"Good man!" he said, swinging himself up. "You all right, Dick? Mind you get something to eat. Let 'em go, O'Mara!" The buggy dashed away down the hill, the browns resenting the unaccustomed touch of the whip.
Dick bathed Agility and rubbed him down, finally putting him into loose box and giving him a feed. He glanced into the other boxes; they were empty, until he came to the last one, where Conqueror's iron-grey head poked over the half-door. Dick patted the long nose as he passed.
"You'd better take a rest while you can," he said. "I guess you'll be wanted pretty soon." But just how soon he did not dream.
CHAPTER XIII.
HOW CONQUEROR BOLTED.
The day had gone slowly for Merle Warner.
From her room she had watched the boys ride off in the early morning, sore and resentful that she was not one of the party. It was her favourite ride: of all the station jobs there was none Merle loved like going out to the Ten-Mile. Bill Summers and she were great friends; he always expected to see her when the ration cart went out. And just because her father was not going, she also must remain at home, since long rides were only permitted her under his wing.
She had begged that the rule might, for this once, be relaxed, but her father had been adamant.
"Don't be stupid, Merle," he had said sharply, at last. "Apart from the fact that I wouldn't let you go without me, you might have the sense to realise that the boys really wouldn't want you. Boys don't want a little girl always hanging round." Then—a little sorry for her quick flush, "You can come with us to Mernda in the car, if you like."
"I wouldn't go a yard to Mernda!" Merle had flashed.