But there was no fear of that, and evidently Deb knew it.  Sitting her own dancing chestnut, how her beautiful eyes glowed!  She gloried in the ring of breathless witnesses to the prowess of her knight.  Many a time did she scoff and scowl at the dandyisms which she deemed effeminate; this was one of the moments which showed the man as she desired him.  Through those fine fingers, with the polished filbert nails, the shortened reins were drawn and held as by clamps of steel; so was the wild-eyed head by the lock of mane in the same hand.  When no one was looking—­although every eye believed itself fixed upon him—­ his left foot found its stirrup, his right gave a hop, and like lightning he had sprung up and round, without touching the horse until fairly down in the saddle; so that the animal was robbed of his best chance of getting the rider off, which is at the moment before he is quite on.  No other chance was offered to the baffled one, although he kicked like a demon for nearly ten minutes.

“I wish,” Guthrie Carey ground through his strong teeth, “that the cranky beast would break his neck.”  It was not the beast’s neck he meant.

But Deb called:  “Bravo!  Well done, indeed!” and when the battle was over called the victor to her with her lovely face of pride and joy.  Right willingly he went, and they sailed away together like the wind, and were lost to view.  Yes, this was Dalzell’s hour.  She knew nothing of the brave deeds of sailor-men—­common and constant as eating and drinking, and performed to no audience and for no reward.

Alice Urquhart and Rose Pennycuick, also on horseback, followed the flying pair; then a buggy containing Jim and schoolgirl Francie (her governess gone home for holidays today), and a load of ironwork for a blacksmith on the route; last of all, Mary and the sailor, for all the world like the old father and mother of the party.  Mr Pennycuick excused himself from excursions nowadays, and so did Miss Keene, the elderly and quite uninfluential duenna of the house, when one was needed (she “did the flowers” and knitted singlets for everybody).

The Shetlands pattered along at a great rate, but did not come up with the riders until they were nearly at Bundaboo.  And all the way—­a long way—­Guthrie Carey had to make efforts not to bore his hostess.  They talked about the clear air and the dun-coloured land—­the richest sheep-country in the colony, but now without a blade of green upon it—­ and made comments upon three bullock drays piled with wool bales, and two camping sundowners, and one Chinaman hawker’s cart, which they encountered on the way.  And that was about all.

The home-coming was a different affair.

Tea had been served in Mr Thornycroft’s cool drawing-room, hats and gloves had been collected, orders sent to the stables; and the young sailor, panting to emulate the prowess of his rival, and thereby compel Miss Deborah to respect him, was asking one and another what were the arrangements for the return journey.