The rain washes away the soil from between the tussocks, which stand up like miniature mountains; the heat cracks the ground till it opens in crevices, sometimes a foot wide and a yard or two deep; fallen saplings lie hidden in the shadows to trip the horse, while the stumps stand up to cripple him, and over all is the long grass hiding all perils, and making the horse risk his own neck and his master's at every stride.
They flew along in the moonlight, Considine leading, Charlie next, then the two black boys, and then Carew, with a black gin on each side of him, racing in grim silence.

The horses blundered and "peeked," stumbled, picked themselves up again, always seeming to have a leg to spare.

Now and again a stump or a gaping crack in the ground would flash into view under their very nose, but they cleared everything--stumps, tussocks, gaps, and saplings.
In less time than it takes to write, they were between the mob and the scrub; at once a fusillade of whips rang out, and the men started to ride round the cattle in Indian file.

The wild ones were well mixed up with the tame, and hardly knew which way to turn.

Carew, cantering round, caught glimpses of them rushing hither and thither--small, wiry cattle for the most part, with big ears and sharp, spear-pointed horns.