‘Why, yes, sir; he seems hearty enough. But I’m no judge of sheep.’
‘S’pose ye wouldna care about givin’ 700 guineas for him, eh,
Edwards?’ chuckled M‘Pherson.
‘No, sir,’ replied the landlord with emphasis, ‘I’m damned if I
would.’
‘Ha, ha!’ laughed the other, as he drove into the yard, ‘and yet, mon,
I wouldna swap him for the auld “Woolpack.” Come,’ he added
impatiently, ‘unlock the door an’ let us hae a look at His Grace.’
By this time there was quite a crowd on the scene. A couple of stock
and station agents, a bank manager, the P.M., some drovers, everybody,
in fact, who thought they knew a sheep from a goat, had assembled to
have a look at ‘the big ram.’
‘Keep awa’ frae the door,’ quoth M‘Pherson. ‘Ye’ll all be able to hae
a good sight o’ him presently. Let him come right out into the yaird,
Edwards.’
As he finished, up the lane of spectators stalked a nondescript kind
of animal, at which M‘Pherson just glanced, and then sang out to
Edwards, appearing in the doorway,—
‘Ye never tauld me there was twa. Whaur’s the ither?’
‘There’s only the one, sir,’ answered the landlord. ‘That’s he.’
‘What!’ and M‘Pherson fairly gasped as he stared at the brute,
which—from the muleish head, down the sparsely ‘broken woolled’ back,
and slab-sided flanks, to the bare, kangaroo-like legs—bore the
impress all over of ‘rank cull.’
Then turning to the grinning landlord, and with accent intensified by
excitement, he shouted, ‘What’s yon thing? Whaur’s my ram? D’ye think
I ped my money for sic a brute as that? What ha’ ye done wi’ the
“Duke”? If this is a wee bit joke o’ yer ain, Mister Edwards, time’s
up, I do assure ye, sir.’ And he advanced threateningly towards the
publican, who nimbly retreated into the crowd, whilst protesting,—
‘I can swear to you, sir, that’s the very same sheep Jack Burns
brought in the coach this mornin’. I helped to take him out, an’ I sez
to Jack, “Well, he ain’t much to look at, Jack;” and Jack, he sez,
“No, that he ain’t. I think the trip must have haffected him; he seems
to have felled away sence we put him in at the railway.”’
‘Tak’ me to the villain,’ groaned M‘Pherson, ‘till I get to the bottom
of this de’il’s cantrip!’
Followed by quite a procession, they passed to a little room, where
the driver lay sleeping off the fatigues of the previous night.
‘Hi!’ yelled the squatter, shaking him. ‘What ha’ ye done wi’ my ram,
ye rascal?’