They might have been courting all the time and meeting every other night or so, and kissing and hugging each other for hours, and no one any the wiser. You might as well watch, and try to fox an old hen to her nest in the bushes; though she cackles enough when the egg is laid and she's safe off the nest.
Well, it all came out by accident, as most things do. James was never much of a rider, but he managed to hold his own with the others—his obstinacy or pigheadedness helped him in that. He broke in his own horses, but he always did it when there was no one about the place, or else he took 'em away. There were other yards about the run, and James was at home at all the little out-of-the-way huts and selections about the district. Like most young fellows of his sort, he was touchy about his riding and one or two other little things. Some of the chaps used to make a joke about it, and say that James went away and got some one else to break in his horses, but I knew James, and didn't believe that for a moment. So when we saw him riding away, leading or driving a young horse, we didn't take any notice; but Mary was always relieved when he turned up without a broken neck or his shoulder put out.
Well, one day he picked up a filly cheap in the pound at Gulgong—a likely-looking young thing, with blood in her, we could all see that. She was one of those spidery horses, with a hollow back, and looked as if she'd sag down if a big man got on her, till his feet rested on the ground. She was one of those shy, jumpy young things that suddenly sheer off sideways
