"What are they like, Eustace?" he asked, as the latter, in a few short, sharp props, reined up beside the trap.
"Not bad stuff, Governor — some good growers — a few brindles among them."
"What should they be worth in a couple of years, Eustace?”’
"A couple of years?" And the head stockman pulled thoughtfully at his horse’s mane, and toyed the stirrup irons with the toes of his boots. "That’s pretty hard to say.... they might be worth a fiver.... and they might be all dead by that time! Depends on the seasons."
"The seasons will be all right," the Governor chuckled confidently, and starting the trap again, drove rapidly around the mob and interviewed the drover.
And while they talked mother sat silently reflecting on Eustace’s words: "They all might be dead by that time."
Returning to the homestead the Governor was elated.
"Five pounds a head in two years means a profit of six thousand my dear.... the natural increase on the run by that time will leave another four thousand, about ten thousand in five years.... in twenty years, an Australian cattle king and millionaire - a blooming multi-millionaire, Dorrie."
"Then, Edward, you don't think what Eustace said -"
“To Hong Kong with Eustace. He ought to have his head cut off and given to the blacks.... why,
