The tea was made, and we all had a good meal. Father found
a bottle of rum, too; he took a good drink himself, and gave Jim and me
a sip each. I felt less inclined to quarrel with father after that.
So we drafted all the calves into a small pen-yard, and began to put
our brand on them as quick as we could catch 'em.

A hundred and sixty of 'em altogether -- all ages, from a month old
to nearly a year. Fine strong calves, and in rare condition, too.
We could see they were all belonging to Mr. Hunter and Mr. Falkland.
How they came to leave them all so long unbranded I can't say.
Very careless they often are on these large cattle-stations,
so that sharp people like father and the Dalys, and a lot more,
get an easy chance at them.

Whatever father was going to do with them all when he had branded 'em,
we couldn't make out.

`There's no place to tail or wean 'em,' whispered Jim. `We're not above
thirty miles from Banda in a straight line. These cows are dead sure
to make straight back the very minute they're let out,
and very nice work it'll look with all these calves with our brand on
sucking these cows.'

Father happened to come round for a hot brand just as Jim finished.

`Never you mind about the weaning,' he snarled. `I shan't ask you
to tail them either. It wouldn't be a nice job here, would it?'
and father actually laughed. It wasn't a very gay kind of a laugh,
and he shut up his mouth with a sort of snap again.