he hut they had been: for Moya
said nothing at all.

"And now you shall see a count-out," cried Rigden, in better spirits
than ever, "as soon as we've boxed the mobs."

"Boxed them!" cried Moya. "Where?"

"Joined them, I mean. To think of your coming mustering of your own
accord, Moya!"

His voice had fallen; she did not lower hers.

"It's one of the most interesting days I ever had," she informed all
within hearing; "now let me see the end of it, and I'll go back happy."

The adjective was not convincing, but Rigden would not let it dishearten
him. The very fact of her presence was the end of his despair.

"I met one of our rabbiters, and arranged for tea at his tent," he said.
"He little expects a lady, but you'll have to come."

The prospect had material attractions which Moya was much too honest to
deny. "Then make haste and count!" was what she said.

And that followed which appealed to Moya more than all that had gone
before. The gate gaped wide, and Rigden on foot put his back to one
post. The rest kept their saddles, and began gently rounding up the mob,
till it formed a pear-shaped island of consolidated wool, with the
headland stretching almost to Rigden's feet. He turned and beckoned to
the jackeroo.

"Tally, Ives!"

"Tally, sir," the jackeroo rejoined, and urged his horse to the front.
He had managed to drift back to Moya's side, to ensure her complete
appreciation of a manoeuvre he delighted in, but at the word of command
he was gone without a glance, and visible responsibility settled on his
rigid shoulders.

Real dogs kept the mob together, but the head stood stubborn at the
gate, with none to lead the way till Rigden touched the foremost fleece
with his toe and the race began. Slowly and singly at the start, as the
first grains slip through the hour-glass; by wondering twos and threes,
as the reluctant leaders were seen alive and well in the farther
paddock; thereafter by the dozen abreast, so far as the ordinary eye
could judge; but Rigden was the only one that knew, as he stood in the
gateway, beating time to the stampede with raised forefinger, and
nodding it with bent head.

"Hundred!" he called after the first half-minute, and "hundred!" in
quarter of a minute more, while Ives raised a hand each time and played
five-finger exercises with the other hand upon his thigh. At the same
time Rigden vanished in a yellow cloud, whence his voice came quicker
and thicker, crying hundred after