Spicer had stepped down from the verandah with truculent stride.
"A word with you, Bethune," said he, brusquely.
"Thanks, but I'm engaged to my sister for this dance," replied the airy Theodore. Moya could not stand his tone. Also she heard young Ives turning the horses out for the night, and an inspiration seized her by the heels.
"No, for the next," said she; "I want to speak to Mr. Ives."
And she flew to the horse-yard, where the slip-rails were down, and Ives shooing horse after horse across them like the incurable new chum he was.
"Wait a moment, Mr. Ives. Don't have me trampled to death just yet."
"Miss Bethune!"
And the top rail was up again. But it was not her presence that surprised him. It was her tone.
"A dreadful ending to our day, Mr. Ives!"
"I'm glad to hear you say that," cried the boy, with all his enthusiasm; "to our day, if you like, but that's all! This is the most infernally unjust and high-handed action that ever was taken by the police of any country! Iniquitous—scandalous! But it won't hold water; these squatters are no fools, and every beak in the district's a squatter; they'll see Rigden through, and we'll have him back before any of the hands know a word of what's up."