“Then go at once. Nic was treating you worse than he would dare to treat a dog.”
Brookes banged down the brush and rose to go.
“You stop,” cried Nic. “My father said those sheep must be dressed to-day, and you know it. Finish them, every one.”
Brookes dropped upon his knees again.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Leather quietly. “It is very hard work for one man. I’m used to this sort of thing. Hadn’t I better stay?”
“No,” said Nic firmly. “You heard my orders. Go.” He pointed across the enclosure, and Leather went without a word.
“Now,” said Nic, “finish those sheep.”
Brookes muttered low threat after threat of what he would do, but he went on dressing the sheep; and Nic turned, walked back to the house, altered his mind, and went right away toward the bush, but his nerves were all of a quiver, as he thought over the meeting to come with his father, and he did not fire his gun that day.