Dad was uncommunicative. There was
something on his mind. He waited till the company had gone, then
consulted with Dave.
They were outside, in the dark, and leant on the dray. Dad said in a low
voice: "He's come a hundred mile to-day, 'n' his horse is dead-beat, 'n'
he wants one t' take him t' Back Creek t'morrer 'n' leave this one in his
place...Wot d'y' think?" Dave seemed to think a great deal, for he said
nothing.
"Now," continued Dad, "it's me opinion the horse is n't his; it's one he's
shook--an' I've an idea." Then he proceeded to instruct Dave in the idea.
A while later he called Joe and drilled him in the idea.
That night, young Donovan stayed at Shingle Hut. In the morning Dad was
very affable. He asked Donovan to come and show him his horse, as he must
see it before thinking of exchanging. They proceeded to the paddock
together. The horse was standing under a tree, tired-looking. Dad stood
and looked at Donovan for fully half-a-minute without speaking.
"Why, damn it!" he exclaimed, at last, "that's MY OWN horse...You don't
mean...S'help me! Old Bess's foal!" Donovan told him he was making a
mistake.
"Mistake be hanged!" replied Dad, walking round the animal.
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