and
riding he'd picked up the wrong end of the habits of both sides. Father
used to set snares for the brush kangaroo and the bandicoots, like he'd
been used to do for the hares in the old country. We could always manage
to have some kind of game hanging up. It kept us amused too.

But I don't know whatever we should have done, that month we stayed
there, at the first--we were never so long idle again--without the
horses. We used to muster them twice a week, run 'em up into the big
receiving yard, and have a regular good look over 'em till we knew every
one of 'em like a book.

Some of 'em was worth looking at, my word! 'D'ye see that big upstanding
three-year-old dark bay filly, with a crooked streak down her face,'
Starlight would say, 'and no brand but your father's on. Do you know her
name? That's young Termagant, a daughter of Mr. Rouncival's racing mare
of the same name that was stolen a week before she was born, and her dam
was never seen alive again. Pity to kill a mare like that, wasn't it?
Her sire was Repeater, the horse that ran the two three-mile heats with
Mackworth, in grand time, too.' Then, again, 'That chestnut colt with
the white legs would be worth five hundred all out if we could sell
him with his right name and breeding, instead of having to do without a
pedigree. We shall be lucky if we get a hundred clear for him. The black
filly with the star--yes, she's thoroughbred too, and couldn't have been
bought for money. Only a month old and unbranded, of course, when your
father and Warrigal managed to bone the old mare. Mr. Gibson offered 50
Pounds reward, or 100 Pounds on conviction. Wasn't he wild! That big bay
horse, Warrior, was in training for a steeplechase when I took him out
of Mr. King's stable. I rode him 120 miles before twelve next day. Those
two browns are Mr. White's famous buggy horses. He thought no man could
get the better of him. But your old father was too clever. I believe he
could shake the devil's own four-in-hand--(coal black, with manes and
tails touching the ground, and eyes of fire, some German fellow says
they are)--and the Prince of Darkness never be the wiser. The pull of it
is that once they're in here they're never heard of again till it's time
to shift them to another colony, or clear them out and let the buyer
take his chance.'

'You've some plums here,' I said. 'Even the cattle look pretty well
bred.'

'Always go for pedigree stock, Fifteenth Duke notwithstanding.