May had once listened, with vivid interest, to the following description by an old stockrider of one of her feats. He said--"I can see old Tyton now, coming out of the house, followed by the two girls, his daughter and Miss Mannahill. 'Now then, girls, if you are ready,' says old Tyton: and we bring them two of the horses. They have no ladies' saddles, no pommels to hold on to, only just a man's saddle with one stirrup, and it was a treat to see them spring into them and settle themselves down and quietly wait orders. They used to dress in short habit and leggings. The stockmen take one direction, and Tyton with his party take another, at full gallop, a pace they keep up for a mile or more. There is a big double in front of them and Tyton calls a halt, but the girls either do not or will not hear and, tightening their reins and over--up--over! they both fly the two high fences and calmly turn their horses' heads and open the gates for the others. They meet old Tyton's severe look with a smiling--'Don't be cross, we won't do it again. It was too tempting.' The old chap is too proud of them to say more than warn them not to take too much out of their horses. 'Gad!' adds the old fellow, 'I'd like some of them fashionable ladies who talk of their riding to see you two.' After a couple of hours' riding, they come across some black boys who have been keeping the cattle from going back to the hills. They now know that the outside boundary is reached. Fastened on each of their saddles is a stock whip, which each now takes off, and a few preliminary cracks are given. Fancy your town girls cracking and handling a whip sixteen feet long! After a short halt for a spell, Tyton himself gallops along the ranks and orders all to push on. That is the signal for a general shout, cracking of whips, barking of dogs, and yells from the niggers: soon there is one vast crowd of living animals in front of them. Now and then a refractory beast breaks away and rushes the ranks, but the horses are on the alert, and they soon round him in, for there is no tugging required--you merely stick to your pigskin. Hil and Susy are doing their share along the line and are about four hundred yards apart. Presently a small mob, led on by a huge black bull, charges right between them, and, followed by others, dashes back towards the mountains. The girls' horses are after them, but do not, as you may suppose, attempt to head them. They are quite content to ride alongside the leader, who, being in good forward condition, begins to blow. A signal is given, and both girls take a fierce grip of their whips, and make direct for the bull; he is nonplussed, seeing two horses coming in opposite directions and gradually slackens down until he comes to a stop, and there he stands pawing the ground, his tail erect, his eyes glistening. Like a stroke of lightning two horses pass him, and before he knows what's up he feels a couple of severe cuts across his head. This is repeated, and very soon he is glad to be allowed to turn back and go on peacefully. The girls meet and begin chatting on some outside topic, without a comment on their smart work. Gradually they draw closer to the ranks, and are once more in the line, having brought back the deserters. The big paddock, where the yards are, now comes in sight. It is recognised by some of the older cattle who have been in before, and they pull up and sniff the air, which means danger ahead, and puts the whole mob on the _qui vive_. This is about the most anxious time of all--to get a leader who will go easily: but should he turn obstinate they would rush the line, and the whole week's work would have to be repeated. Besides, in a mob like that, numbering close on ten thousand, hundreds would be either killed or seriously injured in their mad career. All seemed to recognise the dangerous situation, and Tyton begins to get anxious, especially as some of the leaders are snorting and shewing fight. Now it happened that that black bull and his party were one of the mobs nearest to the entrance; there was a clear run before them direct, so without consulting any one, the girls galloped into the mob, which separated before them, and got on to that bull again. A couple of smacks were enough. He was only too anxious to get out of their way, and made straight for the run, followed by his mob. The others followed suit, and the whole mob were in the big paddock. While this was going on, Tyton was a picture. He neither spoke nor moved. 'They're mad. They'll ruin all. Why, they've started the mob, the others are following. Oh, it's all right. Hurrah, we are saved! Hurrah, boys! Hurrah!' This is taken up, and even the black boys join in."