The old man cleared his throat loudly, and repeated: "“Down near Dalgety they found a dead tailor.”
Sounds in the pub softened as the
regular patrons turned to look at the stranger. The old man coughed as he cut
some tobacco to fill his pipe.
dead man’s saddle they found bags containing silk, thread, scissors, tape
measures, thimbles, needles, and a light colored colonial tweed vest, half
made. They also found enough coin in his pockets to buy a couple of loaves of
bread and some tea. They would have us believe he was a pauper, this bloke.
Without so much as a knife to cut his tobacco.”
him the Long Tailor. They
suppose he died one warm Thursday afternoon near the Snowy River, on the road
to the high country, in the Summer of 1867.”
“They held an
inquiry, on a Sunday would you believe. At a sheep station up in the mountains.
The police magistrate rode down from Cooma with a doctor. He said the death was
“But he knew
it was not so. I heard him say as much. Don’t believe everything you hear. The
Long Tailor did not die the way they tell. I know what really happened, because I was there.”
“Draw close. Keep
my schooner full. And I will tell you what really happened to the Long Tailor
and all his gold and his woman. The man who called himself Jemmy, the warrigal”.
(you can keep following this story by clicking the links at the bottom of each of these chapters)