Red Mick and His Sheep Dogs

When Hugh came home one day with his face, as usual, full of trouble,
Mary began to laugh him out of it.

"Well, Mr. Hugh, which is it to-day--the Doyles or the Donohoes?
Have they been stealing sheep or breaking gates?"

"Oh, it's all very well for you to laugh," he said; "you don't
understand. Some of that gang up the river went into the stud paddock
yesterday to cut down a tree for a bee's nest, and left the tree
burning; might have set the whole run--forty thousand acres of dry
grass--in a blaze. Then they drove their dray against the gate,
knocking it sideways, and a lot of the stud sheep got out into the
other paddock, and I'll have to be off at day-break to-morrow to
get 'em back."

"Why don't you summon the wretches, and have them put in gaol, or
go and break their gates, and cut down their trees?" she said, with
a cheerful ignorance of details.

"I daren't--simply daren't. If I summoned one of them, I'd never
have dry grass but there'd be fires. I'd never have fat sheep but
there'd be dogs among 'em. They ride all over the run; but if a bird
belonging to the station flew over one of their selections they'd
summon me for trespass. There's no end to the injury a spiteful
neighbour can do you in this sort of country. And your father would
blame me."

"Why?"

"Oh, it's part of the management of a station to get on with your
neighbours. Never quarrel if you can help it. But since shearing
troubles started we have no friends at all."