"They're a rare nuisance, they brutes! There maun be a gap in the dog-leg fence at the far side for 'em to ha'e got in. You'd better tak' Jacky and Denny at once, and mak' the fence secure. That pack o' rubbage'll be doing a lot o' mischief among the springers wi' their galloping. Ye'd better go across by the horse-paddock, an' see if ye can get a sicht o' the mares. It's almost as near as the other track."
"All right, Boss. Jacky, you go to Ah Fat an' tell 'im to put up some grub. Git the billy an' tots, an' bring 'em along. Tell Denny I want 'im. He's working in the garden."
"Oh, I say," bawling after the retreating boy; "tell Denny to git the small cross-cut, an' a couple o' tommies, an' a bit o' wire to do the mendin' with. Slither away, now, ye son of a black buck!"
In a few minutes the men are on their way through the horse-paddock to the slip-rails in the far corner, to carry on the repairing work in the springers' enclosure.
It may be explained to the uninitiated that the horse-paddock is that nearest the homestead, where the station horses in use are kept; a larger or smaller mob according to requirements. These are yarded at daylight every morning. When the horses required for the day's work are selected the balance are turned loose for the day. The springers' paddock, reserved for the breeding cows, was a large one; one of the best on the run, in fact. The men as they rode along kept a sharp look-out for the missing steeds. Separating as they neared the dam—which was a large sheet of water backing up in the gullies for a mile or so—they rode on either side, coming together at the box-tree ridge where the slip-rails were located. No sign of the horses!
"Strange, chaps! Wonder where they can be. Floss an' Dolly are fair terrors for hidin'. But—hello! there's the slip-rails down!"
Sure enough, the two topmost rails were down. Who could have done it?
The mystery is soon solved; the ground on the outside being trampled with horse hoofs. It told its tale of cause and effect quickly enough to these bushmen.
"The blessed brumbies hev got in an' coaxed 'em out, sure enough. It's the warrigal's[#] mob for a quid. Fifty of 'em, if there's a hoof.
[#] Warrigal—wild, savage; applied indifferently by the natives to animals and men.