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Australian Tales - Setis

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seed, Joe; it was a muckle thief, that's my fancy; and ye should have<br />

knocket him doon with your frying-pan. Hoot mon; ye've nae mair pluck<br />

than an auld wife, not you. If ye saw a wallaby or a white coo in the bush<br />

on a dark night, ye'd rin daft wi' frigcht, and ca' it a ghaist or a bogle. It<br />

wasna Micky Mahony's ghaist ye seed at all, I tell yer, ye great gowk, so<br />

dinna fash me wi' yer hobgoblin stories; an if it was, it wadna harm ye,<br />

nae mair thon a moonbeem, or a whiff o' smoke fra a cutty pipe.”<br />

“Be Jabers, ye're right, Sawney!” shouted Micky, springing forward<br />

into the hut, with his right hand extended to greet him; “an suppose I was<br />

a ghost wid iron claws, I wouldn't scratch a — — ”<br />

But neither Sawney nor Joe stopped to hear the conclusion of Micky's<br />

animated address. Away they both scampered out by the back door,<br />

faster than if the hut were on fire, closely followed by Nip, and despite<br />

Micky's loud shouts and cries, in his earnest endeavours to recal them,<br />

they bolted through the bush like wild cattle, and Micky saw them no<br />

more. After enjoying a smoke by the fireside, and an hour's quiet<br />

meditation, he turned into Joe Griddle's bed.<br />

In the morning, before sunrise, Micky got up, and after praying a few<br />

words on his knees, he put the kettle over the fire, then went out and<br />

watered his horse, and returned to the hut to breakfast. When he had<br />

finished his meal, he saddled his horse and rode away, with the intention<br />

of finding the owner of the beast, and the possessor of his much prized<br />

books. He had provided himself with a little tea and sugar, some tobacco,<br />

and part of a damper, from Joe Griddle's stock; also with a blanket and a<br />

quart pot; for he was of course uncertain how far he would have to travel.<br />

Away rode Micky at a jog-trot, for he knew that that was the best pace<br />

for a long journey; and as he jogged along he tried to refresh his mind<br />

with the recollection of some of the important truths he had recently<br />

learnt. About the middle of the day he stopped, and tethered his horse,<br />

then made a fire, and put on his quart pot with a handful of tea in it. He<br />

was quietly enjoying his reflections and his pipe, while the tea was<br />

brewing, when he was suddenly startled by the well-remembered cry,<br />

“Bail up there!” and on looking round he beheld two horsemen, well<br />

armed, within shotrange of him. Instantly Micky's hand was in his side<br />

pocket, and pulling out his pistol he flourished it in a most threatening<br />

manner, at the same time hopping and dancing about to strike terror into<br />

his assailants with a display of his ferocity, as well as to baulk their aim<br />

if they attempted to shoot him.<br />

“Ye'd better take care how you come a-nigh this pishtle. Be the hoky,<br />

it's a rum un whin it goes off, so I jist caution you, me bhoys. Mind what<br />

yer afther, I tell you, for I won't be robbed agin, so long as I've got a gun<br />

to shoot wid. Be off wid yez, yer murtherin thieves! go and arn yer livin<br />

honestly, an not be afther stalein from the likes ov me. Be the livin jingo,<br />

if this pishtle shu'd go off wid a bang, yer'd both of yez be blow'd into

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