Tommy Was Poor, Old, And Footsore, The Most Wonderful Horse For His Size In Harness I Ever Saw. Badger, His

Mate, was a big ambling cob, able to carry a ton, but the greatest slug of a horse, I ever

Came across; he seems absolutely to require flogging as a tonic; he must be flogged out of camp, and flogged into it again, mile after mile, day after day, from water and to it. He was now, as usual, at the tail of the straggling mob, except Gibson's former riding-horse called Trew. He was an excellent little horse, but now so terribly footsore he could scarcely drag himself along; he was one of six best of the lot. If I put them in their order I should say, Banks, the Fair Maid of Perth, Trew, Guts (W.A.), Diaway, Blackie and Darkie, Widge, the big cob Buggs - the flea-bitten grey - Bluey, Badger, who was a fine ambling saddle-horse, and Tommy; the rest might range anyhow. The last horse of all was the poor little shadow of a cob, the harness-mate of the one killed at Elder's Creek. On reaching the stones this poor little ghost fell, never again to rise. We could give him no relief, we had to push on. Guts gave in on the stones; I let him go and walked to the water. I need scarcely say how thirsty we all were. On reaching the water, and wasting no time, Mr. Tietkens and I returned to the three fallen horses, taking with us a supply of water, and using the Fair Maid, Widge, Formby, and Darkie; we went as fast as the horses could go.

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