“Five Bob!”  
The old man shaded his eyes and peered through the dazzling glow of that broiling¹ Christmas Day. He stood just within the door of a slab-and-bark hut situated² upon the bank of a barren creek³; sheep-yards lay to the right, and a low line of bare, brown ridges⁵ formed a suitable background to the scene.
 
“Five Bob!” shouted he again; and a dusty sheep-dog rose wearily from the shaded side of the but and looked inquiringly at his master, who pointed⁶ towards some sheep which were straggling from the flock.
 
“Fetch 'em back,” he said confidently.
 
The dog went off, and his master returned to the interior of the hut.
 
“We'll yard 'em early,” he said to himself; “the super won't know. We'll yard 'em early, and have the arternoon to ourselves.”
 
“We'll get dinner,” he added, glancing at some pots on the fire. “I cud do a bit of doughboy, an' that theer boggabri'll eat like tater-marrer along of the salt meat.” He moved one of the black buckets from the blaze. “I likes to keep it jist on the sizzle,” he said in explanation to himself; “hard bilin' makes it tough—I'll keep it jist a-simmerin'.”
 
Here his soliloquy was interrupted by the return of the dog.
 
“All right, Five Bob,” said the hatter, “dinner'll be ready dreckly. Jist keep yer eye on the sheep till I calls yer; keep 'em well rounded up, an' we'll yard 'em afterwards and have a holiday.”
 
This speech was accompanied by a gesture evidently intelligible⁹, for the dog retired¹⁰ as though he understood English, and the cooking proceeded.
 
“I'll take a pick an' shovel¹² with me an' root up that old blackfellow,” mused¹³ the shepherd, evidently following up a recent train of thought; “I reckon it'll do now. I'll put in the spuds.”
 
The last sentence referred to the cooking, the first to a blackfellow's grave about which he was curious.
 
“The sheep's a-campin',” said the soliloquizer, glancing through the door. “So me an' Five Bob'll be able to get our dinner in peace. I wish I had just enough fat to make the pan siss; I'd treat myself to a leather-jacket; but it took three weeks' skimmin' to get enough for them theer doughboys.”
 
In due time the dinner was dished up; and the old man seated himself on a block, with the lid of a gin-case across his knees for a table. Five Bob squatted¹⁴ opposite with the liveliest interest and appreciation¹⁵ depicted¹⁶ on his intelligent countenance¹⁷.
 
Dinner proceeded very quietly, except when the carver paused to ask the dog how some tasty morsel¹⁸ went with him, and Five Bob's tail declared that it went very well indeed.
 
“Here y'are, try this,” cried the old man, tossing him a large piece of doughboy. A click of Five Bob's jaws¹⁹ and the dough⁸ was gone.
 
“Clean into his liver!” said the old man with a faint smile. He washed up the tinware in the water the duff had been boiled in, and then, with the assistance of the dog, yarded the sheep.
 
This accomplished²⁰, he took a pick and shovel and an old sack, and started out over the ridge⁴, followed, of course, by his four-legged mate. After tramping some three miles he reached a spur, running out from the main ridge. At the extreme end of this, under some gum-trees, was a little mound²¹ of earth, barely defined in the grass, and indented²² in the centre as all blackfellows' graves were.
 
He set to work to dig it up, and sure enough, in about half an hour he bottomed on payable²³ dirt.
 
When he had raked up all the bones, he amused himself by putting them together on the grass and by speculating as to whether they had belonged to black or white, male or female. Failing, however, to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion, he dusted them with great care, put them in the bag, and started for home.
 
He took a short cut this time over the ridge and down a gully which was full of ring-barked trees and long white grass. He had nearly reached its mouth when a great greasy²⁴ black goanna clambered up a sapling from under his feet and looked fightable.
 
“Dang the jumpt-up thing!” cried the old man. “It 'gin me a start!”
 
At the foot of the sapling he espied²⁵ an object which he at first thought was the blackened carcass of a sheep, but on closer examination discovered to be the body of a man; it lay with its forehead resting on its hands, dried to a mummy by the intense heat of the western summer.
 
“Me luck's in for the day and no mistake!” said the shepherd, scratching the back of his head, while he took stock of the remains²⁶. He picked up a stick and tapped the body on the shoulder; the flesh sounded like leather. He turned it over on its side; it fell flat on its back like a board, and the shrivelled eyes seemed to peer up at him from under the blackened wrists.
 
He stepped back involuntarily, but, recovering himself, leant on his stick and took in all the ghastly details.
 
There was nothing in the blackened features to tell aught of name or race, but the dress proclaimed the remains to be those of a European. The old man caught sight of a black bottle in the grass, close beside the corpse²⁷. This set him thinking. Presently he knelt down and examined the soles of the dead man's blucher boots, and then, rising with an air of conviction, exclaimed: “Brummy! by gosh!—busted up at last!
 
“I tole yer so, Brummy,” he said impressively, addressing the corpse. “I allers told yer as how it 'ud be—an' here y'are, you thundering jumpt-up cuss-o'-God fool. Yer cud earn more'n any man in the colony, but yer'd lush it all away. I allers sed as how it 'ud end, an' now yer kin¹¹ see fur y'self.
 
“I spect yer was a-comin' t' me t' get fixt up an' set straight agin; then yer was a-goin' to swear off, same as yer 'allers did; an' here y'are, an' now I expect I'll have t' fix yer up for the last time an' make yer decent, for 'twon't do t' leave yer alyin' out here like a dead sheep.”
 
He picked up the corked²⁸ bottle and examined it. To his great surprise it was nearly full of rum.
 
“Well, this gits me,” exclaimed the old man; “me luck's in, this Christmas, an' no mistake. He must 'a' got the jams early in his spree, or he wouldn't be a-making for me with near a bottleful left. Howsomenever, here goes.”
 
Looking round, his eyes lit up with satisfaction as he saw some bits of bark which had been left by a party of strippers who had been getting bark there for the stations. He picked up two pieces, one about four and the other six feet long, and each about two feet wide, and brought them over to the body. He laid the longest strip by the side of the corpse, which he proceeded to lift on to it.
 
“Come on, Brummy,” he said, in a softer tone than usual, “ye ain't as bad as yer might be, considerin' as it must be three good months since yer slipped yer wind. I spect it was the rum as preserved yer. It was the death of yer when yer was alive, an' now yer dead, it preserves yer like—like a mummy.”
 
Then he placed the other strip on top, with the hollow side downwards—thus sandwiching the defunct²⁹ between the two pieces—removed the saddle-strap, which he wore for a belt, and buckled³⁰ it round one end, while he tried to think of something with which to tie up the other.
 
“I can't take any more strips off my shirt,” he said, critically examining the skirts of the old blue overshirt he wore. “I might get a strip or two more off, but it's short enough already. Let's see; how long have I been a-wearin' of that shirt; oh, I remember, I bought it jist two days afore Five Bob was pupped. I can't afford a new shirt jist yet; howsomenever, seein' it's Brummy, I'll jist borrow a couple more strips and sew 'em on agen when I git home.”
 
He up-ended Brummy, and placing his shoulder against the middle of the lower sheet of bark, lifted the corpse to a horizontal position; then, taking the bag of bones in his hand, he started for home.
 
“I ain't a-spendin' sech a dull Christmas arter all,” he reflected, as he plodded³¹ on; but he had not walked above a hundred yards when he saw a black goanna sidling into the grass.
 
“That's another of them theer dang things!” he exclaimed. “That's two I've seed this mornin'.”
 
Presently he remarked: “Yer don't smell none too sweet, Brummy. It must 'a' been jist about the middle of shearin' when yer pegged³² out. I wond............