'BRUMMY USEN'
We caught up with an old swagman crossing the plain, and tramped along with him till we came to good shade to have a smoke in. We had got yarning about men getting lost in the bush or going away and being reported dead.
'Yes,' said the old 'whaler,' as he dropped his swag in the shade, sat down on it, and felt for his smoking tackle, 'there's scarcely an old bushman alive―or dead, for the matter of that―who hasn't been dead a few times in his life―or reported dead, which amounts to the same thing for awhile. In my time there was as many live men in the bush who was supposed to be dead as there was dead men who was supposed to be alive―though it's the other way about now―what with so many jackaroos tramping about out back and getting lost in the dry country that they don't know anything about, and dying within a few yards of water sometimes. But even now, whenever I hear that an old bush mate of mine is dead, I don't fret about it or put a black band round my hat, because I know he'll be pretty sure to turn up sometime, pretty bad with the booze, and want to borrow half-a-crown.
'I've been dead a few times myself, and found out
