with posts and wires dwindling into perspective
on either side to mark the eastern frontier of Big Bushy.

VIII

THE KIND OF LIFE

"Now what do we do, Mr. Ives?"

He had shut the gate and joined her on a sandy eminence, whence Moya was
seeking to prove the excellence of her eyesight at the very outset. But
the paddock had not got its name for nothing; it was overrun with the
sombre scrub, short and thick as lichen on a rock; and from the open
spaces no sheep swam into Moya's ken.

"Turn sharp to the left, and follow the fence," replied the jackeroo.

"But I can't see a solitary sheep!"

"No, because you're looking slap into the paddock; that's the ground the
others are going over, and they've already cleared it as far as we can
see for the scrub. Each man takes his own line of country from this gate
to the one opposite--seven miles away--and collects every hoof on the
way. My line is the left-hand fence. Got to keep it in sight, and drive
everything down it, and right round to the gate."

"Well, my line is yours," said Moya, smiling; and they struck off
together from the track.

"It's the long way round, but we can't miss it," said Ives; "all we have
to do is to hug the fence. Slightly inglorious, but I'd rather that than
make a fool of myself in the middle."

"Is it so very difficult to ride straight through the bush?"

"The most difficult thing in the world. Why, only the other week----"

"I see some!"

The girl was pointing with her riding-switch, to make other use of it
next instant. Her mount, a shaggy-looking roan mare, as yet imperfectly
appreciated by Moya, proved unexpectedly open to persuasion, and found
her gallop in a stride. Ives followed, though he could see nothing but
sand and saltbush in the direction indicated. Sheep there were, however,
and a fair mob of them, whose behaviour was worthy of their kind. In all
docility they stood until the last instant, then broke into senseless
stampede, with the horses at their stubby tails.

"Round them up," cried Ives, "but look out! That mare can turn in her
own length, and will when they do!"

The warning was timely to the very second: almost simultaneously the
sheep doubled, and round spun both horses as in the air. Moya jerked and
swayed, but kept her seat. Ives headed the mob for the fence, and for
the moment the nonsense was out of them.

"Bravo, Miss Bethune!" said he. "You'll make a better bushman than ever
I should."

Moya clo