With the first two or three this
was not quite easy: but once a few were together they gave little
trouble, feeding about calmly: and generally a bullock cut out from the
main body would trot quite readily across to the others.
Privately, Cecil Linton thought it remarkably dull work. All that he
had read of station life was unlike this. He had had visions of far
more exciting doings--mad gallops and wild cattle, thoroughbred horses,
kangaroo hunts and a score of other delights. Instead, all he had to do
was to tail after a lot of sleepy bullocks and then watch them sorted
out by some men whose easy-going ways were unlike anything he had
imagined. He had no small opinion of his riding, and he yearned for
distinction. The very sight of Norah, leaning a little forward,
keenness on every line of her face, was an offence to him. He could see
nothing whatever to be keen about. Yawning, he lit a cigarette.
Just then a bullock was cut out and pointed in the way he should go. He
lumbered easily past black Billy, apparently quite contented with his
fate; and Billy, seeing another following, gave a crack of his whip to
speed him on his way, and turned to deal with the newcomer. The first
bullock became immediately seized with a spirit of mischief. He
flourished his heels in the air, turned at right angles and made off
towards the river at a gallop.
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