Mrs. Weston was the first to catch sight of him.
“Good gracious!” she ejaculated. “Whatever is the matter, Rex?”
Every one was looking at him. He stammered a little as he tried to speak.
“There’s a fire,” he said. “Near your back paddock, Mr. Weston. I ’specs it’s in it by now!”
“Good heavens!” uttered John Weston, putting down his cup hurriedly. “The cattle!”
“Oh, we’ve got the cattle out,” Rex said, doing his best to speak unconcernedly. “Billy and me. We had a great time. They’re all right—I think we got them all.”
“Where is Billy?” put in Billy’s mother sharply.
“He’s fighting the fire. There’s a lot of men there. Billy went back to help them. He told me to come and tell you. They’re going to do their level best to keep it out of your paddock.”
“He’ll be all right, dear,” Mr. Weston said. “The men will take care of him. I’ll go out at once. Jump on Merrilegs, Jean, and run up Cruiser for me while I change: I won’t be five minutes.” He went off across the grass with long strides, turning just for a moment to Rex. “Good boy, Rex: you’re a real man!” he said.
The despatch-rider sat down. Other bearers of despatches, he knew, from the stories he had read, finished with great excitement: generally their horses dropped dead in the last furlong, or they themselves swooned on delivering their message. But Merrilegs was already tearing off, with Jean on his back: and he himself had no desire to swoon: no desire for anything, indeed, except for tea. He eyed Mr. Weston’s untasted cup wolfishly, and licked his dry lips. There was no sort of polish left to him.
“My word, I’d like that cup of tea!” he said.
‟JUST as close a shave as anything could be,” John Weston said. “It came into our paddock and burned about a chain of fencing: and then the wind changed. It had been chopping about a bit, they said: not much of it: but suddenly it blew steadily from the west. And so we’ve still got our grass, Mary girl!”
“Thank goodness!” she said. “And thanks to every one who worked for us!”
“Yes, indeed,” said her husband. “Half the district seemed to be there when I got out; it’s queer how the news of a fire will travel quickly in some directions. Some one passing in a motor saw it in Moncrieff’s, and sent the word along. That big fellow Conlan—Jo’s friend—was there, working like a tiger. Was Billy very done?”