Nearly Every Week I Would Ride Into Coolgardie For Stores, And Walk Out
Again Leading The Loaded Packhorse, Our Faithful Little Chestnut "Brumby,"
I.E., Half-Wild Pony, Of Which There Are Large Herds Running In The Bush
Near The Settled Parts Of The Coast.
A splendid little fellow this, a true
type of his breed, fit for any amount of work and hardship.
As often as
not he would do his journey into Coolgardie (twenty-five miles), be tied
up all night without a feed or drink - or as long as I had to spend there
on business - and return again loaded next morning. Chaff and oats were
then almost unprocurable, and however kind-hearted he might be, a poor
man could hardly afford a shilling a gallon to water his horse. On these
occasions I made my quarters at Bayley's mine, where a good solid meal and
the pleasant company of Messrs. Browne and Lyon always awaited me. Several
times in their generosity these good fellows spared a gallon or two of
precious water for the old pony.
They have a funny custom in the West of naming horses after their
owners - thus the chestnut is known to this day as "Little Carnegie."
Sometimes they are named after the men from whom they are bought. This
practice, when coach-horses are concerned, has its laughable side, and
passengers unacquainted with the custom may be astonished to hear all
sorts of oaths and curses, or words of entreaty and encouragement,
addressed to some well-known name - and they might be excused for thinking
the driver's mind was a little unhinged, or that in his troubles and
vexations he was calling on some prominent citizen, in the same way that
knights of old invoked their saints.
Thus, our peaceful life at the "Twenty-five" passed on, relieved sometimes
by the arrival of horsemen and others in search of water. Amongst our
occasional visitors was a well-known gentleman, bearing the proud title
of "The biggest liar in Australia." How far he deserved the distinction I
should hesitate to say, for men prone to exaggerate are not uncommon in
the bush. Sometimes, however, they must have the melancholy satisfaction
of knowing that they are disbelieved, when they really do happen to tell
the truth. A story of my friend's, which was received with incredulous
laughter, will exemplify this.
This was one of his experiences in Central Australia. He was perishing
from thirst, and, at the last gasp, he came to a clay-pan which, to his
despair, was quite dry and baked hard by the sun. He gave up all hope; not
so his black-boy, who, after examining the surface of the hard clay,
started to dig vigorously, shouting, "No more tumble down, plenty water
here!" Struggling to the side of his boy, he found that he had unearthed a
large frog blown out with water, with which they relieved their thirst.
Subsequent digging disclosed more frogs, from all of which so great a
supply of water was squeezed that not only he and his boy, but the horses
also were saved from a terrible death!
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