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Rh cracking of the stockwhips, then the shouting of the stockriders, intermixed with the rumbling noise of the galloping herd tearing through the forest. Shortly after this clouds of dust which enveloped the leading herd, were seen; they soon entered the stockyard, the men being busily engaged in running in the stragglers. Among these was one of an inferior breed of bulls, called by stockmen Scrubbers or Rushians, which for a long time had evaded the death-warrant that hung over him, for whenever he approached the yard he managed to effect his escape. At this time, after baffling all his pursuers (except one) by charging them and then rushing off, he began to show signs of distress and control to his solitary pursuer, who with his stockwhip had inflicted a severe punishment upon him.

Mr. Wilson asked the stockman who it was that was following the bull, when he was told that it was Highland Donald. "Ah," replied Mr. Wilson exultingly; "now there is a chance of getting hold of that brute," and turning to Charlie added, "Yonder is a countryman of yours, and although not two years after stock, there is not his equal on the run, and I would sooner trust him than many of the free men."

"Poor fellow," replied Charlie, "he is a prisoner then—a rare thing among Highlanders."

"He is," added Mr. Wilson, "but I cannot help believing that he is quietquite [sic] innocent of the crime he was charged with."

The conversation was interrupted by the approach of the humbled bull, who entered the yard submissively, and his pursuer on coming up proved to be Donald Munro, the piper.

At this moment an individual (who could not boast of his good looks) and who, by his bearing and talk, Charlie took to be the head stockman, strutted up to Mr. Wilson.

"Well, Griffin," exclaimed Mr. Wilson, "everything right and ready?"

"All right, Sir, except that Highland Donald ruining his hosshorse [sic] for the sake of that scrubber. I've a mind to pull him before Paddy Plunkett first coortcourt [sic] day. Fifty lashes are too little for him."