in loose
flannels; already the legs of the trousers had worked up from his low
shoes, disclosing a vision of brilliant sock. Cecil took no notice.

"Hallo, there! Shtop a minnit! Who put y' on Bobs?"

"Mind your own business," said Cecil, between his teeth, looking round.

"My business, is it? Sure, 'tis my business, if 'tis anny man's on
Billabong! Did Miss Norah say y' could ride her pony?"

"What's that to you?"

"Be gob!" said Murty, "'tis more to me than it is to you, seein' 'tis
meself knows Miss Norah's feelin's an' disposition about Bobs! Did she
give y' leave? Tell me, or I'll pull y' off, if y' was the Boss' nevvy
ten times over!"

"WILL you?" Cecil spat the words at him bitterly. He shook the reins,
and Bobs, impatient enough already, broke into a canter that carried
him away from the good friend who had intervened on his behalf. They
shot across the paddock.

Murty, left helpless, said a few strong things as he looked after the
retreating pair.

"It's a guinea to a gooseberry he's taken Frinch lave wid him," he
said, "bitther tongued little whipper-snapper that he is! Sure if Bobs
gets rid av him it'll serve him sorry, so 'twill. But phwat'll I do
about it, at all?" He scratched his head reflectively. "If I go over
'twill only worry Miss Norah to hear--an' it's most likely he'll have
enough av it pretty soon, an' the pony'll come home--an I do not care if
he comes home widout him! I'll lave it be f'r awhile." He went slowly
over to the stockyards.

Cecil, cantering over the grass with Bobs' perfect stride beneath him,
was, for the moment, completely satisfied with himself. He had routed
the enemy in the first engagement, and, if he had not left him
speechless, at least he had had the last word. Murty and he had been at
daggers drawn from the very first day, when the grinning Irishman had
pulled him out of the wild raspberry clump in the cutting-out paddock;
and the cheerful friendliness with which Jim and Norah treated the
stockman had always irritated him. He was exceedingly pleased that on
this occasion he had scored at his expense.

Where should he go? There were three gates leading out of the home
paddock--one to the Cunjee road; another to a similar well-cleared plain
to that on which the house stood; and a third into a smaller paddock,
which in its turn led into part of the rougher and steeper part of the
run. Cecil wanted to get out of sight quickly. In his mind there was a
half-formed i