"A MAGNIFICENT BRUTE"
It was late when Craig Bellshaw awoke from a restless slumber. His first
thoughts were about Glen Leigh, and the happenings of the night. He
wondered if he had gone. He hoped so; he had no desire to meet him again
at present.
Opening the door he saw a piece of paper on the floor. Picking it up he
read the name Lin Soo written in pencil in large letters.
He stared at it, wondering how it came there.
Glen Leigh must have slipped it under the door. But why? What had he to
do with Lin Soo? Probably he had never heard of him, and yet there was
no one else to do it.
Lin Soo. Supposing by some strange chance Glen Leigh had met the
Chinaman. Even so, it was not likely Lin Soo would say anything about
their transactions; he dare not. It flashed upon him he might have
mentioned the name in his ramblings. If so, what had he said in
connection with it? As he dressed he became nervous. If Glen Leigh had
an inkling of what had happened there would be trouble brewing. He, and
other keepers of the fence, had many grievances against Bellshaw which
they would be only too glad to pay off. He must try and find out what
had passed when he walked and talked in his sleep. It must be done
warily.
"I'll see him before he returns to Sydney," he thought. "Even if he
heard things he had no business to, I can silence him. Murder is not so
easily shelved, and there's Joe Calder's death to account for."
Glen Leigh arrived at Boonara, and next day set out for Five Rocks, with
Garry Backham and half a dozen good riders, used to the work, to round
up a mob of horses and make a selection.
"The best plan will be," said Garry, "to drive 'em into the nearest
yard, which is about half a dozen miles away, and test them. It will be
a tough job, but the men who are going with us are used to that sort of
work. They'll not mind how rough they are."
They did not ride near Mintaro, and Glen had no intention of going there
again.
As he rode along with Garry, he mentioned about Craig Bellshaw walking
in his sleep; he said he talked a lot and acted strangely.
"What did he say?" asked Garry.
"Something about leaving someone to die--a woman. He went through some
curious antics, as though he were struggling with her. At the finish he
said he'd leave her to wander about until she died. He must have
committed some dastardly deed or he'd never rave like that," said Glen.
Garry was silent. Should he tell Glen how much he knew? There was no
necessity for it, and he might be dragged into trouble if he did.
"I've never seen him walk in his sleep," he replied eventually, "but
he's a queer fellow, and has more on his conscience than I'd care to
carry."
"I've heard of strange doings at Mintaro when I was on the fence," said
Glen.
"What sort of doings?"
"About women who came and stayed for a time and were sent away."
"I'd rather say nothing about it," answered Garry.
Glen did not press the subject; he could find out what he wanted later
on. In case it were necessary, he would put a straight question or two
to Garry.
It was late when they arrived at Five Rocks and camped for the night.
The place was well named. Five large rocks rose from the ground in the
strangest manner. They were conical, smooth, not many yards apart. Their
formation was a strange freak of nature. They were probably the result
of a fierce upheaval in some far distant age, when natives and wild
animals were the only occupants of the vast territory.
There was a water hole in the centre of the group, fed from the rocks,
and Garry said it was this which brought the horses round, for it was
seldom dry.
The six Boonara men were strong sturdy fellows used to a life of
hardships. They were not given to conversation and quickly rolled over,
with their saddles for pillows, and went to sleep.
Garry and Glen talked for some time, but gradually they dropped off, and
the silence of the night reigned round the eight recumbent forms.
As soon as daylight sprang upon them they were astir, and after a hasty,
scanty meal they set out to round up the horses.
This was easier said than done. They traversed several miles before they
sighted a mob, but were rewarded by seeing at least fifty.
"You'll be able to get what you want out of that lot," said Garry, "if
we can get 'em into the yard."
"We'll manage that," answered one of the men. "I suppose the gates are
always open?"
Garry said they were, and indicated the direction in which the horses
should be driven.
The men set out to round them up on the side. Garry rode to the left,
Glen to the right, so as to guide them in the right direction as they
came along.
The horses quickly scented danger, and started off, but were headed back
and driven at a wild tearing pace towards Garry and Glen.
The pace became faster and Glen watched the horses as he rode at top
speed alongside them, and saw they were a good lot. He hoped their
vicious propensities had never been checked. They were all practically
unbroken. A few of them might have been handled and turned loose again,
but it was improbable.
Towards the yards they went, the men shouting behind them. These yards
were erected with a view to driving horses, or cattle, into them with
the least trouble. They were at the end of a dried-up river between high
banks, whose strange formation Craig Bellshaw had taken advantage of.
The opening to the yards extended the whole width of the pass, and
there were three large gates through which horses entering the
cul-de-sac were bound to go. The difficulty was to head the wild horses
into the opening. Once in they were easily driven into the yards.
As luck would have it, the leader of the mob headed direct for the spot,
guided by Garry on the one side, and Glen on the other.
It was a stern chase, and it said much for the horses Garry supplied
that they kept pace with the galloping mob. As the leader rushed into
the narrow channel the rest followed him pell-mell. The men closed in
after them, driving them along at full speed, rushing them through
before they realised they were caught. When this happened the din was
tremendous. The trapped horses gave vent to their feelings by kicking,
squealing, and biting in an extraordinary manner.
The men rested themselves and their horses and watched them.
"There are pretty near fifty," said Garry. "They're a good-looking lot.
It's the recent rain's done it. They've had more to eat than they've
had for months past."
"It will make them the harder to mount," replied Glen.
"Suppose we give 'em a rest for a night, and try our luck to-morrow.
They'll have been without food for about eighteen hours, and it may tame
them down," Garry suggested.
This was agreed to and they camped for the night close to the yards.
Next morning business commenced in earnest. Likely looking horses were
separated from the rest, and then the struggle began. The bulk of them
were hard to saddle, still harder to mount, but it takes more than a
savage, untamed buckjumper to conquer a man from the West.
There were some stiff fights, and now and again a horse more desperate
than the rest managed to rid himself of his rider after a long struggle.
He was at once selected by Glen as one of his lot.
Glen Leigh excited the admiration of the men by the way he rode a
tremendous horse about six or seven years old. He was a rough untamed
animal, probably a son of old Tear'em, Garry said. At any rate he was
very like that incorrigible savage. He stood nearly seventeen hands, and
had the strength of half a dozen ordinary wild horses.
It took them half an hour to get the saddle and bridle on, and Glen was
another ten minutes before he got into his saddle.
The Boonara men never forgot that mighty struggle. They talked about it
for years after, whenever buckjumpers were mentioned. It easily broke
all records as far as they were concerned.
The huge animal was a prince among buckjumpers, and Glen had all his
work cut out to keep his seat. The horse bounded up and down as though
his legs were springs. One moment he was off the ground, on all fours,
his back arched like a bended bow, the next his fore feet were planted
firmly on the ground and his hind quarters elevated almost to the
perpendicular. He twirled and twisted in an extraordinary fashion, lay
down, crushed Glen's leg, rushed against the fence, did everything to
throw his grim rider, but without avail. At last he stood covered in
sweat, and quivering in every limb. It was then that Glen dismounted,
but when he tried to get into the saddle he found the horse ready for
another battle-royal.
"He'll do, Garry. If anyone can ride him in Sydney they'll earn any
prize that may be offered. What a magnificent brute he is. If one could
only tame him--but I expect that's impossible," said Glen.
"By Gad, you can ride above a bit," was Garry's admiring comment.