Dere vill pe peoples
vanting lifts to-morrow. Ant get der harnesses and sattles retty.
Vake up, olt vomans!" (Mrs Buckolts must have been awake by this
time.) "Call der girls ant see to dere plack tresses. Py Gott, ve
_moost_ do dis thing in style. Does his poor sister know over
dere across the creeks, Pen? Durn out! you lazy, goot-for-noddings,
or I will chain you up on an ants' bed mit a rope like a tog; do you
not hear that Shack Denver voss dett?"
"I vill sent some of der girls over dere first thing in der
morning. Holt on, Pen, ant I vill sent you out some vine."
Ben rode with the news to Lee's farm where Maurice Lee--at feud with
Buckolts and a silent man--was, for he had known Denver all his life,
and had gone, in his young days, on a long droving trip with him and
Ben Duggan.
A little later Ben returned to the main road on a fresh horse. He
turned towards Gulgong, and rode hard; past the new bark provisional
school and along the sidings. He left the news at Con O'Donnell's
lonely tin grocery and sly-grog shop, perched on the hillside--("God
forgive us all!" said Con O'Donnell). He left the news at the
tumble-down public-house, among the huts and thistles and goats that
were left of the Log Paddock Rush. There were goats on the veranda
and the place seemed dead; but there were startled replies and
inquiries and matches struck. He left the news at Newton's selection,
and Old Bones Farm, and at Foley's at the foot of Lowe's Peak, close
under the gap between Peak and Granite Ridge.
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