Aloud he explained the mustering as though he had the morning to spare. It meant sweeping up all the sheep in a given paddock, either to count them out, or to shift them altogether if feed or water was failing where they were. A big job in any case, but especially so in Big Bushy, which was by far the largest paddock on Eureka; it was seven miles by seven.
"And do you generally go mustering at a night's notice?"
"No, as a rule we know about it for days before; but last night the boss—I beg your pardon——"
"What for?" said Moya. "I like to hear him called that."
And she would have liked it, she hardly knew why. But he was not her boss, and never would be.
"Thanks awfully. Well, then, the boss found a tank lower than he expected in Butcher-boy, that's the killing-sheep paddock, and it's next door to Big Bushy, which is stocked with our very best. If the tanks were low in Butcher-boy, they might be lower still in Big Bushy——"
"Why?" asked Moya, like a good Bethune.
"Oh, I don't know; only the boss seemed to think so; and of course it wouldn't do to let our best sheep bog. So we've got to shift every hoof into Westwells, where there's the best water on the run."
Moya said no more. This seemed genuine. Only she was suspicious now of every move of Rigden's; she could not help it.
"And why must you have a water-bag?" she asked, for asking's sake.