“Is everybody here, an’ whole?” asked Scottie, riding up to a group of men who had slid down from their panting horses, but stood with a foot ready to lift to the stirrup.
“Where’s Darby—where’s Darby the Bull?” someone asked.
“I fancies I saw that bell-mouthed brute of his charge full belt into a tree,” said Whip. “Well, he’ll have bust that ugly hammer-head of his at last,” said another man. “Hope he hasn’t bust Darby’s as well.”
“Bust the bloomin’ tree more like,” said Never-Never, but just then a faint coo-ee came from far below. Steve lit a match, and held it screened by his outstretched waistcoat, and showing to the valley below, and presently another coo-ee and the answering wink of a match showed the signal was seen. Darby the Bull toiled heavily up the hill to them. “Where you been, Darby?” “Did you stop an’ ’ave a snooze in camp?” “Didn’t you know we was shiftin’?” showered on him. Darby grunted.
“Shiftin’? I think you was shiftin’. Some o’ you shifted in such a hurry you come without yer boots, an’ some more o’ you without jackets. I brought my boots an’ jacket an’ my blanket. Anyone else stop to bring a blanket?”
Nobody else had, and Darby grinned provokingly, although he said no more.
“And there were some,” said Steve Knight, “who ran in such a hurry that a whip was flicking round a bit too promiscuously. One flick caught my horse, I fancy, and started him off and nearly left me there.”
There was a deep silence, which Darby broke.
“Whoever it was should have ’is own whip laid about ’im. That’s what I’d do if it ’ad a bin my ’orse.”
“If I was dead sure it wasn’t an accident, I’d have something more to say,” said Steve; “but I’ll let it slide—meantime.”