220 THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER 



horse, with his eyes on the ground, noting everj sign. 

 At some richer herbage he stopped, passed his hand 

 over it, and gathered np a tuft of grass. " They are 

 close by," he whispered ; '• this is fresh croj^ped, and 

 damp from a horse's mouth." " Mount, then," said 

 Dawood; "they will be drinking at the Black Swan 

 water-hole ; give them a few moments to fill them- 

 selves, and then, Charley, don't spare your old horse ; 

 the black is worth a hundred of him. Let's make a 

 circuit beyond Paddy Eyan's pool, and then ride up 

 the bed of the creek." 



' Charley nodded without answering, for he was 

 just letting out his girths a hole, thinking he had 

 hauled them too tight. For my part, I was red and 

 pale by turns ; my teeth chattered as they used to at 

 the side of the gorse covers. 



' We started, reached the running water, slid into 

 it at one of the cattle-runs, and rode up, splash, 

 splash, in Indian file. There had been a good deal 

 of rain the week before, and the snow had melted on 

 the top of the mountain range, so that the stream, 

 which since I have seen scarcely sufiicient to chain 

 the water-holes with a thin thread, rose to our horses' 

 bellies, and rattled past drowning the sound of our 

 cavalcade, until, rounding a miniature promontory 

 our leader halted and held up his hand. Looking 

 through a clump of bush, we could see the black 

 stallion standing up to his knees in a pool, drinking, 

 snorting, and pawing the water into foam — a splendid 



