Such Is Life by Joseph Furphy (children's books read aloud .TXT) 📕

gregarious instinct prompting him to join my horses. His tawny skin was streaked with foam, and his off flank slightly stained from the repeated puncture of Jack’s spur. Ten yards from where I had pulled up, he suddenly sulked, and stood.

“Good morning, Jack.”

“Well, I be dash! Didn’t know you from a crow! Reckoned some member o’ Parliament, or bishop, or somebody, had bin swappin’ horses with you. You are comin’ out! Oh, I say! Nosey give me the letter, with the three notes in it; but I couldn’t make head or tail of it about the saddle. No more couldn’t Moriarty.”

“I’ll explain all that to you some time. How are you getting on with Satan?”

“Bad,” replied Jack humbly. “You can easy enough steady him down, but then, the swine, he wants a spell; an’ when he gits a spell, you jist got to steady him down agen. Always got some new idear in his head. There!⁠—” hastily rooting the horse’s side with his spur⁠—“he’s goin’ to laydown, an’ make chips o’ the saddle. Up! you swine⁠—” and, lying backward, he reached down to grip the sensitive membrane connecting the swine’s hind-leg with his body. The maddened beast shot past me like a yellow streak for another ten yards; then, with a flaring bound and a snort that was between a whistle and a shriek, spun half-round in the air, and alighted rigidly on his front feet, his ears between his knees, and his neck and back describing a vertical semicircle, with the saddle and Jack on the centre of its forward curve.

“Jist his style,” continued Jack dejectedly. “Never be worth a dash for general⁠—” I lost the next word or two, for the young fellow’s face was buried in the mass of silver mane, as the horse reared rampant to the balancing point; and the next word, again, was dislocated by a blow from the crupper buckle, just below the speaker’s shoulder-blade. “An’ Magomery wants a person to make a lady’s hack out o’ sich an outlawr as him!” he continued, in hopeless protest, whilst the ‘outlawr’ exerted his iron muscles to the utmost, and the saddle creaked like a basket. “Nummin’ good horse, too; on’y spoiled with⁠—Jist look at that!” Satan had suddenly gathered his lithe, powerful limbs, and was tearing across toward the adjacent pine-ridge, spinning round, every thirty yards, in two or three terrific bucks. “I don’t want to sawr his mouth,” shouted Jack over his shoulder, in polite apology⁠—“I’ll see you agen by-’n’-by⁠—”

“Away on the evergreen shore, probably,” I soliloquised, resuming my journey. But, turning in the saddle, and pushing up my glasses out of the way, I watched the receding contest. I saw Jack wrench the horse aside from the timber; whereupon the animal reared rather too rashly, and just saved himself from falling backward by dropping on his quarters and flapping down on one side. When his broadside touched ground, Jack was standing beside him; and when he leaped to his feet, Jack was in the saddle. Exeunt fighting.

Toby, with his bare feet and brown, good-humoured face, was the only person visible on the station premises as I rode up.

“Gosh, I didn’t know you till I seen you side-on, when you was shuttin’ the Red Gate,” he remarked. (The Red Gate was about a mile and a half distant). “I thought you was somebody comin’ to buy the station. Magomery, he’s buzznackin’ roun’ the run as usual,” he continued, helping me to unsaddle. “Butler, he’s laid up with the bung blight in both eyes. All the other fellers is out. Mrs. Bodysark”⁠—and his grin deepened⁠—“she’s all right. Moriarty, of course, he’s loafin’ in the store; lis’n him now, laughin’ fit to break his neck at some of his own gosh foolishness. I’ll shove your horses in the paddick. I say! ain’t they fell-away awful?”

“Yes; the season’s telling on them. Now will you look after Pup, like a good chap? Here’s his chain. I want to keep him fresh for travelling.”

“Right. I don’t wish you no harm, Collins; but I wouldn’t mind if you was in heaven, s’posen you left me that dog.”

I went across to the store, and looked in. Moriarty’s laughing suddenly ceased, as his eye fell on me; and he respectfully rose to his feet.

“Wherefore that crackling of thorns under a pot?” I asked sternly, as I removed my belltopper and placed it on the counter. “Don’t you see the spirits of the wise sitting in the clouds and mocking you?”

“Well, I’ll be dashed!” he exclaimed admiringly. “You are coming out in blossom. Now you only want the upper half of your head shaved, and you could start a Loan and Discount bank, with a capital of half a million.”

“Thanks, worthy peer,” I replied, with dignity. “But, talking of finance, I trust you haven’t forgotten the trifle that there is between us, and the terms of our agreement?”

“I’m not likely to forget. Take that chair. I’ve got such fun here.” He had sliced some corks into flat discs; into the centre of each disc he had stuck a slender piece of pine, about two inches in height, and spatulated at the upper end, like a paddle. Then to the flat part of each upright he had attached a blowfly, by means of a touch of gum on the insect’s back, and had placed in the grasp of each fly a piece of pine an inch long, cut into the shape of a rifle. The walking motion of the fly’s feet twirled and balanced the stick in rather droll burlesque of musketry drill; and a dozen of these insects-at-arms, disposed in open order on the counter, were ministering to the young fool’s mirth.

“Just you notice the gravity of the beggars,” he laughed. “Not a smile on them. Solemn as Presbyterians. ‘Tention! Present! Recover!’ Not a lazy bone in their bodies. I say, Collins: a person could make a perpetual motion, with a fly on a sort of a treadmill? Ah! but then it wouldn’t