On Our Selection

  Chapter VIII.

  A Kangaroo-Hunt from Shingle Hut.

  We always looked forward to Sunday. It was our day of sport. Once, Iremember, we thought it would never come. We longed restlessly for it,and the more we longed the more it seemed to linger.

  A meeting of selectors had been held; war declared against themarsupial; and a hunt on a grand scale arranged for this particularSabbath. Of course those in the neighbourhood hunted the kangarooevery Sunday, but "on their own," and always on foot, which had itsfatigues. This was to be a raid EN MASSE and on horseback. The wholecountry-side was to assemble at Shingle Hut and proceed thence. Itassembled; and what a collection! Such a crowd! such gear! such a tamelot of horses! and such a motley swarm of lean, lank, lamekangaroo-dogs!

  We were not ready. The crowd sat on their horses and waited at theslip-rails. Dogs trooped into the yard by the dozen. One pounced on afowl; another lamed the pig; a trio put the cat up a peach-tree; onewith a thirst mounted the water-cask and looked down it, while the bulkof the brutes trotted inside and disputed with Mother who should openthe safe.

  Dad loosed our three, and pleased they were to feel themselves free.They had been chained up all the week, with scarcely anything to eat.Dad did n't believe in too much feeding. He had had wide experience indogs and coursing "at home" on his grandfather's large estates, andalways found them fleetest when empty. OURS ought to have been fleetas locomotives.

  Dave, showing a neat seat, rode out of the yard on Bess, fresh and fatand fit to run for a kingdom. They awaited Dad. He was standingbeside HIS mount--Farmer, the plough-horse, who was arrayed in winkerswith green-hide reins, and an old saddle with only one flap. He washolding an earnest argument with Joe...Still the crowd waited. StillDad and Joe argued the point...There was a murmur and a movement andmuch merriment. Dad was coming; so was Joe--perched behind him, "doublebank," rapidly wiping the tears from his eyes with his knuckles.

  Hooray! They were off. Paddy Maloney and Dave took the lead, headingfor kangaroo country along the foot of Dead Man's Mountain and throughSmith's paddock, where there was a low wire fence to negotiate. Paddyspread his coat over it and jumped his mare across. He was a horseman,was Pat. The others twisted a stick in the wires, and proceededcarefully to lead their horses over. When it came to Farmer's turn hehesitated. Dad coaxed him. Slowly he put one leg across, as iffeeling his way, and paused again. Joe was on his back behind thesaddle. Dad tugged hard at the winkers. Farmer was inclined towithdraw his leg. Dad was determined not to let him. Farmer's heelgot caught against the wire, and he began to pull back and grunt--sodid Dad. Both pulled hard. Anderson and old Brown ran to Dad'sassistance. The trio planted their heels in the ground and leaned back.

  Joe became afraid. He clutched at the saddle and cried, "Let me off!""Stick to him!" said Paddy Maloney, hopping over the fence, "Stick tohim!" He kicked Farmer what he afterwards called "a sollicker on thetail." Again he kicked him. Still Farmer strained and hung back. Oncemore he let him have it. Then--off flew the winkers, and over went Dadand Anderson and old Brown, and down rolled Joe and Farmer on the otherside of the fence. The others leant against their horses and laughedthe laugh of their lives. "Worse 'n a lot of d--d jackasses," Dad washeard to say. They caught Farmer and led him to the fence again. Hejumped it, and rose feet higher than he had any need to, and had notold Brown dodged him just when he did he would be a dead man now.

  A little further on the huntsmen sighted a mob of kangaroos. Joy andexcitement. A mob? It was a swarm! Away they hopped. Off scrambledthe dogs, and off flew Paddy Maloney and Dave--the rest followedanyhow, and at varying speeds.

  That all those dogs should have selected and followed the same kangaroowas sad and humiliating. And such a waif of a thing, too! Still, theystuck to it. For more than a mile, down a slope, the weedy marsupialoutpaced them, but when it came to the hill the daylight betweenrapidly began to lessen. A few seconds more and all would have beenover, but a straggling, stupid old ewe, belonging to an unneighbourlysquatter, darted up from the shade of a tree right in the way ofMaloney's Brindle, who was leading. Brindle always preferred mutton tomarsupial, so he let the latter slide and secured the ewe. Thedeath-scene was most imposing. The ground around was strewn with smalltufts of white wool. There was a complete circle of eager, wrigglingdogs--all jammed together, heads down, and tails elevated. Not a scrapof the ewe was visible. Paddy Maloney jumped down and proceeded tobatter the brutes vigorously with a waddy. As the others arrived, theyjoined him. The dogs were hungry, and fought for every inch of thesheep. Those not laid out were pulled away, and when old Brown haddragged the last one off by the hind legs, all that was left of thatewe was four feet and some skin.

  Dad shook his head and looked grave--so did Anderson. After a shortrest they decided to divide into parties and work the ridges. A startwas made. Dad's contingent--consisting of himself and Joe, PaddyMaloney, Anderson, old Brown, and several others--started a mob. Thistime the dogs separated and scampered off in all directions. In quicktime Brown's black slut bailed up an "old man" full of fight. Nothingwas more desirable. He was a monster, a king kangaroo; and as heraised himself to his full height on his toes and tail he lookedformidable--a grand and majestic demon of the bush. The slut made noattempt to tackle him; she stood off with her tongue out. Severalsmall dogs belonging to Anderson barked energetically at him, evenventuring occasionally to run behind and bite his tail. But, furtherthan grabbing them in his arms and embracing them, he took no notice.There he towered, his head back and chest well out, awaiting thehorsemen. They came, shouting and hooraying. He faced them defiantly.Anderson, aglow with excitement, dismounted and aimed a lump of rock athis head, which laid out one of the little dogs. They pelted him withsticks and stones till their arms were tired, but they might just aswell have pelted a dead cow. Paddy Maloney took out his stirrup."Look out!" he cried. They looked out. Then, galloping up, he swungthe iron at the marsupial, and nearly knocked his horse's eye out.

  Dad was disgusted. He and Joe approached the enemy on Farmer. Dadcarried a short stick. The "old man" looked him straight in the face.Dad poked the stick at him. He promptly grabbed hold of it, and apiece of Dad's hand as well. Farmer had not been in many battles--noDefence Force man ever owned him. He threw up his head and snorted,and commenced a retreat. The kangaroo followed him up and seized Dadby the shirt. Joe evinced signs of timidity. He lost faith in Dad,and, half jumping, half falling, he landed on the ground, and set outspeedily for a tree. Dad lost the stick, and in attempting to brainthe brute with his fist he overbalanced and fell out of the saddle. Hestruggled to his feet, and clutched his antagonist affectionately byboth paws--standing well away. Backwards and forwards and round andround they moved. "Use your knife!" Anderson called out, gettingfurther away himself. But Dad dared not relax his grip. Paddy Maloneyran behind the brute several times to lay him out with a waddy, buteach time he turned and fled before striking the blow. Dad thought toforce matters, and began kicking his assailant vigorously in thestomach. Such dull, heavy thuds! The kangaroo retaliated, putting Dadon the defensive. Dad displayed remarkable suppleness about the hips.At last the brute fixed his deadly toe in Dad's belt.

  It was an anxious moment, but the belt broke, and Dad breathed freelyagain. He was acting entirely on the defensive, but an awfulconsciousness of impending misfortune assailed him. His belt was gone,and--his trousers began to slip--slip--slip! He called wildly to theothers for God's sake to do something. They helped with advice. Heyelled "Curs!" and "Cowards!" back at them. Still, as he danced aroundwith his strange and ungainly partner, his trousers keptslipping--slipping. For the fiftieth time and more he glanced eagerlyover his shoulder for some haven of safety. None was near. Andthen--oh, horror!--down THEY slid calmly and noiselessly. Poor Dad!He was at a disadvantage; his leg work was hampered. He was hobbled.Could he only get free of them altogether! But he could n't--his feetwere large. He took a lesson from
the foe and jumped--jumped this wayand that way, and round about, while large drops of perspiration rolledoff him. The small dogs displayed renewed and ridiculous ferocity,often mistaking Dad for the marsupial. At last Dad becameexhausted--there was no spring left in him. Once he nearly went down.Twice he tripped. He staggered again--down he was going--down--down,down and down he fell! But at the same moment, and, as though they haddropped from the clouds, Brindle and five or six other dogs pounced onthe "old man." The rest may be imagined.

  Dad lay on the ground to recover his wind, and when he mounted Farmeragain and silently turned for home, Paddy Maloney was triumphantlyseated on the carcase of the fallen enemy, exultingly explaining how hemissed the brute's head with the stirrup-iron, and claiming the tail.