When the men in the bar threw back their heads and stretched their lungs that night, Thad did not laugh. He stood, shivering, with gimlet flames in his eyes, his fingers twitching restlessly. There were drinks all round and the Schoolmaster played another rubber before he swung out of the shanty and into the wind that roared and beat over the plains.
Davey was waiting in the lee of the garden fence round Farrel's cottage, his little red mare set with her haunches against the wind.
"What is it, Davey?" the Schoolmaster asked when he saw him.
"It's this, Mr. Farrel," Davey said, on a short breath, "I've quarrelled with the old man. I want a job."
The cottage was in darkness. But after he had taken Davey to the stable and they had turned Red into it, they went indoors, and a light gleamed from the small square windows until the sky was waning on the edge of the plains. Then Davey came to the door and the Schoolmaster with him.
"It's not advice—as I told you—but a job I'm wanting," the boy said. His voice carried against the wind, hoarse with anger and disappointment.
"But this job, Davey, you know what it is."
The Schoolmaster's voice was troubled.
"Yes, I know—haven't I told you. As a matter of fact I haven't the price of food or a bed on me, and I'm not going back for it. You said these cattle of Maitland's in the yards would have to be taken to the hills. Maitland's got fattening paddocks up beyond Steve's, hasn't he? Tim and Pat Kearney have cleared off to the new rush, and you said you'd have to get somebody to take them for Conal."
"You can have what money—" the Schoolmaster began.