"Well, between you and me and the billy-can, he's no more cut out for a squatter than for an archangel. Pity he ever left London. He'd be more at home in Rotten Row. Hello! here's the old Colonel and two boys. Seeing will dissipate even your scepticism, Mac."
Dumaresque was a choleric but plucky old superannuated Indian officer, who on his retirement came over to Australia and purchased a small cattle run, living bachelor fashion. He was now quite old, yet fancied himself equal to any toil. To hint at his age infirmities was to raise a very sirocco of indignant language.
"Hello, Cornel! wha'd 'a' thocht that you——"
"Stop, M'Intyre, stop! I know right well, sir, what you are going to remark. If you, sir, look upon a bit of a brumby hunt as an extraordinary thing, let me inform you that to me 'tis but a trifle. Why, man, when I was stationed on the northern frontier——"
"Yes, yes, Dumaresque," broke in the Captain, who knew the other's weakness, "we're all delighted to see you. Just in time for a pannikin of tea and a mouthful. Here you, Dick, Tom, Harry, one of you, take the Colonel's horse."
A few minutes later the men filed out of the Glen, and proceeded along the creek to a spur in the foot-hills. Then they left the water-shed, crossing the spur, from which they continued up a grassy valley which extended nearly three miles before it broadened out into an open plain, lightly timbered at the upper or ridge side, but perfectly treeless at its other extremity.
Two-thirds of the way up the valley, in a belt of box trees, was the trap-yard. The trap mouth, before described, extended across the belt to the outermost verge.
After a short inspection of the yard the calico wing was fixed. It was attached to the terminal post of the yard mouth, nearest to the ridge that skirted the valley on the top side. From thence it was taken in a straight line on the ridge side of the valley, until the plain was reached. From this point, inclining slighting outward and made fast at short intervals, it extended right across the plain, ending in a clump of iron-barks.
"Noo, men, ye'll jist hae a wee bit grub and then we'll stairt."
The meal was soon dispatched, and a short consultation ensued. M'Intyre apportioned the men their places. Six, under Gill, were located in the iron-bark clump. Five others were sent back to the trap-yard, two miles distant, to assigned duty there. The remaining sixteen were to execute the task of first "feeling" the enemy; then of outflanking them; and, finally, directing the stampede.