It's the same every year--when the wild geese come the blacks have got to go, and it's no use talkin'.

So I was slavin' away here--out all day on the run with the cattle--and one night I comes home after being out three days, and there at the foot of the bunk was the two gins' trousers and shirts, folded up; they'd run away with the others.
"So I goes after 'em down the river to the lagoons, and there was hundreds of blacks; but these two beauties had heard me coming, and was planted in the reeds, and the other blacks, of course, they says, "No more" when I arst them.

So there I was, lonely.

Only me and the Chinaman here for two months, 'cause his gin had gone too.

So one day I ketches the horses, and off I goes, and travels for days, till I makes Pike's pub, and there was this woman.
"It seems from what I heard afterwards that she'd just cleared out from some fellow she'd been livin' with for years--had a quarrel with him.
Anyhow, I hadn't seen a white woman for years, and she was a fine lump of a woman, and I got on a bit of a spree for a week or so, you know--half-tight all the time; and it seems some sort of a parson--a mish'nary to the blacks--chanced along and married us.