M'Intyre said.

But Jim turned on him pretty sharp, and said he had got the horse in a
fair deal, and had as much right to a good mount as any one else--super
or squatter, he didn't care who he was.

And Mr. Falkland took Jim's part, and rather made Mr. M'Intyre out in
the wrong for saying what he did. The old man didn't say much more, only
shook his head, saying--

'Ah, ye're a grand laddie, and buirdly, and no that thrawn, either--like
ye, Dick, ye born deevil,' looking at me. 'But I misdoot sair ye'll die
wi' your boots on. There's a smack o' Johnnie Armstrong in the glint o'
yer e'e. Ye'll be to dree yer weird, there's nae help for't.'

'What's all that lingo, Mr. M'Intyre?' called out Jim, all good-natured
again. 'Is it French or Queensland blacks' yabber? Blest if I understand
a word of it. But I didn't want to be nasty, only I am regular shook on
this old moke, I believe, and he's as square as Mr. Falkland's dogcart
horse.'

'Maybe ye bocht him fair eneugh. I'll no deny you. I saw the receipt
mysel'. But where did yon lang-leggit, long-lockit, Fish River
moss-trooping callant win haud o' him? Answer me that, Jeems.'

'That says nothing,' answered Jim. 'I'm not supposed to trace back every
horse in the country and find out all the people that owned him since he
was a foal. He's mine now, and mine he'll be till I get a better one.'

'A contuma-acious and stiff-necked generation,' said the old man,
walking off and shaking his head. 'And yet he's a fine laddie; a gra-and
laddie wad he be with good guidance. It's the Lord's doing, nae doot,
and we daurna fault it; it's wondrous in our een.'

That was the way old Mac always talked. Droll lingo, wasn't it?

Chapter 9

Well, away we went to this township. Bundah was the name of it; not that
there was anything to do or see when we got there. It was the regular
up-country village, with a public-house, a store, a pound, and a
blacksmith's shop. However, a public-house is not such a bad place--at
any rate it's better than nothing when a fellow's young and red-hot for
anything like a bit of fun, or even a change. Some people can work away
day after day, and year after year, like a bullock in a team or a horse
in a chaff-cutting machine. It's all the better for them if they can,
though I suppose they never enjoy themselves except in a cold-blooded
sort of way. But there's other men that can't do that sort of thing, and
it's no use talking. They must have l