"To shoot any beast that won't stay with the mob. Some of 'em won't
be stopped. They have to go. Well, if one goes, the rest keep trying
to follow, and no forty men will hold 'em. You just keep your eyes
open, and if a beast breaks out in spite of the whips, you shoot
him if the blacks tell you. See?"
"Where am I to shoot him?"
"Shoot him any place. In the earhole, or the shoulder, or the ribs,
or the flank. Any place at all. Shoot him all over if you like.
One or two bullets don't hurt a beast. It takes a lead-mine to kill
some of 'em."
"Do the blacks shoot?" asked Charlie.
"No, I don't never trust no blacks with firearms. One boy knifes
well, though. Races alongside and knifes 'em."
This seemed a fairly difficult performance; while the Englishman
was wondering how it would be carried out, they made a start. They
rode mile after mile in the yellow moonlight, until they discerned
a mob of cattle feeding placidly near some big scrub. They whistled
to the blacks, and all rode away down wind to a spot on the edge
of the plain, a considerable distance from the cattle.
Here they dismounted and waited, Considine and Charlie talking
occasionally in low tones, while the blacks sat silent, holding
their horses. Carew lay down on the long dry grass and gazed away
over the plain. His horse stood over him with head down, apparently
sleeping. Far away under the moon, in vague patches of light and
shade, the cattle were feeding. Hours seemed to pass, and Carew
almost fell asleep.
Suddenly a long-drawn bellow, the angry challenge of a bull, broke
the silence. A mob of wild cattle were evidently coming along the
edge of the scrub, and had caught scent of the strangers. Again
the bull roared; there is no animal on earth with so emphatically
warlike a note as the wild bull when advancing to meet a strange
mob. The quiet cattle answered with plaintive, long-drawn lowings,
and the din became general as the two lots met.
"Let 'em get well mixed up," said Considine quietly, tightening
his girths, and swinging into the saddle. Everyone followed his
example. Carew was shaking with excitement. Angry bellowing now arose
from the cattle, which were apparently horning one another--such
being their manner of greeting.
Considine said, "There's a big lot there. Hope to blazes we can
hold 'em. Are you ready, Mister?"
"Yes, I'm ready," replied Carew.
"Come on, then. We'll sneak up slowly at first, but once I start
galloping let your horse go as fast as he likes, and trust him
altogether. Don't pull him at all, or he'll break your neck."
They started slowly in Indian file, keeping well in the shadow of
the scrub. The horses picked their way through the outlying saplings
and bushes, until suddenly Considine bent forward on his horse's
neck, and said, "Come on!"