musician. "He's fresh off the grass—hasn't had the saddle on him for two months." [Pg 37] [Pg 37] "Get away, Sam. The gentleman means to take some of the cussedness out of him. Isn't that it, Engelhardt?" "I mean to try," said Engelhardt, quietly. A lanky middle-aged bushman, who had loafed across from the men's hut, here spat into the sand without removing the pipe from his teeth, and put in his word. "Becod, then ye're a brave man! He bucks like beggary. He's bucked me as high as a blessed house!" "We'll see how high he can buck me," said Engelhardt. Gilroy was losing interest in the proceedings. The little fool could ride after all; instead of being scored off, he was going to score. The manager thrust his hands deep in his cross pockets, and watched sullenly, with his yellow eyelashes drooping over his blue eyes. Suddenly he strode forward, crying: "What the blazes are you up to, you idiot?" Engelhardt had shown signs of mounting on the off-side, but was smiling as though he had done it on purpose. "He's all right," said the long stockman with the pipe. "He knows a thing or two, my word." [Pg 38] [Pg 38] But his style of mounting in the end hardly tallied with this theory. The piano-tuner scrambled into the saddle, and kicked about awkwardly before finding his stirrups; and the next thing he did was to job the horse's mouth with the wanton recklessness of pure innocence. The watchers held their breath. As for Hard Times, he seemed to know that he was bestridden by an unworthy foeman, to appreciate the humor of the situation, and to make up his evil mind to treat it humorously as it deserved. Away he went, along the broad road between homestead and yards, at the sweetest and most guileless canter. The rider was sitting awkwardly enough,
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