentfully, "111 doctor him, you bet, presently,if he ain’t got the inside of a hejpu or a gohanner.” Next morning the visitor was up, fresh as a lark, and he ordered two fowls, with bam and eggs to follow, for breakfast. *• Two year on damper an’ mutton, remember,” said he, slapping his breast' gleefully, and grinning in Daniel's face. During the day another traveller arrived, and was greeted with effusion by the first.

“ An ole mate as I haven’t seed for hages,” be explained to Dan, who, on his part, recognised the new arrival glumly, and as one likely to spoil sport. Once more the sock was produced, and a roll of notes handed with a flourish to the hard-up mate of past years, who thereupon, to Dan’s infinite content, became speechlessly drunk, and remained so except at meal times.

Business was dull, and the pair had the ** Jolly Bushman " all to themselves.

The aggravating part of the affair was that not only was the friend of the past, as a rule, too drunk to do anything but eat; but that his companion, the man with the sock, although drinking enough for two or three, appeared able to keep both his feet and hie money. Even a dram that he presently got from H the big square bottle under the bar,” only momentarily surprised him, and caused him to remark, “ Why the blazes didn't ye fetch that out afore f That, now, 's somethin* likel That’s nearer the sort o* stuff they gives you on the Barrier t”

At this Dan started aghast, too utterly dumbfounded to even Yenture on a reply. But, as tfafe guest sfrollcd dut, tile landlord - t putting the coirk ttt his lips, shuddered atid ipat, mutteribgj “ Mu s' be a hbt shop Over on that fearrieh . Don’t want any .riiore jokers frbtti there. You’d think this ’ud sicken a ’orse? An’ ho downs it like a cun o’ tea ?” “I can’t get him on the go, nohow, Soozo,” he complained to his wife. “ Ho’s none too free with the 6ugar, neither. I hints to*day as that tenner’s ’bout cut out. • Ob,’ bcz he, quite careless like, an’a-tappin* of his breast, ‘ I’d clean forgot all about that,’ sez he, ‘ tbore’s no ’urry. I ain’t agoin’ further yet a whiles.* “ Bust him I” exclaimed Daniel indignantly, “ if he’sa starLiu’them loafin’ games! A miserable tenner in four or five daysl Why, he ain’t worth powder an’ shot, so fur. Yon an’ you’re precious square bottle o’ ‘ dead finish 1’ Why, he never so much as winked. It might ha* been milk. I’ll have to send you over to the Barrier, my lady, to learn a wrinkle there. ‘Dead finish.’ Yah!”

But that same night Jim, pale and shaky, was saying to Bill, in their joint room—- “ Mate, it’s time to clear. I can hold a lot o* all sorts, but croton’s a staggerer. There was croton in that last dose. 1 knowed it by the smell, and I’ve knowed it ever scncc. But I never lets on—not a wink outer me. House up, an* give us a hand.” So Bill arose, bright and steady, and the pair, moving noiselessly into tho bar, filled an assortment of small phials, collected for the occasion, with different mixtures, including a liberal sample of “ dead finish.” This done to their satisfaction, they re turned to bed. “ Look *ere, boss,” said Jim, the next rooming, “ my mate’s goin* as far as Peeko. Ho wants to see if he can’t get a job. Sez ho’s tired o’ loafin’ on mo. I’ve promised to go with him for kumpny. Lend us a couple o’ prads—good uns. If I likes my mount, I’ll buy him when we comes back this evenin’.”

“ All right,” said Daniel. " I’ll lend yon the best I got. Your mate can have the one he jumped over the bar here last shearin’ twelvemonth. He’s in the paddock—fat as butter.”

That afternoon “ Sooze,” as was her weekly custom, shaking up the beds, screamed aloud in the exuberance of her joy at discovering in one of them the precious sock.

“ Dan’l! Dan’l l” she cried, rushing out to her husband, moodily counting grasshoppers, “ I’ve found it. He’s gone, an’ clean forgot it. That dose o’ * dead finish * bothered him a bit, arter all 1” “Lc’s see,” said Daniel, as, with trembling fingers, he snatched it and opened it.

Blanker and blanker grew his face as he unrolled piece after piece of worthless old paper. But blanker than ever grew its expression when, coming on a fragment addressed to himself, he read—

“Mister Beel, if you wants your mokes, you’ll ’ave to come to Wilton for ’em. Wo will leeve ’em with the polis there. Likewise 6 bottles ovpiaon we filfc from your barre larst nite. Bi the time as you gets heer the polis will ’ave ’em hanneralised. Bill is witness. If you makes us a presint ov the hosses,t wy, we goes on to new south whales an* no more sed. We is going on ennyhows.” —L.L., in the Australasian.