“Narrow squeak for both of us, wasn't it?”
“Yes, but please do not try to talk, dear Mr Gerrard.”
“Oh, I'm all right, and must gabble a bit, now I know that I haven't lost an eye. You see, Fraser, the beast, although he was only a little fellow——”
“Eight feet he were, boss,” interrupted Trouton, “but a young 'un, as you say.”
“Well, just after I collared him, he swung his head about and hit me such a tremendous smack on the side of my brain-box that it stunned me. But I didn't let go, did I?”
“No,” replied Fraser, “you held on like grim death. I settled the brute by putting five bullets into it.”
“There was two 'o 'em, boss,” said Trouton, “the one as collared Miss Kate's horse, and the one as you tackled.”
“Did Cato get away?” Gerrard asked quickly.
“Yes, yes, he got away,” said Kate hurriedly, trying to speak calmly, though the poor colt, which had managed to struggle to the bank with a lacerated and broken leg, was then lying dead with a bullet through its head. Trouton had put it out of its misery.
There was no more mustering that day, for Gerrard's condition was so serious, though he tried to make light of it, that Fraser, leaving the cattle to the care of the two stockmen, first sent off Trouton to Boorala for a doctor, and then he, taking one of the pack-horses, made Gerrard mount his own.