“You’ll make them too hot,” said Rifle.
“No, no,” shouted the black; “no can get too hot. No clothes.”
“Send the fellow about his business,” said the captain; “we’ll drive the cattle ourselves. Good lesson for you, boys.—Here you are, Shanter.”
He took out a bright little silver coin, and held it out to the black, who made a snatch at it, but suddenly altered his mind.
“No, not done drive bullockum. Wait bit.”
He started off after the cattle again, but evidently grasped what was meant, and moved steadily along with the three boys beside him, and he kept on turning his shiny, bearded, good-humoured face from one to the other, and displaying a perfect set of the whitest of teeth.
“Seems ruin, doesn’t it?” said Tim, after they had gone steadily on for some time in silence—a silence only broken by a bellow from one of the bullocks.
“Hear um ’peak?” cried the black.
“What, the bullock?” said Rifle.
The black nodded.