A TRANSFORMATION SCENE
'Look alive, boys,' said Hugh Tressider; 'we must slog on for the next hour or two. Pitch dark, and going to be a wet night; but if we don't lose the road we shall pull Barallan before bedtime. There we're sure of a yard and a welcome. A night's sleep won't do us any harm.'
'A night's sleep? Dashed if I've had any for a week,' growled the head stock-rider. 'I'm fit to drop off my bloomin' moke this minute; and he's just the size to kick me for falling. Them blessed B.R. cattle's like a mob of kangaroos for breaking and rushin' if so much as a 'possum squeals or a stick breaks. But I know Mr. Bayard's is a regular stunning place to stop at. Gentle or simple, it's all one to him. He's a gentleman as is a gentleman; and every workin' man in the district 'll say the same.'
'All right, Joe; then stir up those lads and the black-fellow a bit; don't let the tail cattle struggle, whatever you do. I'll go on with the lead; my old horse will keep the track.'
'What a thundering wild night it's going to be,' said the drover to himself as he threaded his way through the thick-growing timber, skirting the half-seen wildish herd, which, but a week from the pastures where they had been bred, were still troublesome and prone to break back at the smallest opportunity. The rain, which had held off during the gusty, stormy day, now carne down in driving sleety showers, ice-cold, and wetting to the skin the dogged, silent horsemen, who, by the nature of things, were incompletely clothed for resisting so serious a downfall. The cattle, beginning to low with discomfort and uneasiness, were with difficulty restrained from facing towards the opposite point of the compass, away from
