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Bruce, Mary Grant, 1878-1958

"Back to Billabong"

"
"Yerra, ye're no ijit," said Murty under his breath.
Education developed as the weeks went on. Wally had gone to Queensland,
to visit married brothers who were all the "people" he possessed; and
Jim, bereft of his chum, threw himself energetically into the training
of the substitute. Bob learned to slaughter a bullock and kill a
sheep--being instructed that the job in winter was not a circumstance to
what it would be in summer, when flies would abound. He never pretended
to like this branch of learning, but stuck to it doggedly, since it was
explained to him that the man who could not be his own butcher in the
bush was apt to go hungry, and that not one hired hand in twenty could
be trusted to kill.
More to Bob's taste were the boundary riding expeditions made with Jim
to the furthest corners of the run; taking a pack horse with tucker and
blankets, and camping in ancient huts, of which the sole furniture was
rough sacking bunks, a big fireplace, and empty kerosene cases for
seats and tables. It was unfortunate, from the point of view of
Bob's instruction, that the frantic zeal of Murty and the men to have
everything in order for "the Boss" had left no yard of the Billabong
boundary unvisited not a month before. Still, winter gales were always
apt to bring down a tree or two across the wires, laying a few panels
flat; the creeks, too, were all in flood, and where a wire fence crossed
one, floating brushwood often damaged the barrier, or a landslip in
a water-worn bank might carry away a post.


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