Nearly Every Week I Would Ride Into Coolgardie For Stores, And Walk Out
Again Leading The Loaded Packhorse, Our Faithful Little Chestnut "Brumby,"
I.E., Half-Wild Pony, Of Which There Are Large Herds Running In The Bush
Near The Settled Parts Of The Coast.
A splendid little fellow this, a true
type of his breed, fit for any amount of work and hardship.
As often as
not he would do his journey into Coolgardie (twenty-five miles), be tied
up all night without a feed or drink - or as long as I had to spend there
on business - and return again loaded next morning. Chaff and oats were
then almost unprocurable, and however kind-hearted he might be, a poor
man could hardly afford a shilling a gallon to water his horse. On these
occasions I made my quarters at Bayley's mine, where a good solid meal and
the pleasant company of Messrs. Browne and Lyon always awaited me. Several
times in their generosity these good fellows spared a gallon or two of
precious water for the old pony.
They have a funny custom in the West of naming horses after their
owners - thus the chestnut is known to this day as "Little Carnegie."
Sometimes they are named after the men from whom they are bought. This
practice, when coach-horses are concerned, has its laughable side, and
passengers unacquainted with the custom may be astonished to hear all
sorts of oaths and curses, or words of entreaty and encouragement,
addressed to some well-known name - and they might be excused for thinking
the driver's mind was a little unhinged, or that in his troubles and
vexations he was calling on some prominent citizen, in the same way that
knights of old invoked their saints.
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