Bobs was dancing with impatience, and she
walked him round and round, keeping an eye on her cousin.
A steady brown mare had been saddled for Cecil--one of the "general
utility" horses to be found on every station. He cast a critical eye
over her as he approached, glancing from her to the horses of his uncle
and cousin. Brown Betty was a thoroughly good stamp of a stock horse,
with plenty of quality; while not, perhaps, of the class of Monarch and
Bobs, she was by no means a mount to be despised. That Cecil
disapproved of her, however, was evident. There was a distinct curl on
his lip as he gathered up the reins. However, he mounted without a
word, and they set off in pursuit of Murty O'Toole, the head stockman,
who was already halfway to the cutting-out paddock.
The Clover Paddock of Billabong was famous--a splendid stretch of
perfect green, where the cattle moved knee-deep in fragrant blossoming
clovers, with pink and white flowers starring the wide expanse. At one
end it was gently undulating plain, towards the other it came down in a
gradual slope to the river, where tall gums gave an evergreen shelter
from winter gales or summer heat. The cattle were under them as the
riders came up--great, splendid Shorthorns, the aristocracy of their
kind, their roan sides sleek, their coats in perfect condition, and a
sprinkling of smaller bullocks whose inferiority in size was
compensated by their amazing fatness.
Pages:
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66