Garry and Glen talked for some time, but gradually they dropped off, and the silence of the night reigned round the eight recumbent forms.
As soon as daylight sprang upon them they were astir, and after a hasty, scanty meal they set out to round up the horses.
This was easier said than done. They traversed several miles before they sighted a mob, but were rewarded by seeing at least fifty.
"You'll be able to get what you want out of that lot," said Garry, "if we can get 'em into the yard."
"We'll manage that," answered one of the men. "I suppose the gates are always open?"
Garry said they were, and indicated the direction in which the horses should be driven.
The men set out to round them up on the side. Garry rode to the left, Glen to the right, so as to guide them in the right direction as they came along.
The horses quickly scented danger, and started off, but were headed back and driven at a wild tearing pace towards Garry and Glen.
The pace became faster and Glen watched the horses as he rode at top speed alongside them, and saw they were a good lot. He hoped their vicious propensities had never been checked. They were all practically unbroken. A few of them might have been handled and turned loose again, but it was improbable.
Towards the yards they went, the men shouting behind them. These yards were erected with a view to driving horses, or cattle, into them with the least trouble. They were at the end of a dried-up river between high banks, whose strange formation Craig Bellshaw had taken advantage of. The opening to the yards extended the whole width of the pass, and there were three large gates through which horses entering the cul-de-sac were bound to go. The difficulty was to head the wild horses into the opening. Once in they were easily driven into the yards.