runk. Vat for
you gum by my house mit a seely cock mit der bull shtory at dis hour of
der night?"

"It's only too true, Mr Buckolts," said Ben. "I wish to God it wasn't."

"You've got der yoomps, Pen. Go to der poomp and poomp on your head and
den turn in someveers till ter morning. I tells von of der pot's to gif
you a nip and show you a poonk. Vy! I trink mit Shack Denver not twelf
hour ago!"

But Ben persisted: "I'm not drunk, Mr Buckolts, and I ain't got
the horrors--I wish to God I was an' had. Poor Jack was killed near
Anderson's, riding home, about six o'clock."

Though Ben couldn't see him, he could feel and hear by his tones, that
old Buckolts sat up in bed suddenly.

"_Mein Gott_! How did it happen, Pen?"

Ben told him.

"Ven and veer voss der funeral?"

Ben told him.

"Frett! Shonny! Villie! Sharley!" shouted the old man at the top of his
voice to the boys sleeping in the old house. "Get up and pring all der
light horses in from der patticks, and gif dem a goot feet mit plenty
corn; and get der double-parrelled puggy ant der sinkle puggy and der
three spring carts retty. 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 match