"How fast will they go?" whispered Hugh to the nearest shooter.
"Fast as blazes. You've no idea how fast they are. They're the
biggest take-in there is. When they lift their heads they'll stare
for half a minute, and then they'll run. The moment they start,
off you go. Watch 'em! There's one sees us! Keep steady yet--don't
rush till they start."
One of the blue mounds lifted a huge black-muzzled head, decorated
with an enormous pair of sickle-shaped horns that stretched right
back to the shoulders. He stared with great sullen eyes and trotted
a few paces towards them; one after another, the rest lifted their
heads and stared too. Closer drew the horsemen at their steady,
silent jog, the horses pricking their ears and getting on their
toes as race-horses do at the start of a race.
"Be ready," said the shooter. "Now!"
The mob, with one impulse, wheeled, and set off at a heavy lumbering
gallop, and the horses dashed in full gallop after them. It was a
ride worth a year of a man's life. Every man sat down to his work
like a jockey finishing a race, and the big stock horses went through
the long grass like hawks swooping down on a flock of pigeons. The
men carried their carbines loaded, holding them straight up over
the shoulder so as to lessen the jerking of the wrist caused by
the gallop.
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