“So ye are—an' the horse'll take ye like a bird,” said Murty. “Don't shpare him, Mr. Wally, if ye think ye can do any good. He's over there under the big wattle.”
“Right-o!” said Wally. “Tell Mr. Jim, will you, Murty?” He turned and ran down the hill with long strides.
CHAPTER XV
HOW WALLY RODE A RACE
Already the cloud was growing in the western sky—so high that it threatened to obscure the sun that still blazed fiercely down. At first a dull brown, there was a curious light behind it; at the edges it trailed away into ragged wisps like floating mist. There was something mysteriously threatening in its dense heaviness.
There were other men running for their horses, as Wally raced towards Shannon. The news of a grass fire had spread quickly, and every man wanted to be on his own property, for the whole countryside was covered with long, dry grass, and no one could say where a fire might or might not end. Boone and Shanahan passed Wally, leading several horses—his own amongst them. They hailed him quickly.
“We've got Marshal, Mr. Wally.”
“Give him to Murty,” Wally answered as he ran. “I'm riding Shannon.” He raced on.
“That means he's going across country,” said Dave Boone. “For two pins I'd go too.”