Both dogs were close on the game, and Halbert said,-- "We are going to have a short run, I'm afraid." "Talk about that twenty minutes hence," said Jim, settling to his work.
Over range after range they hold their headlong course.

Now a bandicoot scuttles away from under their feet to hide in his hollow log; now a mob of terrified cattle huddle together as they sweep by; now they are flying past a shepherd's hut, and the mother runs out to snatch up a child, and bear him out of harm's way, after they are safe past.

A puppy, three weeks old, joins the chase with heart and soul, but "eaves in" at about fifty yards, and sits him down to bark.

Now they are rushing on through a broad flat, with another great range before them.
Still always the grey bounding figure holds on, through sunlight and shadow, with the dogs grim and steadfast close in his wake.
The work begins to tell on the horses.

Fat Jezebel, who could hardly be held at first, now is none the worse for a little spur; and Jim's lean, long-legged horse, seems to consider that the entertainment ought to conclude shortly.