Dan was in one of his superior moods.  “Let’s see if she knows anything about horses,” he said condescendingly, as the Quiet Stockman opened the mob up a little to show the animals to better advantage.  “Show us your fancy in this lot, missus.”  “Certainly,” I said, affecting particular knowledge of the subject, and Jack wheeled with a quick, questioning look, suddenly aware that, after all, a woman might be only a fellow-man; and as I glanced from one beautiful animal to another he watched keenly, half expectant and half incredulous.

It did not take long to choose.  In the foreground stood a magnificent brown colt, that caught and held the attention, as it watched every movement with ears shot forward, and nostrils quivering; and as I pointed it out Jack’s boyish face lit up with surprise and pleasure.

“Talk of luck!” Dan cried, as usual withholding the benefit of the doubt.  “You’ve picked Jack’s fancy.”

But it was Jack himself who surprised every one, for, forgetting his monosyllables, he said with an indescribable ring of fellowship in his voice, “She’s picked out the best in the whole mob,” and turned back to his world among the horses with his usual self-possession.

Dan’s eyes opened wide.  “Whatever’s come to Jack?” he said; but seemed puzzled at the Maluka’s answer that he was “only getting educated.”  The truth is, that every man has his vulnerable point, and Jack’s was horses.

When the mob had been put through the yards, all the unbroken horses were given into the Quiet Stockmas’s care, and for the next week or two the stockyard became the only place of real interest; for the homestead, waiting for the Wet to lift, had settled down to store lists, fencing, and stud books.

It was not the horses alone that were of interest at the yards; the calm, fearless, self-reliant man who was handling them was infinitely more so.  Nothing daunted or disheartened him; and in those hours spent on the stockyard fence, in the shade of a spreading tree, I learnt to know the Quiet Stockman for the man he was.

If any one would know the inner character of a fellow man, let him put him to horse-breaking, and he will soon know the best or the worst of him.  Let him watch him handling a wild, unbroken colt, and if he is steadfast of purpose, just, brave, and true-hearted, it will all be revealed; but if he lacks self-restraint, or is cowardly, shifty, or mean-spirited, he will do well to avoid the test, for the horse will betray him.

Jack’s horse-breaking was a battle for supremacy of mind over mind, not mind over matter a long course of careful training and schooling, in which nothing was broken, but all bent to the control of a master.  To him no two horses were alike; carefully he studied their temperaments, treating each horse according to its nature using the whip freely with some, and with others not at all; coercing, coaxing, or humouring, as his judgment directed.  Working always for intelligent obedience, not cowed stupidity, he appeared at times to be almost reasoning with the brute mind, as he helped it to solve the problems of its schooling; penetrating dull stupidity with patient reiteration, or wearing down stubborn opposition with steady, unwavering persistence, and always rewarding ultimate obedience with gentle kindness and freedom.