They pulled off the road, and Ess took the reins. “I’ll wait here,” she said, “if you’ll find them and tell them I have some tea.”
Jack Ever jumped down and disappeared in the darkness, and she sat on patiently, although for long there was no sign of the other men.
The first of the sheep were crowding through the gate now, with half-a-dozen men trying to force them through and avoid blocking it. Outside the gate the mob was spreading slowly along the fence, and she noticed that the moment they stopped they lay down with their heads hanging. Then Ess heard the ring and thud of axes, and, driving cautiously, found some of the men furiously hacking at the fence posts. The staples were being hammered and wrenched out of others, and, as fast as it could be done, lengths of the high fence with the close-set rabbit-proof meshes along the foot and the wide dingo-stopping net above, were wrenched down and hauled away to leave a wide opening.
Immediately it was down the men started to rouse the sheep and hustle them over the line, and towards the hill.
Then her uncle and Steve Knight cantered up, with Mr. Sinclair driving close behind.
“Feeding the firing line again, Miss Lincoln,” he called cheerily. “No, I won’t get down, thanks. If you’ll just hand me up a bite and a pannikin of tea. We left a mob a mile or two back that were too dead beat to come on, and I want to see if we can rouse them up again now the sun’s off them. Must save all we can, y’ know—save all we can,” and the trotters pounded off into the darkness.
“Doesn’t spare horseflesh,” said Steve, “and doesn’t spare himself.” He dropped wearily on the ground.
“So you’ve got them here?” said Ess.
“Aye,” said Scottie; “question is, will they stick here?”
“There’s the hill to get them up yet, Miss Ess,” explained Steve. “That’s going to be the worst of the lot. The brutes are done—can hardly hobble. It’s a mile or two of rough going over the hill to water, and we can’t carry ’em in our arms.”