let your horse go as fast as he likes, and trust him
altogether. Don't pull him at all, or he'll break your neck."

They started slowly in Indian file, keeping well in the shadow of the
scrub. The horses picked their way through the outlying saplings and
bushes, until suddenly Considine bent forward on his horse's neck, and
said, "Come on!"

What a ride that was! The inexperienced reader is apt to imagine that
because a plain is level, it is smooth, but no greater fallacy exists.
The surface of a plain is always bad galloping. The rain washes away the
soil from between the tussocks, which stand up like miniature mountains;
the heat cracks the ground till it opens in crevices, sometimes a foot
wide and a yard or two deep; fallen saplings lie hidden in the shadows
to trip the horse, while the stumps stand up to cripple him, and over
all is the long grass hiding all perils, and making the horse risk his
own neck and his master's at every stride.

They flew along in the moonlight, Considine leading, Charlie next, then
the two black boys, and then Carew, with a black gin on each side
of him, racing in grim silence. The horses blundered and "peeked,"
stumbled, picked themselves up again, always seeming to have a leg to
spare. Now and again a stump or a gaping crack in the ground would flash
into view under their very nose, but they cleared everything--stumps,
tussocks, gaps, and saplings.

In less time than it takes to write, they were between the mob and the
scrub; at once a fusillade of whips rang out, and the men started to
ride round the cattle in Indian file. The wild ones were well mixed
up with the tame, and hardly knew which way to turn. Carew, cantering
round, caught glimpses of them rushing hither and thither--small, wiry
cattle for the most part, with big ears and sharp, spear-pointed
horns. Of these there were fifty or sixty, as near as Considine could
judge--three or four bulls, a crowd of cows and calves and half-grown
animals, and a few old bullocks that had left the station mobs and
thrown in their lot with the wild ones.

By degrees, as the horses went round them, the cattle began to "ring,"
forming themselves into a compact mass, those on the outside running
round and round. All the time the whips were going, and the shrill
cries of the blacks rang out, "Whoa back! Whoa back, there! Whoa!" as an
animal attempted to break from the mob. They were gradually forcing the
beasts away from the scrub, when sud