‘Because they couldn’t _see_ their sheep in the long grass; and out on a plain where the grass was over their own heads, it was hard work not to lose themselves. Of course it was an out-and-out year; something like this is going to be, I expect. Why, I’ve tied the grass over my horse’s shoulder in the spring, as _I’ve been riding along_, many a time and often.’ Charley Banks smiled. ‘That will do, John,’ said Mr. Neuchamp. ‘I apologise fully,’ said Ernest, as soon as they were alone. ‘I promise never to lack that confidence in your statements, my dear fellow, which I must say I have hitherto found in every way deserved. How are the cattle doing? You have been out all day, and must have been soaked through and through.’ ‘I didn’t put on anything that water could hurt,’ said Charley, ‘or very much in the way of quantity either. Jack and I only wanted to be sure of the line the cattle took, so as to get after them to-morrow. We could track them as if they had been walking in batter pudding. If they got off the run now we should have no horses to fetch them back with, and if we left them away till they got strong, they’d be broken in to some other man’s run, which would be so much time lost. Luckily they all made for the Back Lake, where there’s some sandy ridges and good bedding ground. Freeman’s cattle are mixed up with the “circle dots,” which is all the better, as they know the run well, and can’t be got off it. Lucky they’re branded.‘ ‘And how about the old herd?’ ‘We didn’t tire our horses going after them, but, by the main run of the tracks, the nearest of them will stop at the Outer Lake timber; and the head cattle will go slap back to the very outside boundary. We’ve no neighbours at the back, so the farther back they go the fresher the feed will be. _They’re_ right.’ ‘I suppose they will begin to improve in a few months?’ ‘Improve?’ echoed Mr. Banks; ‘if this weather is followed up, every beast on Rainbar run, down to a three-months-old calf, will be mud fat _in three months_, and you may begin to take away the first draft of a thousand head of fat cattle that we can send to market—and a rising market, too—before next winter.’ Mr. Neuchamp did not shout aloud, nor cast any part of his clothing into the air, like Jack Windsor: his way of receiving sudden tidings of weal or woe was not demonstrative. But he grasped Charley Banks’s hand, and looked into the face of the pleased youngster with a gleam in his eye and a look of triumph such as the latter had rarely witnessed there. ‘We have had to wait—“to suffer and be strong,”—Charley, my boy,‘ he said, ‘but I think the battle is won now. You shall have your share of the spoils.’