," said Sax. "I like it."

"Wish I did," growled the other. "I'll just begin to like it when it's
all over, and these beggars are in the yard."

The mounted men rode slowly to and fro around the cattle for an hour or
two. Some of them got over their fright sufficiently to lie down,
others stood about in groups and nosed one another and murmured
quietly. About noon the drover whistled to his boys, and a move was
made towards the yards. This time they were not rushed forward in a
mob. A few of the quietest were cut off and driven in first. They
went through the gates without any trouble. Then a few more, followed
by others till the thousand cattle were safely behind the great gates.

"Now we'll have a drink of tea, and then we'll truck them," said the
drover, dismounting from his horse and taking off the saddle. He
turned to the black boys. "Take um your horses little yard belonga Mr.
Archer," he said, pointing towards the town. "Give um plenty tucker,
water. Come back quick-fella! Which way Yarloo sit down?"

At the name Yarloo, Sax looked up quickly. Surely that was the name
given by the messenger who handed Boss Stobart's note to the boy in the
middle of the night. The blacks laughed at the drover's question, and
one of them pointed towards the troughs. "Him tummel aller same
kangaroo," he said, with a grin, making movements with his body like a
man being flung off a horse. "Him come down cropper, I think," and he
rubbed the back of his head and made grimaces which caused the others
to laugh heartily. A black-fellow is always highly amused at an
accident.

Two figures were coming over from the troughs. Sax recognized one as
Vaughan. The other was limping slightly. It was Yarloo, the boy who
had been thrown from his horse. He had got a job with the drover the
morning after the delivery of his midnight message to Saxon Stobart,
and, because he was a stranger, his fellow stockmen took a great
delight in limping about and imitating him.

"So that's how you got your ride," said the drover. "How did you catch
the horse?"

Sax told him, and the drover remarked: "I'm glad you did. Nothing
stirs things up so much as a saddled horse with nobody on him. You and
your mate had better have a drink of tea with me. By the way, what do
they call you?"

"That chap's name's Vaughan," answered Sax. "Mine's Stobart."

"What? Stobart? Same name as Boss Stobart?"

"Yes. He's my father."

For a mome