THE ROMANCE OF RUNNIBEDE ad
sat for a moment or two, riding as the crowd ‘“‘ride”’ on the grandstands at a race meeting. I managed to reach far enough out of the saddle to drop my rail, and out bounded Whitewings; and off round the stable and down the home paddock we went, like Dick Turpin and Black Bess. Ted, though, essaying to follow my example, wasn’t so successful. Wai- laroo Jumped back when he reached out for the rail, and he fell over her shoulder on to his head. “‘ Wait, wait for me, Jim,’’ I heard him shout. But I could- n't lose any more time. Besides, I wanted to be the first to meet the mob and do some ‘‘stoek-riding.”’ All the same, I was searecly abreast of the cattle yards when I heard him coming in the wake of me, erashing through the broom-bush and _ stunted wattles, lashing into Wallaroo with the double of a saddle strap, and shouting, ‘‘I can see them crossin’ the creek!’’ Up to that I had a pretty good hold of Whitewings, and was keeping a sharp eye on the saplings and overhanging limbs. But when Wallaroo came rompiny up alongside of me, I let her go. Then neek to neck we raced—and a mad, harum-scarum go it was, but only what you'd expect from 4 pair of excited kids who were beginning to fancy themselves in the saddle. And knowing really nothing, we didn't fear anything. So we hustled and jostled, and bumped into each other, taking everything hefore us, and shooting between saplings and solid old gums and coolibahs that might have smashed us te pieces had the ponies misjudged the spaces by ea foot be- tween any of them,
Across the point of the sand ridge and past the
