old sawpit we fairly flew, then rounding the wild lime trees, swooped right in amongst the leaders of the coming mob....Surprise! Gad! What the old Governor and the stockmen thought when they caught sight of us, I don’t know! But I do know that we fouled a number of startled calves that jumped in our way, and only the cleverness of the ponies saved us from coming to grief over the top of them. Then, in our flight we cut off a two-year-old bull, a brindle brute they were bringing in to unsex, that had been breaking from the mob on every opportunity and giving a lot of trouble. He was better conditioned, of course, than the cows, and was pretty flash, and fretting to get back to his own mob—a mixed lot that ran on Dingo Creek, a short branch of the Myall. Anyway, as soon as we dashed between him and the mob he up with his tail and away. Then, to hear the shouts of the Governor and the stockmen! But what they were shouting for we had no idea, and didn’t wait to ascertain. We had come to meet them and to do some stock-riding. And here was our chance to show what we were made of. So, lurching the ponies almost off their feet, and in a cloud of dust, we turned at right angles and took after that bull. Then more yells—yells of great profanity went up on the wind, and Husiace and Wara- bah spurred their horses in pursuit of the bull, and of us. But we wanted no help—we were out to head the brute and return him to the mob alone and unassisted.
Riding wide and all over the ponies, we drew on to him on either side — Ted on the near, and I on the
