ock-strewed hills of Broken Creek.

It was not more than an hour when we got up to the cattle. We could hear
them a good while before we saw them. 'My word,' said Jim, 'ain't they
restless. They can't have come far, or they wouldn't roar so. Where can
the old man have "touched" for them?'

'How should I know?' I said roughly. I had a kind of idea, but I thought
he would never be so rash.

When we got up I could see the cattle had been rounded up in a flat with
stony ridges all round. There must have been three or four hundred of
them, only a man and a boy riding round and wheeling them every now and
then. Their horses were pretty well knocked up. I knew father at once,
and the old chestnut mare he used to ride--an animal with legs like
timbers and a mule rump; but you couldn't tire her, and no beast that
ever was calved could get away from her. The boy was a half-caste that
father had picked up somewhere; he was as good as two men any day.

'So you've come at last,' growled father, 'and a good thing too. I
didn't expect to be here till to-morrow morning. The dog came home, I
suppose--that's what brought you here, wasn't it? I thought the infernal
cattle would beat Warrigal and me, and we'd have all our trouble for
nothing.'

'Whose cattle are they, and what are you going to do with them?'

'Never you mind; ask no questions, and you'll see all about it
to-morrow. I'll go and take a snooze now; I've had no sleep for three
nights.'

With our fresh horses and riding round so we kept the cattle easily
enough. We did not tell Warrigal he might go to rest, not thinking a
half-caste brat like him wanted any. He didn't say anything, but went to
sleep on his horse, which walked in and out among the angry cattle as he
sat on the saddle with his head down on the horse's neck. They sniffed
at him once or twice, some of the old cows, but none of them horned him;
and daylight came rather quicker than one would think.

Then we saw whose cattle they were; they had all Hunter's and Falkland's
brands on, which showed that they belonged to Banda and Elingamah
stations.

'By George!' says Jim, 'they're Mr. Hunter's cattle, and all these
circle dots belong to Banda. What a mob of calves! not one of them
branded! What in the world does father intend to do with them?'

Father was up, and came over where we stood with our horses in our hands
before we had time to say more. He wasn't one of those that slept after
daylight, whether he