“That’s right, Miss Hil. Then if that don’t do no good, he’ll give ’em a dose o’ number six. And then, missus, if that don’t do, he’ll try swan shot; but don’t you be frecken. Master knows how to manage strange blackfellows. Come along, my lad. Say, young master, you have give him a sweating, and no mistake.”
The horse went and placed its muzzle over the little old man’s shoulder, and gave a puff like a deep sigh of satisfaction.
“Knows me, young master,” said the man, grinning. “Ay, nussed you, Sorrel, when you was on’y a babby, didn’t I?” he continued, patting the arched neck and carefully turning a few strands of the mane back in their place.
“There, mother dear,” said Janet affectionately; “you see it is not necessary.”
“But I feel as if, now I know you are all safe, I ought to go back,” said Nic.
“You couldn’t do it, sir,” said the old man. “Why, you don’t s’pose I should be talking like this if I thought the doctor was in trouble! There’s allus blacks about; and it’s on’y missus as is so scared about ’em. It’s all right, sir. Where did you say you left the master?”
“By the third water-hole.”
“By Bangoony,” said the old man. “Day’s trot, and the bullocks’ll want a three-hour rest half-way. They’ll be here twelve o’clock to-night, for master’ll make it one day for the last. Don’t you fret, missus; the doctor knows what he’s about. Blacks ain’t lifers. He’ll be here all right. Come along, my bairn!”
This last was to the horse, which followed him toward one of the sheds; and the dogs went after, one of them uttering a low growl as the man gave the nag a sounding slap.
Samson stood still, and then turned to the dog. “Now then: none o’ that. It ain’t your horse.” The dog growled, and its companion joined in. “Oh, that’s it, is it? I say, Mr Dominic, sir, hadn’t you better interrajuice us? They say they don’t know me, and I’m too useful to your father to feed dogs.”