“Yes, yes, that was yesterday. ’Smorning?”
The three blacks made a peculiar sound, and threw up their chins.
“No good, Belton,” said Mr Dillon. “Back to the bunya clump. I have an idea that he struck off there, so as to keep up by the river. Don’t care to mount and come and see a convict hunt, squire, I suppose?” said the magistrate inquiringly.
Nic gave him a furious look, and Mr Dillon nodded good humouredly and rode after his men, the dogs beginning to bark as they started back, to be answered by Nibbler and the collies, who thrust their noses under the bottom of the door.
“Won’t take them big stag-hounds long to hunt him down,” said Brookes, trying to hide his nervousness with a grin.
“Think they’ll catch him, Sam?” said Nic.
“Well, sir, it’s just about like a pair o’ well-balanced wool scales,” said the old man rather sadly. “Dogs has wonderful noses of their own. But there, I ’spose we shall hear.”
Nic went off to the stables, for he had not the heart to go indoors. And as he stood by his horse the desire came upon him strongly to mount and ride after Mr Dillon’s party, so as to know everything that happened, but he felt that it might appear to the poor fellow that he was with the party trying to hunt him down, and he stayed and hung about the station all day.
“Bung,” he said toward evening, “you like Leather?”
“Plenty mine like damper.”