glancing eagerly about him, trying to discover which is the wanted one.
The press divides and the white steer scuttles along the edge of the mob
trying to force his way in again. Suddenly he and two or three others
are momentarily eddied out to the outskirts of the mob, and in that second
the stockman dashes his horse between them and the main body.
The lumbering beasts rush hither and thither in a vain attempt
to return to their comrades. Those not wanted are allowed to return,
but the white steer finds, to his dismay, that wherever he turns that horse
and man and dreaded whip are confronting him. He doubles and dodges
and makes feints to charge, but the horse anticipates every movement
and wheels quicker than the bullock. At last the white steer sees
the outlying mob he is required to join, and trots off to them quite happy,
while horse and rider return to cut out another.

It is a pretty exhibition of skill and intelligence, doubly pleasant
to watch because of the undoubted interest that the horses take in it.
Big, stupid creatures that they are, cursed with highly-strung nerves,
and blessed with little sense, they are pathetically anxious to do
such work as they can understand. So they go into the cutting-out camp
with a zest, and toil all day edging lumbering bullocks out of the mob,
but as soon as a bad rider gets on them and begins
to haul their mouths about, their nerves overcome them,
and they get awkward and frightened. A horse that is a crack camp-horse
in one man's hands may be a hopeless brute in the hands of another.




White-when-he's-wanted