"Ho! it'd never do to take them straight back again," said Tommy.
"Never do. They must have a spell. Besides, what's the hurry?"
And Hugh, recognising that for all the good he could do he might just
as well not hurry back again, resigned himself to the inevitable,
picked up his bridle, went into the shuffling herd of horses,
and caught the one pointed out to him. It was a big, raw-boned,
ragged-hipped bay, a horse that would have been a gentleman under
any other conditions, but from long buffalo-hunting had become a
careless-going, loose-jointed ruffian, taking his life in his hands
every day. He bit savagely at Hugh as he saddled him, and altogether
proclaimed himself devoid of self-respect and the finer instincts.
Breakfast was despatched almost in silence. The shooters knew
vaguely that Hugh's visit was in some way connected with Considine,
and that Considine had refused to do what Hugh wanted. But the
hospitality of the buffalo camp is as the hospitality of the Arabs
of old--the stranger is made welcome whatever his business, and
may come and go unquestioned.
Hugh had little desire to talk on the subject of his visit, and
Considine maintained a dogged silence. Tommy Prince alone chatted
away affably between large mouthfuls of buffalo beef, damper, and
tea, airing his views on all subjects, but principally on the fair
sex. Meanwhile the blacks were catching the pack-horses, and
sharpening their skinning knives. The two horses used by the shooters
were brought over to the camp fire and given a small feed each of
much-prized maize and oats and bran, that had been brought round
in the lugger from Port Faraway with the camp supplies, landed on
the river-bank twelve miles off, and fetched in on pack-horses.
"A little more beef, Mister? No? Well, all aboard for the Buffalo
Brigade! That's your rifle by the tree. Put this cartridge-belt on
and buckle it real tight; if you leave it loose, when you start to
gallop it will shake up and down, and shake the soul out of you.
Come, Paddy, what are you riding?"
"I'm going to ride the boco."
[Footnote: One-eyed horse.] "I wouldn't if I was you. He's all right to race up to a buffalo,
but that blind eye of his'll fetch him to grief some day. Ride the
old grey."
"No fear," said the old man obstinately, "the boco's one eye's
worth any horse's two. Me an' the boco will be near the lead when
the whips are crackin', take it from me."
"Come along, then!"