As for father he always used to keep a horse or two, trained to go home when he'd done with him.

The pony he rode to-night would just trot off, and never put his nose to the ground almost till he got wind of home.
We humped our saddles and swags ourselves; a stiffish load too, but the night was cool, and we did our best.

It was no use growling.

It had to be done, and the sooner the better.

It seemed a long time--following father step by step--before we came to the place where I thought the cattle were going to be driven over the precipice.