Ignominious perhaps, but safe, and safety counts for something in
this world; anyway, for the poor craven souls. Riding is one thing; but
crashing through timber and undergrowth, dodging overhanging branches,
leaping fallen logs, and stumbling and plunging over crab-holed and
rat-burrowed areas, to say nothing of charging bulls turning up at
unexpected corners, is quite another story.
"Not cut out for the job," was Dan's verdict, and the Maluka covered my
retreat by saying that he had more than enough to do without taking part
in the rounding up of cattle. Had mustering been one of a manager's
duties, I'm afraid the house would have "come in handy" to pack the dog
away in with its chain.
As the yard of the Springs came into view, we were making plans for the
morrow, and admiring the fine mattress swinging before us on the tails of
the cattle; but there were cattle buyers at the Springs who upset all our
plans, and left no time for the bang-tailing of the mob in hand.
The buyers were Chinese drovers, authorised by their Chinese masters to
buy a mob of bullocks.
