“He’s mad,” said Whip, “stark crazy,” as he watched horse and man and beasts shoot headlong out into the valley, and turn and gallop down it.
“Where did you boys get to?” said Steve, grinning as the other two cantered in. “Get to?” said Whip. “I know where you dash near got to, an’ that’s a place hotter’n anything roun’ here.”
“You’ll break your silly neck one o’ these days,” grumbled Never-Never.
“And what if?” said Steve, lightly. “What’s a neck more or less, anyway?”
“Not much to you, maybe,” grunted Whip, “but I’d rather keep mine to be hanged with.”
All the stock that were gathered were drifted slowly down the valley till nearly dark, and steadied down and halted while the men lit their fires and made their camp.
It had been a suffocatingly hot day, and now after dark they could hear the faint growl of thunder back in the hills and see the flicker of lightning. The cattle were restless, and for long after the men had finished supper refused to settle and lie down, and continued to move and stir, lowing uneasily. Double guards went on to ride round the mob in case they showed signs of breaking, and the rest of the men sat by the fire with their saddled horses near at hand, and ready in case of a sudden call for quick work.
When Ned Gunliffe finished his turn of guard and came in to the fire, Steve was sitting in the glow of the firelight.
He had his pipe in his mouth and a cake of tobacco in his hand, and was fumbling in his waistcoat pockets for a knife, when Ned saw him pull a twisted piece of paper out and look at it, and absent-mindedly unfold and read it. He sat with the paper in his hand, looking into the fire, till suddenly Ned’s voice roused him.
“Another billet-doux, Steve?” he said, with the faintest suspicion of a sneer.