John Arthur Barry

Steve Brown's Bunyip, and Other Stories John Arthur Barry

The general opinion of those who felt called upon to give it was that Steve Brown, of the Scrubby Corner, 'wasn't any chop.'Not that, on the surface, there seemed much evidence confirmatory of such a verdict-rather, indeed, the contrary. If a traveller, drover or teamster lost his stock, Steve, after a long and arduous search, was invariably the first man to come across the missing animals-provided the reward was high enough. Yet, in spite of this useful gift of discovery, its owner was neither liked nor trusted. Uncharitable people-especially the ones whom he took such trouble to oblige-would persist in hinting that none knew so well where to find as those that hid. All sorts of odds and ends, too, from an unbranded calf to a sheepskin, from a new tarpaulin to a pair of 2hobbles, had a curious knack of disappearing within a circuit of fifty miles of the Browns' residence. In appearance, Steve was long, lathy, awkward and freckled, also utterly ignorant of all things good for man to know. Suspicious, sly and unscrupulous, just able by a sort of instinct to decipher a brand on an animal, he was a thorough specimen of the very worst type of far inland Australian Bush Native, and only those who have met him can possibly imagine what that means.