The time seemed long, but the horse came thundering past once more, evidently steadily coursing all round the paddock close to the rails, while its fellows clustered in the middle out of the way.
“It is one of those things,” said Norman, triumphantly.
“It wasn’t,” said Rifle. “I saw it quite plain, and it was one of those kangaroos as big as a man. I say, whoever would have thought of their doing that?”
“What shall we do? Hadn’t we better go and rouse up father?”
“No,” said Rifle; “let’s stop and see the end of it; and to-morrow night we can all come and catch or shoot the beast. If we went now and fetched him, it might be gone before we got back, and he would think we had been dreaming.”
“Here it comes again; hish!” whispered Norman; and once more there was the rapid beat of the horse’s feet on the dry ground, and it tore by just as there was a brighter flash of lightning; then the flying object had darted by, and Norman uttered a loud ejaculation.
“Did you see?” whispered Rifle.
“Yes; it was a myall black. I saw him quite plainly.”
“Not quite plainly,” said Rifle. “But I saw him. It was a black on the poor horse, but it was old Shanter.”
“What?”