“Now I want to turn right round.”
The horse turned right about.
“Now straight back.”
The horses began to return upon their tracks, Nic’s eyes following every motion.
“Now round again, and forward.”
Once more the horse, turning right about, went straight forward, Sour Sorrel taking pace for pace.
“Why, it’s wonderful, father!” cried Nic. “Australian horses must understand plain English.”
“Well, they are English bred,” said the doctor, laughing. “Twenty years ago there was not a horse in the country. But now, tell me, why did you check your horse?”
“To get down so as to shoot.”
“Nonsense! Fire from his back when I tell you.”