The question was shot suddenly at Bony, who, had he not been prepared by Sergeant Morris, might excusably have been stunned. Entirely respectful, yet inwardly at ease, he replied, “I can paint, drive a truck, put up a fence, and break-in horses.”

“Ho! Break-in horses!” Stanton almost snarled. “I never met a nigger yet who could break-in a horse properly. Youmesmerizes ’em, and cows ’em, and damns ’em. Anyway, I don’t like your looks. I never did like niggers. You’re-”

“That’s enough!” Bony cut in with assumed anger but secret amusement. “I’m no nigger, and you look like a half-caste Chinaman. Only for your age I’d knock you rotten. Don’t think that because you got a few million pounds you can blackguard me. You may think you’re Lord Jeffrey, but I’ll show you-”

Stanton suddenly threw back his whitened head and roared with laughter. The metamorphosis was astounding-so astounding as to make credible his next words, uttered in clapping Bony on the back: “You’ll do! I’ve got some horses I want broke in, and I’ll give you four pounds a head and tucker. Don’t mind me! You see, I only employ men with guts in ’em. I can’t stand the mistering, hat-raising sort. They get my goat with their bowing and scraping, and when they’re sent out to look over sheep they tie their horses to a tree and go to sleep till it’s time to come home again.”

Over the ruddy features of the half-caste slowly broke his wonderful understanding smile, and from then on the two men, so far apart in birth, brains, and wealth, were attracted to each other. Stanton, rough, clear-sighted, and inclined to call a spade a ruddy spade, glimpsed behind Bony’s blue eyes a personality wholly sympathetic and staunch. In Stanton Bony saw a real specimen of the original conquering, pioneering British race.