"He's none too welcome," said Anderson, thinking of his horses and cows. Mother agreed with him, while Mrs. Maloney repeated over and over again that she was always under the impression that Mick Donovan was in gaol along with his bad old father. Dad was uncommunicative. There was something on his mind. He waited till the company had gone, then consulted with Dave.
They were outside, in the dark, and leant on the dray. Dad said in a low voice: "He's come a hundred mile to-day, 'n' his horse is dead-beat, 'n' he wants one t' take him t' Back Creek t'-morrer 'n' leave this one in his place. . . . Wot d' y' think?" Dave seemed to think a great deal, for he said nothing.
"Now," continued Dad, "it's me opinion the horse is n't his; it s one he's shook—an' I've an idea." Then he proceeded to instruct Dave in the idea. A while later he called Joe and drilled him in the idea.
That night, young Donovan stayed at Shingle Hut. In the morning Dad was very affable. He asked Donovan to come and show him his horse, as he must see it before thinking of exchanging. They proceeded to the paddock together. The horse was standing under a tree, tired-looking. Dad stood and looked at Donovan for fully half-a-minute without speaking.
"Why, damn it!" he exclaimed, at last, "that 's my own horse. . . You don't mean ... S' help me!
