This came at breakfast time, when Mrs. Bruce invited him to stay a few days, when they would show him their best bits of scenery and otherwise try to amuse him. There was a muster of fat cattle coming on, which was always held to be an interesting spectacle to visitors from the other side of the world. Mr. Bruce was convinced that he would acquire more colonial experience in a week at this particular time, than half a year would show him at a different season. A few neighbours would come over—very decent fellows, and fair specimens of Australian country gentlemen. It would be a regular “house-party,” as they say in England. The opportunity should not be lost.
Miss Imogen did not join in the endeavour to tempt Mr. Blount from the path of duty, but she looked as if such a deflection from the narrow way would meet with her approval. After his very courteous, but distinct expression of regret, that he was compelled by a business engagement to decline—with how much reluctance, he could hardly say—their most kind and flattering invitation, the request was not pressed, and the remainder of the breakfast passed off in a lively interchange of the pleasantries proper to the occasion.
“We are going to speed the parting guest, if he will not honour our abode any longer,” said Mrs. Bruce, playfully; “but we must do it after our own fashion. My husband, Imogen and I, will ride with you for part of the way—indeed nearly as far as where you met Ned yesterday, if you don’t mind?”
“Mind,” replied the guest, with a look of surprised gratitude, which caused Miss Imogen to smile and blush. “Nothing could possibly give me greater pleasure.”
“So that’s settled,” said Bruce. “I’ll order the horses round; we’ll take Paddy with us, who may as well lead your cob till we part company, and I’ll mount you on one of the best hacks in this district, or any other. It will save your horse, and as you’re likely to have a long day that’s a consideration.”
“How you are adding to my load of obligation; I shall never be able to repay half the debt.”
“Time enough when we meet again,” said the host, “but we’ve none to spare at present. So, Imogen, ten minutes and no more to put on your habit.”
“Five will do,” said the girl, as she laughingly ran out of the room, to reappear gloved, hatted, and turned out in a most accurately-fitting habit as the horses were led up.
Her brother-in-law put his hand under her dainty foot, and lifted her lightly into the saddle, while the bright chestnut mare sidled, and arched her neck, as she felt the lightest of hands on her bridle rein. Mr. Bruce guaranteed that the hunter-looking bay detailed for his guest’s use was “prompt in his paces, cool and bold” like Bevis, upon whom the spectre knight’s night-ride had such an unfortunate effect, while he himself mounted the favourite steed which his guest had remarked at their first meeting, saying: “You don’t often see a better-looking lot together; as good, too, as they are good-looking.” Mr. Blount was convinced of the justice of this valuation, and thought that the statement might even be applied to the riders. Paddy, on a veteran stock horse, brought up the rear leading the cob, whose short tail and hogged mane excited Polly’s unmeasured ridicule: “Mine thinkit, that one pfeller brother belongin’ to pig,” and seized with the comicality of the idea, she exploded in fits of laughter, as casting lingering looks of regret at the receding cavalcade, she walked soberly back to the huts.
“These two horses are the fast walkers of the party, Mr. Blount,” began the fair Imogen, as the clever hackney she rode started off at so fast a pace as to incur the suspicion of ambling. “Ned and his henchman, Paddy, will go rambling ahead or on a parallel, looking for strange tracks, denoting trespassers on the run, strayed cattle, indeed found sometimes before they are lost, that is by the lawful owners. The life of the owner of a cattle station is often ‘not a happy one.’ It is surprising how many kinds of annoyances, risks and anxieties, he may suffer from.”