eye over the little mob
standing in groups about the enclosure--a dozen stock horses; the big
pair of greys that were used in the covered buggy or the express wagon;
the brown ponies that Norah drove; his own mount Betty, and Wally's
mare Nan; and then the aristocrats, Garryowen and, last of all, Bobs.
Norah's pony was standing near an old black horse for which he had a
great affection. They were nearly always to be found together in the
yards or paddocks. Even unbrushed as he was, the sunlight rippled on
his bay coat when he moved, showing the hard masses of muscle in his
arched neck.

"Beauty, ain't he?" It was Mick Shanahan, on his way to another paddock
to bring in some colts. He pulled up beside Cecil, the youngster he was
riding sidling impatiently.

"Yes, he's a nice pony," said Cecil, without enthusiasm.

"Well, I've seen a few, but he beats 'em all," said the horsebreaker.
"A ringer from the time he was a foal--and he's only improved since I
first handled him, four year ago. Worth a pot of money that pony is!"
He laughed. "Not as his particular owner'd sell him, I reckon. Miss
Norah acts more by that chap than by anything else she's got!"

"I suppose so," Cecil said, seeing that he waited for a reply.

"Yes, my word! Take 'em all round, they'd be hard to beat as a pair,"
said Mick, lighting his pipe in apparent ignorance that his horse was
indulging in caracoles that appeared likely to end in a bucking
demonstration. He threw the match away after carefully extinguishing
it, and puffed out a cloud of smoke. "Quiet, y' image, can't y'? Who's
hurtin' y'? Well, I must be goin'--so long." Cecil nodded casually, and
the impatient pupil went off in a series of bounds that struck the city
boy as alarming, although Mick did not appear to notice that his mount
was not walking demurely.

Several other men came to the stockyard, selected each a horse, and
saddled it, and disappeared in various directions. The old black horse,
Bob's mate, was taken by Joe Burton, who harnessed him into a dray that
stood near, loaded up a number of fence rails, and drove off over the
paddock, evidently to a job of repairing some boundary. Cecil watched
them crawl across the plain, until they were only a speck on the grass.
Then he turned his sullen eyes on Bobs, who, left alone, had come
nearer to the fence where he sat, and was sleepily flicking with his
tail at an intrusive fly, which insisted on walking round his hip.
Cecil stared