It's good sport, Mister.
We might try a dash at it, if you like, before we go back; it's
moonlight now."
"Let's have a try to-night" said Gordon. "Are your coachers handy?"
"Yairs. They feed near the house. I'll send 'em on with the gins
to-night."
When they got back that evening, Carew was so dead-tired that he
wished the wild cattle expedition at Jericho. But Considine and
Charlie were in great form, directing, arguing, and planning the
expedition. One of the black boys rode out, and returned driving
a big mob of horses that dashed into the yard at full gallop. The
gins and the black boys caught fresh mounts out of these and started
away, driving some fifty head of cattle selected from a mob that
made their headquarters within a few miles of the house. Most of them
were old stagers, and strung away in the evening quite tranquilly,
while the blacks, always smoking, rode listlessly after. Considine
produced two stockwhips, and gave one to Charlie.
"No good givin' you one. Mister," he said to Carew. "You'd hang
yourself with it most likely. I've got a rare good horse for
you--old Smoked Beef. He'd moonlight cattle by himself, I believe.
You'd better have a pistol, though."
"What for?" asked Carew, as Considine produced three very heavy
navy revolvers and a bag of cartridges.
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