Every fibre of him shivered at the boy's contempt, the blazing amazement of his eyes. He sank into a chair, covering his face with his hands.
CHAPTER XXXVII
Deirdre and the black boy drove their straggling herd into the stockyard in the narrow bush clearing, walled by trees, an hour or two before dawn.
The stock-yards which Conal had put up at the end of Narrow Valley were invisible to any but those who knew the winding track that led over the brow of the hill and through the heavy timber on the spur, to the old hut at the foot of it. Teddy was pulling the rails of the outer-yard into place and Deirdre was going towards the hut. Socks at her heels, his bridle over her arm, when a horseman rode out of the opening into the valley, by which they had come.
She recognised the red horse, but did not know that it was Davey riding till he was almost level, and dropped to his feet. He swayed against the horse's side, clutching his reins.
"It's a shame ... no one to bring the brutes but you," he said weakly. "I came—soon as I knew."
Deirdre put her arm out to him. They walked slowly towards the hut. Davey became weaker. She drew the horses by their reins behind them, keeping her eyes on him. The ground rocked under his feet.
"We're just there—another minute and it'll be all right," she said, and called Teddy.
He had seen Davey Cameron's red horse coming into the clearing, and ran up to her, chattering with fright at the sight of Davey's limp figure.