Before all the arrangements were completed, others of the Creek had begun
to thaw, and were "lending a hand," here and there. The question of
horses coming up, I confided in the helpers, that I was relieved to hear
that the Telegraph had sent a quiet horse. "I am really afraid of
buck-jumpers, you know," I said, and the Creek looking sideways at Mac,
he became incoherent.
"Oh, look here!" he spluttered, "I say! Oh, look here! It really was
too bad!" Then, after an awkward pause, he blurted out, "I don't know
what you'll think, but the brute strayed first camp, and--he's lost,
saddle and all."
The Maluka shot him a swift, questioning glance; but poor Mac looked so
unhappy that we assured him "we'd manage somehow." Perhaps we could tame
one of the flash buck-jumpers, the Maluka suggested. But Mac said it
"wouldn't be as bad as that," and, making full confession, placed old
Roper at our service.
By morning, however, a magnificent chestnut "Flash," well-broken into the
side-saddle, had been conjured up from somewhere by the Creek. But two of
the pack-horses had strayed, and by the time they were found the morning
had slipped away, and it was too late to start until after dinner.
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