“Hold ’em back, Jack,” shouted Steve. “If they go busting in on the others at this belt, we’ll have ’em starting another rush.”
“Burn ’em,” grunted Jack Ever; “they’re crazy. Take that, you brute,” and he pressed close alongside the leaders and cut across their faces with his whip. The bullock nearest him lunged viciously with its horns, and the horse evaded the thrust by a swift side leap that would have unseated many men. For all they could do, the brutes went back into the main mass with a rush. A shivering heave ran through the mob, spreading from the point of contact as ripples spread in a pond from a flung stone. The leading ranks broke into a trot and quickened to a canter, and the men tore up in front again and fell on them with the whips, and strove to beat them back. They went on so for the best part of a mile, and then Scottie galloped to the front. “Swing out, swing out,” he yelled, “an’ just lat them go.”
The men opened and left the way clear, and clung silently along the flanks. “They’ve a clear road an’ good enough goin’ for a twa-three mile,” Scottie said to Steve as he rode alongside. “It’ll no hurt tae lat them gallop the win’ oot o’ themselves.”
They were passing along a valley with steep-sided hills on either hand and fairly level going along the floor of the valley, but instead of getting winded and slowing down as Scottie had expected, their pace increased.
“Deil tak them,” growled Scottie. “If only we had them past Split-the-Win’ they could just gang their ain gait. Tak a man wi’ you, Steve, an’ cut up ower the Chow Hill and get intae the Gutter aheid o’ them. Get tae Split-the-Win’ an’ turn them frae takin’ the hill road. Ye’ll need tae ride hard.”
He was shouting as he rode, and two or three of the men near heard him. Steve looked round and saw Ned Gunliffe riding near. “Come on, Ned Gunliffe,” he shouted loud and clear. “Come, if you think you can ride it with me,” and he turned his horse and scrambled up the hill to where a spur ran slantingly up. He did not look back to see if Ned had followed, but he heard the rattle of stones behind him and grinned to himself.
Ned was at his elbow as they pressed over the top of the hill, and Steve shouted, “We’ve got to move in something of a hurry to get there ahead of them. Keep as close as you can,” and he touched his horse with the spur and shot ahead. They dipped down over the other side of the hill, and went down with a rush into the bush at the foot. They plunged and tore a way through it, and down another swift drop. Steve took it without drawing rein, the iron shoes of the horses striking fire from the stones that turned under their feet, and picking their way in springing leaps like mountain goats. They reached the foot in a torrent of flying stones and swirling dust, and Steve heard the hoof-beats of Ned’s horse close behind. He clapped the spurs in again and raced over a strip of level ground, littered with fallen logs and seamed with dry water courses. He leaped a log as high as a five-wire fence, and saw Ned’s shadow rising as he landed. He took a five-foot drop in his stride, and heard the clash of the other horse landing the next instant. He raced at the wide gully of a dry water course, and took his horse by the head and sent him straight at it and lifted him over, and Ned’s horse baulked and swerved, almost unseating his rider. Ned turned him and cursed savagely, and beat him about the flanks with the butt of his stockwhip, headed him back to the leap, and jambed his spurs in hard as he could drive. With a snort of pain the brute rushed and leaped and landed safe, and Ned beat at him again and kept his spurs working. Steve led the way up a spur that sloped to the rise of Chow Hill, and scrambled labouring up it, his horse climbing and clambering like a cat. The ridge narrowed as it rose into a sharp hogback, with a steep drop to either side, and the dislodged rocks rolled over the sides, and went bounding and splintering a hundred feet down. And now, as they rode along the hill that bordered the valley that led to Split-the-Wind, they could see the cattle already turning into the head of the valley, and Steve flung an oath to the wind and spurred his horse again. The two men swept slanting down the hillside, swerved into a sloping gully, and thundered down it over tangled sticks and the dry boulders of the stream-bed, up and over the bank with a rush, swooped into another dip and over it, and flung themselves recklessly down the last steep pitch to the foot of the hill. At a less desperate pinch they would have hesitated to take that slope, perhaps, but they could see that the cattle were coming at a gallop again, and it would be a close race for the dividing roads at Split-the-Wind. One of the roads kept on down the descending valley, and if the cattle took this they could run themselves to a standstill without injury. If they took the other, they would be up and away into the broken tangle of the hills, criss-crossed with cliffs, and scored with gullies, and pitted with a hundred traps. Both of them knew this, so without hesitation took the slope and the risk of landing right side up at the foot.
Steve went down with the whirling rush of a toboggan on an ice-run, and spun clattering out into the valley. He was a good hundred and fifty yards ahead of Ned, and turned in his saddle and watched him slide to the foot, and pick up his stride and come after him at a gallop. Steve turned and sat down and rode again.
He had covered a half of the mile to go to Split-the-Wind when he heard a startled yell, a rattle and crash, and silence. He knew well what that meant, and sat back and hauled at his rein, and swung and galloped back for the spot where he could see Ned’s horse scrambling to its feet and Ned himself lying on the ground. The horse went off at a trot, and Steve swerved to ride and catch it. Then, with a glance at the cattle coming down the valley, he turned again and left it, and galloped for Ned.
Ned had sat up, and was rising slowly to his feet as Steve pulled up beside him.