The next day passed without the appearance of the confidential retainer. Another, and yet another. In default of his aid, Wilfred exerted himself to the utmost and succeeded in getting through the ordinary work; yet a sense of incompleteness pervaded the establishment. Ready-witted, tireless, and perfect in all the minor attainments of Australian country life, Dick was a man to be missed in a hundred ways in an establishment like Warbrok Chase.
New cows had calved and required milking for the first time. One of them had shown unexpected ferocity; indeed, knocking over Andrew, and disabling his right arm.
‘The old fellow may have had an accident,’ suggested Mr. Effingham; ‘I suppose such things occur on these wild roads; or he may have indulged in an extra glass or two.’
‘I said as much to that old wife of his,’ said Wilfred, ‘but she grumbled something about the devil taking care of his own; he would be back when he had had his “burst”—whatever that means—and that he and that old villain Tom Glendinning would turn up at the end of this week or next, whenever their money was done.’
‘Why, if there isn’t old Dick coming along the road now,’ said Guy; ‘that’s his mare, anyhow, I know the switch of her tail. There’s a man on a grey horse with him.’
In truth, as the two horsemen came nearer along the undulating forest road, it became apparent that their regretted Richard, and no other, was returning to his family and friends. His upright seat in the saddle could be plainly distinguished as he approached on the old bay mare. The London dealer’s phrase of a ‘good ride and drive horse’ held good in her case, as she came along at her usual pace of a quick-stepping walk, with her head down and her hind legs brought well under her at every stride. The other horseman rode behind, not caring apparently to quicken the unmistakable ‘stockman’s jog’ of his wiry, high-boned grey horse. His lounging seat was in strong contrast to his companion’s erect bearing, but it told of the stock-rider’s long days and nights passed in the saddle. Not unlike the courser of Mazeppa was his hardy steed in more than one respect.
Shaggy and swift and strong of limb,
All Tartar-like he carried him.
The Arab blood, which old Tom’s charger displayed, prevented any particular shagginess; but in the bright eye, the lean head, the sure unfaltering step, as well as in the power of withstanding every kind of climate, upon occasion, upon severely restricted sustenance, ‘Boney’ might have vied with the Hetman’s, or any other courser that
... grazed at ease