Chapter 6

CHAPTER XVITHE DINGO RAID"What's up, old horse? Your ears you prick,And your eager eyeballs glisten.'Tis the wild dog's note, in the tea-tree thick,By the river to which you listen.* * * * *Let the dingo rest, 'tis all for the best;In this world there's room enoughFor him and you and me and the rest,And the country is awful rough."ADAM LINDSAY GORDON."Here's a fine how-d'ye-do!" exclaimed Mr. M'Intyre wrathfully, as he strode into the house, one hot morning shortly after the events recorded in the previous chapter. "Why sic rubbish were ever created passes understanding!"The irate squatter, contrary to his usual habit, clattered through the hall and out on to the front verandah, slamming the door most vigorously as he made his exit."Whatever's stung dad this morning, Jess?" remarked Maggie to her sister, as their excited parent made his noisy intrusion."Something bad, you may be sure, to cause dad to parade in that fashion. I expect the blacks have been performing. They madden father at times by their 'want o' intellect,' as he calls it.""I'll—I'll cut the livers out o' them, the sneakin' hounds! Rot 'em, I'll pizen every faither's son o' the dirty vermin!""Oh, father!" cried Jessie, "you surely are not going to poison the poor things?""Pizen 'em, that am I! Pizen's ower guid for them, thieving brutes that they are! 'Puir things,' as you ca' the wretches," continued he sarcastically, "I'll hae the life o' the hale o' them, if it tak's a' the pizen in Tareela!" barked the exasperated man."Then you're no father of mine!" blazed out Jessie. "What have the poor boys done that you should threaten such dreadful——""W-h-a-t!""Why, poor Willy and Jacky: what have they done that you should——""What on earth is the lassie haverin' aboot?" roared Mr. M'Intyre to Maggie."The blacks, father. Didn't you say that you were going to poison them? But I don't believe it for a——""The blacks! Wha's talkin' o' blacks? It's the reds, the blessed dingoes, wha've been playin' havoc wi' the calves. The blacks? Ma certie!" continued he, as the humour of the situation seized him, forcing a smile. Turning to his daughter, he exclaimed, "Ye're a fine bairn, I maun say, to be accusin' yer ain faither o'blackmurder!""Forgive me, dad!" cried the impulsive girl, as she threw her arms round his neck; "I never thought of the dingoes. I—I—I made sure the black boys had been up to tricks, and never dreamed——""There, there, that's enough, my lassie! It's a case of 'misunderconstumbling,' as Denny Kineavy would say. But it's enough to make ane feel wild and gingery. Eleeven fine yearlin's killed! It's the wantonness mair than the actual loss that vexes me: though the latter is bad enough, for some o' the best, of course, are sacrificeed to their slaughterin' instincts."That evening, in conference with his chief stockman, Mr. M'Intyre laid his plans for the extermination of the pack of dingoes which had just given an exhibition of their destructive powers. In this particular instance the brutes had driven a number of yearling calves, weaners, into a blind gully. Having boxed them up in thiscul de sac, the rapacious dogs found them an easy prey.The Australian wild dog is a combination of several very excellent qualities—from the canine standpoint, that is. He possesses more sagacity than any other wild thing of the bush. Keen of sight, quick at scent, subtle of wit, noiseless in tread and bark, tenacious to rooted purpose, he pursues and stalks his quarry, whether bird or beast, with all the odds in his favour.There he stands, this indigenous dog, with a great, broad forehead, his eyes narrowing in sinister expression; well set in body, showing big sinews and a good muscular development; strong jaws, with teeth like ivory needles; white in paw and tail-tip, bright yellow everywhere else, save the chocolate-coloured streak running along the spine from neck to tail. There he stands: but that is a figure of speech, for a more restless animal than this same dog does not exist.Australian cattle-dogs have a world reputation, and the very best are they which by crossing inherit a strain of dingo nature. That which makes the dingo so hated by stock owners—who pursue him relentlessly—is the killing lust which possesses him. Were he to simply kill for food, and be satisfied with a victim that would furnish enough for present needs, settlers would be far more tolerant of him. The plain truth about him is that his predatory instinct is so strong as to practically intoxicate him. The sight of a flock of sheep or a bunch of calves makes him "see red," and then he simply runs amok. One snap—he does not bite in the ordinary sense—of his steel-like jaws is enough. The mouthful of flesh and muscle is torn out in an instant, and the victim invariably dies of shock. One dingo in a sheepfold will kill fifty sheep in a few minutes.These dogs are more troublesome in bad than in good seasons. When the cattle get low in condition and weak, they become a comparatively easy prey, then the cunning of the dingoes becomes manifest. They will select their victim and drive it towards a water-hole or swamp. In dry times these are mere puddles and exceedingly boggy. The object of the canine drovers is to reduce the bullock to helplessness by bogging it. The drive will sometimes take hours, and no experienced drover could do the work more cleverly. Finally, when their quarry is down in the mire and practically helpless, he is tackled and bitten to death. In good seasons, when the cattle are strong, Mr. Dingo, save for an occasional foray on the calves, has to content himself with his natural diet—kangaroos, 'possums, and emus.Fortunately, there was at the station at this time an eccentric bushman who combined the work of horse-breaking and dingo-trapping. Nosey George was reputed to have a sense of smell equal to that of the dingo itself. Certainly, his slouching gait made it often appear as if he were "nosing" the tracks of the game. But in truth he owed his prowess as a trapper to a pair of eyes that knew no dimness. At first sight of Nosey, one saw nothing but his nose. But when you noticed his eyes you forgot the nose, and lived in the presence of a pair of eyes that sparkled like diamonds, or as searchlights that permitted nothing to escape their scrutiny.Nosey's feats of tracking were really marvellous. On one occasion he got on to the trail of a dingo bitch which had raided his hen-roost, and followed it for twelve miles, mostly through scrubby and rocky country that was criss-crossed with innumerable tracks of bush vermin. For all that, this human sleuth-hound tracked Mrs. Dingo to a cave in the mountains where she had five pups, and returned with six scalps.The dingo trapper rode out early the next morning in company with Harry the stockman and the boys to the scene of the slaughter, there to devise means, for which he had receivedcarte blanchefrom Mr. M'Intyre, for the capture of the raiders.The weaners' paddock was about three miles from the house, and had an area of five thousand acres. Most of the enclosure consisted of plain, but a corner of it contained a belt of scrub; and it was in this corner, where the weaners camped for warmth in the night-time, that the drive and slaughter had been made. The beasts, most of them, lay huddled, showing evidence of mangling; others had struggled out of the gully into the scrub. After gazing awhile at the slain, Tom Hawkins broke the silence—"I say, Nosey, ain't this a go? Poor brutes!""Here, you kid," cried the trapper, turning sharply on Tom, "who gave you leave to call me names? Like yer blessed cheek! How'd yer like me ter call yer monkey-face? If yer had a decent nose, I'd tweak it fer yer."Nosey, who was very sensitive on this question of nickname, and had had many a fight over the same, made such a menacing move towards Tom that the lad shrank back in fear."That'll do, George," said Sandy. "Leave the boy alone. He didn't mean anything. It's what everybody calls you.""I'm not goin' to let brats of boys miscall me, anyhow. Don't know why the boss sent you blokes, for all the good y'are!" growled the grumpy, cross-grained, but not really bad-hearted old man. "Youse better be keepin' quiet, anyways, till me an' Harry has a look round.""Let him be," whispered Harry. "If you get his dander up he's as likely as not to chuck the whole blame thing. He always jibs at that name; carn't stand it from kids nohow."Nosey, or to be respectful, George, now proceeded to examine the surroundings of the carcasses. Bending forward until his protuberant nose almost touched the earth, the trapper moved his eyes swiftly, now concentrating on twig or grass-blades, now wildly roving and all-comprehensive. The rest of the party were following at his heels, when he turned round and fiercely waved them back."All right, Nos—George!" sang out Joe. "I see; you want to keep the tracks clear. We'll stay here till you've finished."Drawing on one side, the group watched the proceedings with great interest. The ground was hard and stony; quite unimpressionable and barren of sign to the pals' untutored sight, yet to this man of the woods, who was ignorant of the alphabet, the rough earth surface was all-revealing, and made known to him in unmistakable characters the story of the attack.Having at length concluded his investigations, the trapper straightened his back and moved to where the others stood. Producing his knife and a plug of tobacco, he began to shred a pipeful, making no remark to the expectant onlookers."Reckon we'll have to drag it out o' the old un," said Harry to Joe in a low tone. Then raising his voice, the stockman began to question the man."Had a good look round, George?"Nod."Ain't missed anything worth seeing, I bet?"Head-shake."Whatyer make of it?""Razorback pack," replied the old man of frugal speech, as he cleaned out his pipe."Razorback pack? You surely don't mean it! Why, that is a matter of twelve mile or so!""Suppose it is; what of that?""Oh, I say!" exclaimed Harry dubiously, yet not wishful to offend the old man's susceptibilities. "Of course you know best, George. How many of 'em do you consider they'd be?""Five dorgs an' two bitches.""Good gracious, Nosey!" cried Tom the unlucky, the next moment beating a rapid retreat as the dog-trapper made a vicious dart at his caudal appendage, finally coming to grief over a fallen log which lay in the line of retreat. The pursuing foe, even, had to stop and join in the laugh raised at the ludicrous figure which Tom cut as he lay, head down, heels up."Beg pardon, George!" he cried breathlessly the next moment, as he recovered his original position. "It slipped out, old fellow. I—I didn't mean it.""Come, now, George, that's handsome. You must accept the apology," interjected Joe.The trapper nodded assent, and the incident passed."Howdoyou know what pack it is, George? Blest if I can understand how you find out all these things! First you tell us the sex an' then where they come from.""Tell it by their paws.""By their paws! How on earth can you tell they've come all the way from Razorback by their paw marks? Mightn't it be the turkey scrub lot?""It carn't be, an' isn't, 'cause I knows the pack.""How's that?""Got two of the vermin in the traps six months ago over at the mountains, an' a cove wot got away left two toe nails of his near hind-foot in the trap.""Too fly for poison, eh?""'Twould be a waste of good strychnine over the rubbage," replied the trapper, waxing more communicative. "They know a bait better than a Christun. 'Sides, I tried them over at Razorback. Got plenty o' cats, gohanners, an' crows; an', be gosh! laid out one of my own cattle puppies, but ne'er a dingo.""The traps'll fetch 'em, won't they, George?"George returned no answer, but "smoled" a cryptic smile. Mounting their steeds, the party turned in the direction of home. Mr. M'Intyre received the trapper's report without interruption, and then consulted as to the best way to work their destruction."Hunting them is out of the question," said the squatter in reply to a remark of his son that it would be grand sport hunting them. "We'd only ruin the horses in that country and miss most o' the dingoes. Na! the traps are the best an' safest. If ony ane can catch 'em in that fashion, George is the mon. I leave the hale matter in his hands. He kens best what to do to circumvent the brutes; so go your own way to work, George. What aboot traps? Have ye enough?""Got seven or eight, dunno for sure. Ought to have a dozen.""Varra weel; ane o' the laddies will ride to Tareela and get ither fower."Accordingly, Joe and Tom mounted their horses and rode into the store for the additional traps.A dog-trap, it should be explained, is simply an enlarged spring rat-trap, with extra strong jaws and saw-like teeth. These instruments of capture weigh about ten pounds, and are planted in likely spots. The native dog is an exceedingly suspicious animal. His reasoning faculty is large. A mere glance at his head will convince one as to his capacity, and those who have had to do with him count him as the slimmest of the slim. Hence, only by outmatching him in cunning may his adversary succeed. In this Nosey George was an adept, and Mr. M'Intyre did not overstate the facts when he declared no one to be capable of matching the dog-trapper in the art of setting lures.The pals readily obtained leave to accompany the trapper next morning to watch the proceedings, on the understanding that they were in no way to interfere with him. Each lad had a pair of traps slung across his horse's withers, and George carried the balance on the neck and croup of his steed. They made their way to the weaners' paddock, and after a brief inspection of the carrion the trapper declared that there had been no return of the dogs."I didn't expect them larst night," remarked George. "They're like the blacks, can eat enough at one meal to do 'em fur days. A gorge is Chrismus to 'em.""What do you intend doing with the dead beasts, George?""Leave 'em be, o' course. They'll help me more than anythin' else. Dogs'll come again to get another feed or two; an' as boss's took the weaners away to a safe paddock, they'll go fur these dead uns like winkie—likes 'em a bit high, in fact. Supposin' we burn these wretches, the vermin'll keep about their own haunts. They're out of their beat when they come over here, while they knows every stick an' stone of their run. Consequently, it gives me a better charnse with 'em on unfamiliar ground."So saying, the cunning hunter proceeded to carry out his plan. The dingo has a well-defined method of carving his veal, so to speak. The hide of the animal is not uniformly thick. The softest and tenderest part is that underneath and between the thighs. The ravager, therefore, attacks this tenderest and most susceptible part. He tears a big hole through the skin and into the flesh in a short time, and literally eats his way into the body; until, when he and his fellow-feasters have finally finished, and cleaned paws and jaws with that self-provided serviette the tongue, nothing of the animal remains but the skin and bones—always providing that no foe appears to stay proceedings against the gourmands. This finish, of course, entails several feasts when the course happens to be a bullock, or, as in the present case, toothsome veal.The trapper proceeded to lay a trap facing the torn portion of each carcass—that, of course, being the place of attack on each occasion of the canines' visits. After a careful consideration of the ground surrounding each beast, he dug a hole in the earth and then placed a trap in it. He next produced some sheets of the inner bark of the ti tree, which is as flexible as paper and softer. A sheet of this is laid over the gaping jaws of the trap, which is, of course, properly set. The "jaws" are now level with the ground. Over this fine earth is sprinkled until all appearance of the trap is hidden. The superfluous soil is now removed with care, and the surroundings are made to look as natural as possible. This in itself is a work of art; for the slightest appearance of disturbance or make-up alarms the wary dingo, and nullifies the trapper's design.There is one thing, however, that Nosey George had not reckoned upon when starting his operations—the number of carcasses to be treated. It will be remembered that eleven animals were slaughtered in the dingo raid. This would mean the use of eleven traps, were every animal to be used as a lure. But it is contrary to the design of the trapper to use up all his traps in the vicinity of the beasts. Some are to be set along the line of approach. A number of carcasses, therefore, must be removed. With the help of the boys, five of the beasts are dragged about two hundred yards away, put in a heap, covered with dry wood, and then burned.This left the trapper with several traps to use in other directions. Having laid six traps in the vicinity of the calves, he proceeded to follow up the tracks of the dogs. The first gin was laid in a soft patch of ground directly in their footmarks. This he continued at intervals, until the last one was placed at a spot about two miles distant."How many dingoes do you think you'll nab, George?" exclaimed Tom, as the party rode homewards in the late afternoon."Tell you when I visit the traps termorrer, boy.""I say three," judged the judicious Joe."I say one," opined the cautious Sandy."I say the whole bloomin' lot," loudly proclaimed the sanguine Tom."I say, wait," drily remarked the wise trapper.The trapper's prophecy was justified; for, on a visit to the traps in the early morning by the expectant and impatient boys, in the company of Nosey George, to the surprise and disgust of these same youngsters, not a trap was sprung.The trapper, who while examining the ground had maintained a sphinx-like attitude, broke silence at length under a fusillade of questions."Yees want ter know, does youse, why it is no dog's copp'd? Simple enough. Dogs didn't come."CHAPTER XVIIDINGOV.EMU: A FIGHT TO A FINISH"Afar I mark the emu's run;The bustard slow, in motley clad;And, basking in his bath of sun,The brown snake on the cattle-pad,And the reddish blackOf a dingo's backAs he loit'ring slinks on my horse's track."GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.The next morning's visit told another tale.The dingoes, having recovered from their surfeit, hunger-induced, made a second nocturnal trip to the feeding-grounds. Cunning and wary as they habitually are, they fell, some of them at least, before the wiles of the trapper. Four of their number paid the death penalty. Two female dogs were caught in the traps set about the calves. The trapped animals had not moved any great space.It should be said that the traps are not fastened to the spot whereon they are laid; because, were they stationary, the dingo, especially the dog dingo, in his frantic efforts to escape, and by reason of his great strength, will frequently save his life at the expense of his paw. That dog, it is safe to say, will never be trapped again; as on the principle of, once bitten twice shy, he will ever eschew the most deftly constructed device of man.[image]"The emu failed to elude the panther-like spring."—See p.134.On the other hand, should there be no fastening, a strong dog will carry a trap for miles, especially if caught by the hind-leg. In order to remedy this, a device, similar to that which sailors use, called a sea anchor, is attached. A block of wood not too heavy is tied to the trap by a chain or a piece of wire. This acts as a check to the animal, besides leaving a broad trail that is easily followed up.When the trapped dingoes were approached they set up a dismal howling, which turned to a vigorous snapping with their teeth; the while they tore the earth with their paws in vain efforts to escape."Put the poor wretches out of their pain," cried Sandy, after watching the agonised efforts of the canines for a few seconds.The trapper, armed with a heavy "nulla-nulla," dispatched the brutes, and scalped them; for the district Stock Board, to induce their extermination, gave £1 per scalp, and experienced trappers like Nosey George did well at times. They concluded that there was at the least one other victim; for while the bitches were snapping and howling, answering howls of rage and sympathy could be heard in the distance along the trail.The next act was to cremate the slain, which was speedily done. After this the group proceeded to follow the track along which the other snares were secreted. The very first trap contained a dog. It was set in the centre of a soft depression, at the edge of the scrub belt on the farther side. The dog had dragged the trap about three hundred yards, when the "anchor," fouling in some saplings, his retreat was stopped. The beast was immediately brained and scalped, and the body flung into a clump of bushes.There was still another victim. The farthest out trap was gone. Nothing was to be seen but the trap-hole. George, however, was soon upon the trail. The country here was fairly open, and offered little obstruction to the determined dog. The track led on and on with little deviation until a course of three miles or so had been traversed. It now curved outward and down toward a patch of scrub. Nosey suddenly stopped and pointed to the ground."What's up, George?" exclaimed Joe, who stood nearest the trapper."Look an' see fur y'reself."Bending over, Joe saw in a sandy patch the deep impress of the toes of a large bird."I can't make it out. What in thunder is it? Far too big for a crow; bigger even than an eagle or a bustard.""As big as two eagles, young mutton-head," declared the old tough. "Tell 'im, Sandy.""Why, you greeney; that's an emu track!""Emu!" shouted Joe in great excitement. "It's the first time I ever saw an emu track. What an enormous foot he must have.""Ye'd know it, me boy, if ivver ye got a kick," grunted the trapper. "I've seen them break a dog's leg like a carrot.""Blest if I don't think he's follerin' up the dingo!" continued Joe."Just wot 'eisa-doin' of," answered the man. "These 'ere emus is more curious nor a woman."Joe now remembered Sandy relating how his father used to lure the emu he was stalking within shot of his fowling piece, by lying flat, and slowly waving his handkerchief from the point of his ram-rod; or even doubling his leg as he lay breast downward, and elevating his hat on the foot thus raised. With slow and hesitating yet irresistible steps, fascinated by the mysterious object, or a victim to curiosity, the bird would approach to its undoing.This particular emu was no stranger to the dingoes, nor they to him. Never before, though, had he beheld a dingo with such an appendage, or in such difficulties. The unwonted appearance of the canine furnishes the bird with an unusual sensation, and queries in rapid succession flit through its brain. "What on earth is the matter with the limping, whimpering brute? What is that object trailing behind the horrid creature? Let me draw near and behold this great sight!" Fate has delivered his old-time enemy into his hands. That lolling, swollen tongue, those blood-shot eyes, that painful whimper, the wild despairing glances; all these loudly proclaim his downfall. "Well, what matter! He's getting his punishment now. What is there to prevent me wiping out old scores?"And so, with cautious yet confident step the huge bird, second in size only to the ostrich, strode on at a short distance behind his enemy; and in a few minutes both are swallowed up in the scrub. The huntsmen follow well on the heels of the animals."I wonder if the bird's still following?" asked Tom."Soon see," answered the trapper, carefully examining the ground. "Not a quarter of an hour since he passed this spot: must be in the scrub still."A minute or so brought them to the edge of the scrub. Pushing along, they were soon enwrapped in its gloom. Following the advice of George, the boys tied their horses to saplings at the outskirts of the belt, and proceeded on foot. Suddenly the trapper, who was leading, stopped dead in his tracks, and uttered a warning note in a low voice. Motioning the pals to remain where they were, he noiselessly moved forward, and was soon lost in the thick foliage ahead."Wonder why ole Nosey made us stay back?" muttered Tom, after the lads had stood silently awhile. "What can be in the air, now?""Hist!" exclaimed Sandy in a whisper; "he's returning."At this moment the trapper reappeared."Follow as quiet as mice, an' ye'll see summat like wot ye've ne'er seed afore." There was an unusual gleam in the man's eye as he made this deliverance.Cautiously and silently the party moved Indian fashion through the wood. After going in this way a hundred paces or so the hunter stopped again, and beckoned the boys, indicating a stealthy approach. Very gingerly they trod until they were abreast the man. Following his muttered directions and example, they quietly parted the intervening brushwood.It was an unique sight on which their eyes fastened; one they would not readily forget. Beyond them was a small natural clearing, such as often occurs in the densest scrub.It was circular in form, and about fifty yards in diameter. Here, almost in the centre of the clearing, the bird had bailed up the beast. Curiosity in the emu had grown into anger, and was at a white heat, judging from the manner in which it pirouetted and menaced the dog, keeping up the while an incessant gabble. The gabble, rightly interpreted, declared that the time of vengeance was at hand. The fates were thanked for being so kind as to furnish this fitting opportunity for paying off old scores: "Here, you sneaking thief and flying murderer, stop! It's you and I for it now; so, off with your coat and roll up your sleeves!"Nor was Master Dingo disinclined to accept the challenge thrown down by the strutting bird. Weary as he was and full of pain, he was in no humour to eat humble-pie, or to fly before another foe. His warring instincts rose to the gage of his hereditary enemy. Many of his kind were scarred with wounds from the terrible emu kick, or deep score made by the horny toe of this formidable antagonist.Nor could he retreat, if so inclined: behind him, to a certainty, was the monstrous biped; far more to be feared than this animated piece of impertinence, whose wicked eye squinted and winked in defiance.Forgotten in a moment is all fear, whether of the visible bird or the invisible pursuers. Handicapped as he is, and goaded by his pain and shameful condition, the dingo fires the first shot, as it were, by making a sudden jump at the emu's throat, narrowly missing it, and still more narrowly missing the leg stroke of the bird as it made its counter-stroke.Both bird and beast are practised in all the arts and devices of animal warfare. Each knows the tactics of the other. But for the disability of the dog through the tenacious trap the chances would be in his favour; but his exhaustion and encumbrance give the odds to the other. Still, he makes a gallant fight, and the bird needs all its wits and agility to escape his savage snaps, one of which, had he been able to lay hold, would tear out the neck from throat to breast.The combat was at its height between these gladiators when the pursuers sighted them. The boys hold their breath in fair amazement as they eagerly watch the two figures in the sunlit arena struggling for the mastery. So engrossed are the combatants that the spectators may come out into the open and surround them, for all the notice that will be taken of them. As it is, the boys' astonishment is quickly transmuted into animal excitement and battle-lust. They take sides, and cheer, now the beast and now the bird.But the end comes quickly and tragically enough. The pace of the conflict tells terribly upon the dingo. He is now weakening fast; can hardly see, so bloodshot are his eyes. Yes, he can hold out but little longer. Realising this, he fights purely on the defence for breath. Then, concentrating all his energies in one last irresistible stroke, he springs, arrow-like, and this time strikes fair on the bullseye—the neck of his adversary. The emu had failed to elude the panther-like spring. But now the counter-stroke!When the dingo's fangs close vice-like upon the emu's throat the bird's fate is irrevocably sealed. The jugular vein is torn out with a mouthful of flesh and muscle, and the skin is stripped to the bosom. What time this savage and fatal stroke is given the vengeful bird, by one terrific downward blow of its powerful leg and toes, disembowels the hanging dog; and then with a lightning side-stroke, delivered full on the forehead of the prone beast, smashes in its skull. A vain attempt to crow a note of victory; a few short, uncertain, rotatory movements, life-blood gushing the while from its severed jugular, then a collapse, falling across the body of its slain adversary!Which of the two is the victor?The surprise of the boys, at the sudden and bloody termination of the fight, may be better imagined than described. They stared aghast for some moments at the spectacle, too dazed to move or speak. Even the hardened bushman, George, was moved."Well, of all the fights I ever seed, this licks creation; it's better nor cock-fightin'. Be gosh, 'twas a grand fight to a finish!"The trapper now busies himself with the scalping-knife, and, as the boys stand around, a feeling of sadness rises within as they contemplate the slain."Poor brutes!" said Sandy feelingly, "I've a notion, lads, that they deserved a better fate.""The boss wouldn't agree to that as fur as the dorgs is concerned. As fer the emu, he's neither good nor bad," grunted the old man."Well, after all," broke in Joe, "it's their nature, as old Simpson is always preaching to us in school. They're not to blame for following their instincts. By jings! there's no coward's blood in these poor brutes,—they're as brave as brave."But such moralising was beyond Nosey George."Emus is sight enough in a way, an' only eats grass an' roots,—but dingos! they're vermin, an' any death's good enough fur them. By the hokey!" exclaimed he as he looked at the trap; "I'm blamed if here isn't the blessed paw!"It was true. The wretched beast's foot was evidently so lacerated and broken by its efforts to escape, and in dragging the trap, that when it made the last and fatal spring the imprisoned paw parted from the leg in the very act, and that severance enabled it to reach the emu's neck. Having secured the trap and the scalp, the group retraced their steps to where they had hitched the horses.The haul proved successful beyond measure. To secure four dingoes in one scoop was a great stroke of luck. Not so much luck, on reflection, as skilful management. An amateur might have set a hundred traps with seeming skill and not have bagged a dog. No one save a trapper like George could trap with any degree of certainty."I s'pose you'll bag the balance to-night," remarked Tom to the trapper when they had remounted."No jolly fear! Never catch any more along this line.""How's that?""Why, d'yer think a dingo's no sense? Be gosh! all the calves in creation wuddent tempt what's left of the vermin to come along this track again. Wish we'd a' got the old dog, though.""What are you going to do next?" inquired Tom."Fust an' foremost thing is to collect the traps, then we'll burn the weaners.""Won't you try for the other dogs?""My oath, won't I?""Give us your programme, George, there's a good fellow.""I'll try 'em about Razorback with the traps, as soon as they've quietened down a bit. They've been scared out of their precious wits by this 'ere business."In due time the party arrived at the homestead. Mr. M'Intyre expressed his gratification at the result of the trapper's work, and praised his skill. He further bade George continue his work until the beasts were exterminated, promising him a liberal reward should he achieve this end.The boys related with great gusto, to an almost incredulous household, the particulars of the fight to a finish.The trapper fixed his camp in the hills, and employed his best endeavours to trap the remaining dingoes with but partial success, securing one only. The old dingo, which on a former occasion had left two of his claws in a trap, and now had received this additional fright through the ensnarement of his comrades, was not to be lured by any device, however crafty. George, who knew their run intimately, surrounded them with traps. 'Twas all in vain, set them never so wisely.This defiance and immunity irritated the old man beyond endurance, and he swore by all the dignities to get their scalps, if it took him till the crack of doom.As he was camped on the ranges, in the vicinity of Razorback, his weekly ration was taken out to him by the boys, who were keen on this matter. They had been out twice with the rations, and now were being sent out the third time. What befel them on that trip will be related in the next chapter.CHAPTER XVIIITHE CHASE, AND ITS SEQUEL"A southerly wind and a cloudy sky,Proclaim a hunting morn;Before the sun rises away we go,—The sleep of the sluggard we scorn."OLD SONG."Now then, sleepies,—up you get!" cried Sandy in the early morning, as he performed his usual preliminary of whipping off the bed-clothes from the sleepy-headed Joe and Tom."Sun's laughing at you through the windows. Come, Master Hawkins!" cried he with a grin as he tumbled that grunting individual on to the floor, piling the bed-clothes on top of him, and then seating himself on the wriggling pile. "If soft measures won't avail I am prepared to adopt severe ones."Tom, now thoroughly aroused, and as peppery as you like, shouted and yelled and writhed, getting his arm at last round his persecutor, the laughing Sandy, and by a violent effort pulling him on to the broad of his back, thus reversing their positions."You red-headed Scotchman, I'll teach you meddle with—" pommel—"me again"—pommel, pommel.Here a cold douche arrested the uplifted arm of the irate Tom, and took his breath for a moment, as it descended upon the prone bodies, accompanied by sundry "ouchs" and shrill yells. As the boys scrambled to their feet they joined forces and rushed the dodging Joe, who, after a few ineffectual dives, was caught and jolly well punched.The usual early morning diversion ended, the lads, rosy with health and brimming over with animal spirits—the essence of good nature for all their rough play—dressed with haste and made for the stockyard, to pick their steeds.This occupied their time till the seven o'clock breakfast, after which they secured from the storeman the rations for the trapper."Now Sandy, my boy, ye'll no forget to tell George what I named at breakfast.""M-yes, about the dingoes, father?""No, stupid. Didna I ask you to tell him that, dingoes or no dingoes, he is to come next week at the latest, to handle the colts?""Oh yes, dad, I won't forget. I expect he'll growl a bit, as he's mad on getting the dogs and the reward. He's quite cranky over it.""He'll come richt enough if ye gie him my order."The trapper's camp, as previously stated, was situated about eleven miles from the homestead. Four miles or so from home the track roughened, and became what is known as broken country, all hills and gullies, for the most part very rocky, and heavily wooded in places.The boys' progress was but slow, owing to the nature of the ground, and it took them nearly three hours to reach the camp, which they found unoccupied. After cooeeing in vain for the absentee, they proceeded to light a fire in order to boil the billy, spreading the substantial lunch which Mrs. M'Intyre had furnished them."Bother old Nosey; wish he'd turn up!" exclaimed Sandy, when the boys had finished their repast. "We can't go till he comes. There'd be no end of a row if we went home without delivering the message.""Oh, he'll be here before long," interjected Joe. "I vote we do a camp in the shade for an hour or two; it's hot enough to fry a steak."This was good advice, and the boys made themselves as comfortable as circumstances permitted under the shade of the trees. So the hours passed without any sign of the trapper."Well, I declare," exclaimed Tom for the twentieth time in the course of the last hour, "it's too bad of Nosey. I'm full up of waitin' here with nothing to do. Can't you leave a message somehow for the ole cuss?""How is it to be done, Hawkins?""Oh bother! write a note, of course.""Well, you are a greeney, Tom. Where's the pen, ink, and paper to come from?""Why, hasn't ole Nosey——?""Old Nosey, be hanged! Of course he hasn't, any more than he's got a dress suit and a toilet mirror.""I've got a pencil," said Joe, feeling in his pocket."No good in the world; where's the paper to come from; an' supposin' we had pens, ink, paper, blotting-pads, writing desks, and whatever else you like to name in the scribbling line, what good 'ud it all be?""Meaning——?""Meanin' this, you dunderheads—it's got to be read.""Well?""Well!—of all the thick-heads, muddle-pates, soft-uns, hodges, and idiots that ever I came across——!""Here, draw it mild, young porridge-pot. There's two to one against you: mind that, you red herring!""I'llmindmore than that, if I am the son of a Scot, which is no great disgrace, after all," replied Sandy jeeringly. "But look here and listen, chiels. I'll tell you a story—"Once upon a time, when pigs were called swine an' monkeys chewed tobacco, there lived a bully English captain, the commander of a man o' war. This frigate, sailing up the channel on her return from foreign parts, sighted a French ship, not more'n about twice her size. Instead of closing with the Frenchy slap bang, an' givin' her what-for, she turned tail an' showed her a clean pair of heels. This outrageous proceeding on the part of a British sea-dog demanded instant investigation, and so the jolly captain was promptly court-martialled. After the case had been put by the prosecuting officer, and not denied by the prisoner, he was asked by the president of the court why he did not engage the enemy. The captain, in reply, said that he had ten reasons. 'Name them,' says the boss officer. 'The first is: I had no powder; it was all used up.' 'Enuf sed,' sings out the judge. 'We don't want the other nine. You're discharged, my man, without a stain on your character.'""Oh, that's all right for a yarn," cried Joe; "but I want to know what it's got to do with your father's message to Nosey?""Just as much as it's got to do with the grass of a duck in a forty-acre paddock," jeered Sandy."It's a story with a moral, boys; and as Captain Kettle—no, I mean Cuttle, says in that book of Dickens, the moral of the story lies in the application.""Apply it, my wise man.""Here then: old Nosey has ten reasons for not gettin' a written message.""Name the first!""He can't read.""Now then, Joe," said Tom, turning to that worthy, "what's the verdict of the court?""I s'pose we'll have to discharge the prisoner without a character," replied Joe with a wink."Blow these bally flies!" cried Tom, after an interval. "They're here in millions. Faugh!—splutter—there's one down my jolly throat. Say, Joe, what are you goin' to do?""Boil the billy," replied that youth laconically. "May as well do something, an' kill time."So the hours sped until the sun was well on its descending curve in the late afternoon. Their patience was now thoroughly exhausted in waiting for the trapper. They canvassed the reasons for his non-appearance, until they were mortally sick of discussing the subject."Tell you what, boys, message or no message, Nosey or no Nosey," cried Sandy at last, "we must make tracks for home. We are not to blame for old George's absence. They'll be wondering what's become of us. It'll take us all our time to get there before dark as it is. At the worst, we'll have to come out to-morrow."It took but a few minutes after this to secure the horses, saddle them, call the dog which had accompanied them to heel, and set out on the return journey.After jogging briskly for a couple of miles or so the cattle dog, a strong wiry hound and a noted warrior among his species, began to sniff about, uttering a series of low, short barks."Hello, Brindle, what's up? Got 'possum scent? Bandicoot, I 'spect. Fetch him, boy!"Just at this moment Brindle made a dash forward, what time a big dog-dingo started out from under an old log a hundred yards or so ahead. The route taken by the chase lay up a long gully. This gully was, more correctly speaking, a depression, lacking abrupt and precipitous sides, and was comparatively free from rocks.The boys hesitated a moment, but the temptation was too strong. Joe, clapping his spurs to his steed's sides, started off with a clatter, the others following pell-mell. The gully was long and winding, and to this, for some reason, the dingo stuck. The hunters now began to gain a little on the beast, and were in full sight, the cattle dog just holding his distance. At length the gully petered out at the base of a ridge, over which the quarry sped, the dog and boys in full chase. The other side of the ridge was more precipitous, and covered with bracken and stunted bushes. Down this the pursuit thundered, Joe in the lead and well to the cattle dog's heels: the dingo leading by not more than seventy yards. So absorbed was the boy in the hunt that he remained in ignorance of a calamity that was even now happening to one of his mates.Tom's horse, in bounding down the ridge, and when close to the bottom, put his foot in a wombat's[#] hole that was hidden by bracken. Over came horse and rider, Tom striking the ground on head and shoulder, while Sandy, who was about a length behind, narrowly averted collision with the fallen steed and boy. As quickly as possible he pulled up his galloping animal, shouting out as he did so to Joe, who was too far away and too much engrossed in the chase to hear the call.

CHAPTER XVI

THE DINGO RAID

"What's up, old horse? Your ears you prick,And your eager eyeballs glisten.'Tis the wild dog's note, in the tea-tree thick,By the river to which you listen.* * * * *Let the dingo rest, 'tis all for the best;In this world there's room enoughFor him and you and me and the rest,And the country is awful rough."ADAM LINDSAY GORDON.

"What's up, old horse? Your ears you prick,

And your eager eyeballs glisten.

'Tis the wild dog's note, in the tea-tree thick,

By the river to which you listen.* * * * *

By the river to which you listen.

* * * * *

Let the dingo rest, 'tis all for the best;

In this world there's room enough

For him and you and me and the rest,

And the country is awful rough."ADAM LINDSAY GORDON.

And the country is awful rough."

ADAM LINDSAY GORDON.

"Here's a fine how-d'ye-do!" exclaimed Mr. M'Intyre wrathfully, as he strode into the house, one hot morning shortly after the events recorded in the previous chapter. "Why sic rubbish were ever created passes understanding!"

The irate squatter, contrary to his usual habit, clattered through the hall and out on to the front verandah, slamming the door most vigorously as he made his exit.

"Whatever's stung dad this morning, Jess?" remarked Maggie to her sister, as their excited parent made his noisy intrusion.

"Something bad, you may be sure, to cause dad to parade in that fashion. I expect the blacks have been performing. They madden father at times by their 'want o' intellect,' as he calls it."

"I'll—I'll cut the livers out o' them, the sneakin' hounds! Rot 'em, I'll pizen every faither's son o' the dirty vermin!"

"Oh, father!" cried Jessie, "you surely are not going to poison the poor things?"

"Pizen 'em, that am I! Pizen's ower guid for them, thieving brutes that they are! 'Puir things,' as you ca' the wretches," continued he sarcastically, "I'll hae the life o' the hale o' them, if it tak's a' the pizen in Tareela!" barked the exasperated man.

"Then you're no father of mine!" blazed out Jessie. "What have the poor boys done that you should threaten such dreadful——"

"W-h-a-t!"

"Why, poor Willy and Jacky: what have they done that you should——"

"What on earth is the lassie haverin' aboot?" roared Mr. M'Intyre to Maggie.

"The blacks, father. Didn't you say that you were going to poison them? But I don't believe it for a——"

"The blacks! Wha's talkin' o' blacks? It's the reds, the blessed dingoes, wha've been playin' havoc wi' the calves. The blacks? Ma certie!" continued he, as the humour of the situation seized him, forcing a smile. Turning to his daughter, he exclaimed, "Ye're a fine bairn, I maun say, to be accusin' yer ain faither o'blackmurder!"

"Forgive me, dad!" cried the impulsive girl, as she threw her arms round his neck; "I never thought of the dingoes. I—I—I made sure the black boys had been up to tricks, and never dreamed——"

"There, there, that's enough, my lassie! It's a case of 'misunderconstumbling,' as Denny Kineavy would say. But it's enough to make ane feel wild and gingery. Eleeven fine yearlin's killed! It's the wantonness mair than the actual loss that vexes me: though the latter is bad enough, for some o' the best, of course, are sacrificeed to their slaughterin' instincts."

That evening, in conference with his chief stockman, Mr. M'Intyre laid his plans for the extermination of the pack of dingoes which had just given an exhibition of their destructive powers. In this particular instance the brutes had driven a number of yearling calves, weaners, into a blind gully. Having boxed them up in thiscul de sac, the rapacious dogs found them an easy prey.

The Australian wild dog is a combination of several very excellent qualities—from the canine standpoint, that is. He possesses more sagacity than any other wild thing of the bush. Keen of sight, quick at scent, subtle of wit, noiseless in tread and bark, tenacious to rooted purpose, he pursues and stalks his quarry, whether bird or beast, with all the odds in his favour.

There he stands, this indigenous dog, with a great, broad forehead, his eyes narrowing in sinister expression; well set in body, showing big sinews and a good muscular development; strong jaws, with teeth like ivory needles; white in paw and tail-tip, bright yellow everywhere else, save the chocolate-coloured streak running along the spine from neck to tail. There he stands: but that is a figure of speech, for a more restless animal than this same dog does not exist.

Australian cattle-dogs have a world reputation, and the very best are they which by crossing inherit a strain of dingo nature. That which makes the dingo so hated by stock owners—who pursue him relentlessly—is the killing lust which possesses him. Were he to simply kill for food, and be satisfied with a victim that would furnish enough for present needs, settlers would be far more tolerant of him. The plain truth about him is that his predatory instinct is so strong as to practically intoxicate him. The sight of a flock of sheep or a bunch of calves makes him "see red," and then he simply runs amok. One snap—he does not bite in the ordinary sense—of his steel-like jaws is enough. The mouthful of flesh and muscle is torn out in an instant, and the victim invariably dies of shock. One dingo in a sheepfold will kill fifty sheep in a few minutes.

These dogs are more troublesome in bad than in good seasons. When the cattle get low in condition and weak, they become a comparatively easy prey, then the cunning of the dingoes becomes manifest. They will select their victim and drive it towards a water-hole or swamp. In dry times these are mere puddles and exceedingly boggy. The object of the canine drovers is to reduce the bullock to helplessness by bogging it. The drive will sometimes take hours, and no experienced drover could do the work more cleverly. Finally, when their quarry is down in the mire and practically helpless, he is tackled and bitten to death. In good seasons, when the cattle are strong, Mr. Dingo, save for an occasional foray on the calves, has to content himself with his natural diet—kangaroos, 'possums, and emus.

Fortunately, there was at the station at this time an eccentric bushman who combined the work of horse-breaking and dingo-trapping. Nosey George was reputed to have a sense of smell equal to that of the dingo itself. Certainly, his slouching gait made it often appear as if he were "nosing" the tracks of the game. But in truth he owed his prowess as a trapper to a pair of eyes that knew no dimness. At first sight of Nosey, one saw nothing but his nose. But when you noticed his eyes you forgot the nose, and lived in the presence of a pair of eyes that sparkled like diamonds, or as searchlights that permitted nothing to escape their scrutiny.

Nosey's feats of tracking were really marvellous. On one occasion he got on to the trail of a dingo bitch which had raided his hen-roost, and followed it for twelve miles, mostly through scrubby and rocky country that was criss-crossed with innumerable tracks of bush vermin. For all that, this human sleuth-hound tracked Mrs. Dingo to a cave in the mountains where she had five pups, and returned with six scalps.

The dingo trapper rode out early the next morning in company with Harry the stockman and the boys to the scene of the slaughter, there to devise means, for which he had receivedcarte blanchefrom Mr. M'Intyre, for the capture of the raiders.

The weaners' paddock was about three miles from the house, and had an area of five thousand acres. Most of the enclosure consisted of plain, but a corner of it contained a belt of scrub; and it was in this corner, where the weaners camped for warmth in the night-time, that the drive and slaughter had been made. The beasts, most of them, lay huddled, showing evidence of mangling; others had struggled out of the gully into the scrub. After gazing awhile at the slain, Tom Hawkins broke the silence—

"I say, Nosey, ain't this a go? Poor brutes!"

"Here, you kid," cried the trapper, turning sharply on Tom, "who gave you leave to call me names? Like yer blessed cheek! How'd yer like me ter call yer monkey-face? If yer had a decent nose, I'd tweak it fer yer."

Nosey, who was very sensitive on this question of nickname, and had had many a fight over the same, made such a menacing move towards Tom that the lad shrank back in fear.

"That'll do, George," said Sandy. "Leave the boy alone. He didn't mean anything. It's what everybody calls you."

"I'm not goin' to let brats of boys miscall me, anyhow. Don't know why the boss sent you blokes, for all the good y'are!" growled the grumpy, cross-grained, but not really bad-hearted old man. "Youse better be keepin' quiet, anyways, till me an' Harry has a look round."

"Let him be," whispered Harry. "If you get his dander up he's as likely as not to chuck the whole blame thing. He always jibs at that name; carn't stand it from kids nohow."

Nosey, or to be respectful, George, now proceeded to examine the surroundings of the carcasses. Bending forward until his protuberant nose almost touched the earth, the trapper moved his eyes swiftly, now concentrating on twig or grass-blades, now wildly roving and all-comprehensive. The rest of the party were following at his heels, when he turned round and fiercely waved them back.

"All right, Nos—George!" sang out Joe. "I see; you want to keep the tracks clear. We'll stay here till you've finished."

Drawing on one side, the group watched the proceedings with great interest. The ground was hard and stony; quite unimpressionable and barren of sign to the pals' untutored sight, yet to this man of the woods, who was ignorant of the alphabet, the rough earth surface was all-revealing, and made known to him in unmistakable characters the story of the attack.

Having at length concluded his investigations, the trapper straightened his back and moved to where the others stood. Producing his knife and a plug of tobacco, he began to shred a pipeful, making no remark to the expectant onlookers.

"Reckon we'll have to drag it out o' the old un," said Harry to Joe in a low tone. Then raising his voice, the stockman began to question the man.

"Had a good look round, George?"

Nod.

"Ain't missed anything worth seeing, I bet?"

Head-shake.

"Whatyer make of it?"

"Razorback pack," replied the old man of frugal speech, as he cleaned out his pipe.

"Razorback pack? You surely don't mean it! Why, that is a matter of twelve mile or so!"

"Suppose it is; what of that?"

"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Harry dubiously, yet not wishful to offend the old man's susceptibilities. "Of course you know best, George. How many of 'em do you consider they'd be?"

"Five dorgs an' two bitches."

"Good gracious, Nosey!" cried Tom the unlucky, the next moment beating a rapid retreat as the dog-trapper made a vicious dart at his caudal appendage, finally coming to grief over a fallen log which lay in the line of retreat. The pursuing foe, even, had to stop and join in the laugh raised at the ludicrous figure which Tom cut as he lay, head down, heels up.

"Beg pardon, George!" he cried breathlessly the next moment, as he recovered his original position. "It slipped out, old fellow. I—I didn't mean it."

"Come, now, George, that's handsome. You must accept the apology," interjected Joe.

The trapper nodded assent, and the incident passed.

"Howdoyou know what pack it is, George? Blest if I can understand how you find out all these things! First you tell us the sex an' then where they come from."

"Tell it by their paws."

"By their paws! How on earth can you tell they've come all the way from Razorback by their paw marks? Mightn't it be the turkey scrub lot?"

"It carn't be, an' isn't, 'cause I knows the pack."

"How's that?"

"Got two of the vermin in the traps six months ago over at the mountains, an' a cove wot got away left two toe nails of his near hind-foot in the trap."

"Too fly for poison, eh?"

"'Twould be a waste of good strychnine over the rubbage," replied the trapper, waxing more communicative. "They know a bait better than a Christun. 'Sides, I tried them over at Razorback. Got plenty o' cats, gohanners, an' crows; an', be gosh! laid out one of my own cattle puppies, but ne'er a dingo."

"The traps'll fetch 'em, won't they, George?"

George returned no answer, but "smoled" a cryptic smile. Mounting their steeds, the party turned in the direction of home. Mr. M'Intyre received the trapper's report without interruption, and then consulted as to the best way to work their destruction.

"Hunting them is out of the question," said the squatter in reply to a remark of his son that it would be grand sport hunting them. "We'd only ruin the horses in that country and miss most o' the dingoes. Na! the traps are the best an' safest. If ony ane can catch 'em in that fashion, George is the mon. I leave the hale matter in his hands. He kens best what to do to circumvent the brutes; so go your own way to work, George. What aboot traps? Have ye enough?"

"Got seven or eight, dunno for sure. Ought to have a dozen."

"Varra weel; ane o' the laddies will ride to Tareela and get ither fower."

Accordingly, Joe and Tom mounted their horses and rode into the store for the additional traps.

A dog-trap, it should be explained, is simply an enlarged spring rat-trap, with extra strong jaws and saw-like teeth. These instruments of capture weigh about ten pounds, and are planted in likely spots. The native dog is an exceedingly suspicious animal. His reasoning faculty is large. A mere glance at his head will convince one as to his capacity, and those who have had to do with him count him as the slimmest of the slim. Hence, only by outmatching him in cunning may his adversary succeed. In this Nosey George was an adept, and Mr. M'Intyre did not overstate the facts when he declared no one to be capable of matching the dog-trapper in the art of setting lures.

The pals readily obtained leave to accompany the trapper next morning to watch the proceedings, on the understanding that they were in no way to interfere with him. Each lad had a pair of traps slung across his horse's withers, and George carried the balance on the neck and croup of his steed. They made their way to the weaners' paddock, and after a brief inspection of the carrion the trapper declared that there had been no return of the dogs.

"I didn't expect them larst night," remarked George. "They're like the blacks, can eat enough at one meal to do 'em fur days. A gorge is Chrismus to 'em."

"What do you intend doing with the dead beasts, George?"

"Leave 'em be, o' course. They'll help me more than anythin' else. Dogs'll come again to get another feed or two; an' as boss's took the weaners away to a safe paddock, they'll go fur these dead uns like winkie—likes 'em a bit high, in fact. Supposin' we burn these wretches, the vermin'll keep about their own haunts. They're out of their beat when they come over here, while they knows every stick an' stone of their run. Consequently, it gives me a better charnse with 'em on unfamiliar ground."

So saying, the cunning hunter proceeded to carry out his plan. The dingo has a well-defined method of carving his veal, so to speak. The hide of the animal is not uniformly thick. The softest and tenderest part is that underneath and between the thighs. The ravager, therefore, attacks this tenderest and most susceptible part. He tears a big hole through the skin and into the flesh in a short time, and literally eats his way into the body; until, when he and his fellow-feasters have finally finished, and cleaned paws and jaws with that self-provided serviette the tongue, nothing of the animal remains but the skin and bones—always providing that no foe appears to stay proceedings against the gourmands. This finish, of course, entails several feasts when the course happens to be a bullock, or, as in the present case, toothsome veal.

The trapper proceeded to lay a trap facing the torn portion of each carcass—that, of course, being the place of attack on each occasion of the canines' visits. After a careful consideration of the ground surrounding each beast, he dug a hole in the earth and then placed a trap in it. He next produced some sheets of the inner bark of the ti tree, which is as flexible as paper and softer. A sheet of this is laid over the gaping jaws of the trap, which is, of course, properly set. The "jaws" are now level with the ground. Over this fine earth is sprinkled until all appearance of the trap is hidden. The superfluous soil is now removed with care, and the surroundings are made to look as natural as possible. This in itself is a work of art; for the slightest appearance of disturbance or make-up alarms the wary dingo, and nullifies the trapper's design.

There is one thing, however, that Nosey George had not reckoned upon when starting his operations—the number of carcasses to be treated. It will be remembered that eleven animals were slaughtered in the dingo raid. This would mean the use of eleven traps, were every animal to be used as a lure. But it is contrary to the design of the trapper to use up all his traps in the vicinity of the beasts. Some are to be set along the line of approach. A number of carcasses, therefore, must be removed. With the help of the boys, five of the beasts are dragged about two hundred yards away, put in a heap, covered with dry wood, and then burned.

This left the trapper with several traps to use in other directions. Having laid six traps in the vicinity of the calves, he proceeded to follow up the tracks of the dogs. The first gin was laid in a soft patch of ground directly in their footmarks. This he continued at intervals, until the last one was placed at a spot about two miles distant.

"How many dingoes do you think you'll nab, George?" exclaimed Tom, as the party rode homewards in the late afternoon.

"Tell you when I visit the traps termorrer, boy."

"I say three," judged the judicious Joe.

"I say one," opined the cautious Sandy.

"I say the whole bloomin' lot," loudly proclaimed the sanguine Tom.

"I say, wait," drily remarked the wise trapper.

The trapper's prophecy was justified; for, on a visit to the traps in the early morning by the expectant and impatient boys, in the company of Nosey George, to the surprise and disgust of these same youngsters, not a trap was sprung.

The trapper, who while examining the ground had maintained a sphinx-like attitude, broke silence at length under a fusillade of questions.

"Yees want ter know, does youse, why it is no dog's copp'd? Simple enough. Dogs didn't come."

CHAPTER XVII

DINGOV.EMU: A FIGHT TO A FINISH

"Afar I mark the emu's run;The bustard slow, in motley clad;And, basking in his bath of sun,The brown snake on the cattle-pad,And the reddish blackOf a dingo's backAs he loit'ring slinks on my horse's track."GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.

"Afar I mark the emu's run;

The bustard slow, in motley clad;

And, basking in his bath of sun,

The brown snake on the cattle-pad,And the reddish blackOf a dingo's back

The brown snake on the cattle-pad,

And the reddish blackOf a dingo's back

And the reddish black

Of a dingo's back

As he loit'ring slinks on my horse's track."

GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.

The next morning's visit told another tale.

The dingoes, having recovered from their surfeit, hunger-induced, made a second nocturnal trip to the feeding-grounds. Cunning and wary as they habitually are, they fell, some of them at least, before the wiles of the trapper. Four of their number paid the death penalty. Two female dogs were caught in the traps set about the calves. The trapped animals had not moved any great space.

It should be said that the traps are not fastened to the spot whereon they are laid; because, were they stationary, the dingo, especially the dog dingo, in his frantic efforts to escape, and by reason of his great strength, will frequently save his life at the expense of his paw. That dog, it is safe to say, will never be trapped again; as on the principle of, once bitten twice shy, he will ever eschew the most deftly constructed device of man.

[image]"The emu failed to elude the panther-like spring."—See p.134.

[image]

"The emu failed to elude the panther-like spring."—See p.134.

On the other hand, should there be no fastening, a strong dog will carry a trap for miles, especially if caught by the hind-leg. In order to remedy this, a device, similar to that which sailors use, called a sea anchor, is attached. A block of wood not too heavy is tied to the trap by a chain or a piece of wire. This acts as a check to the animal, besides leaving a broad trail that is easily followed up.

When the trapped dingoes were approached they set up a dismal howling, which turned to a vigorous snapping with their teeth; the while they tore the earth with their paws in vain efforts to escape.

"Put the poor wretches out of their pain," cried Sandy, after watching the agonised efforts of the canines for a few seconds.

The trapper, armed with a heavy "nulla-nulla," dispatched the brutes, and scalped them; for the district Stock Board, to induce their extermination, gave £1 per scalp, and experienced trappers like Nosey George did well at times. They concluded that there was at the least one other victim; for while the bitches were snapping and howling, answering howls of rage and sympathy could be heard in the distance along the trail.

The next act was to cremate the slain, which was speedily done. After this the group proceeded to follow the track along which the other snares were secreted. The very first trap contained a dog. It was set in the centre of a soft depression, at the edge of the scrub belt on the farther side. The dog had dragged the trap about three hundred yards, when the "anchor," fouling in some saplings, his retreat was stopped. The beast was immediately brained and scalped, and the body flung into a clump of bushes.

There was still another victim. The farthest out trap was gone. Nothing was to be seen but the trap-hole. George, however, was soon upon the trail. The country here was fairly open, and offered little obstruction to the determined dog. The track led on and on with little deviation until a course of three miles or so had been traversed. It now curved outward and down toward a patch of scrub. Nosey suddenly stopped and pointed to the ground.

"What's up, George?" exclaimed Joe, who stood nearest the trapper.

"Look an' see fur y'reself."

Bending over, Joe saw in a sandy patch the deep impress of the toes of a large bird.

"I can't make it out. What in thunder is it? Far too big for a crow; bigger even than an eagle or a bustard."

"As big as two eagles, young mutton-head," declared the old tough. "Tell 'im, Sandy."

"Why, you greeney; that's an emu track!"

"Emu!" shouted Joe in great excitement. "It's the first time I ever saw an emu track. What an enormous foot he must have."

"Ye'd know it, me boy, if ivver ye got a kick," grunted the trapper. "I've seen them break a dog's leg like a carrot."

"Blest if I don't think he's follerin' up the dingo!" continued Joe.

"Just wot 'eisa-doin' of," answered the man. "These 'ere emus is more curious nor a woman."

Joe now remembered Sandy relating how his father used to lure the emu he was stalking within shot of his fowling piece, by lying flat, and slowly waving his handkerchief from the point of his ram-rod; or even doubling his leg as he lay breast downward, and elevating his hat on the foot thus raised. With slow and hesitating yet irresistible steps, fascinated by the mysterious object, or a victim to curiosity, the bird would approach to its undoing.

This particular emu was no stranger to the dingoes, nor they to him. Never before, though, had he beheld a dingo with such an appendage, or in such difficulties. The unwonted appearance of the canine furnishes the bird with an unusual sensation, and queries in rapid succession flit through its brain. "What on earth is the matter with the limping, whimpering brute? What is that object trailing behind the horrid creature? Let me draw near and behold this great sight!" Fate has delivered his old-time enemy into his hands. That lolling, swollen tongue, those blood-shot eyes, that painful whimper, the wild despairing glances; all these loudly proclaim his downfall. "Well, what matter! He's getting his punishment now. What is there to prevent me wiping out old scores?"

And so, with cautious yet confident step the huge bird, second in size only to the ostrich, strode on at a short distance behind his enemy; and in a few minutes both are swallowed up in the scrub. The huntsmen follow well on the heels of the animals.

"I wonder if the bird's still following?" asked Tom.

"Soon see," answered the trapper, carefully examining the ground. "Not a quarter of an hour since he passed this spot: must be in the scrub still."

A minute or so brought them to the edge of the scrub. Pushing along, they were soon enwrapped in its gloom. Following the advice of George, the boys tied their horses to saplings at the outskirts of the belt, and proceeded on foot. Suddenly the trapper, who was leading, stopped dead in his tracks, and uttered a warning note in a low voice. Motioning the pals to remain where they were, he noiselessly moved forward, and was soon lost in the thick foliage ahead.

"Wonder why ole Nosey made us stay back?" muttered Tom, after the lads had stood silently awhile. "What can be in the air, now?"

"Hist!" exclaimed Sandy in a whisper; "he's returning."

At this moment the trapper reappeared.

"Follow as quiet as mice, an' ye'll see summat like wot ye've ne'er seed afore." There was an unusual gleam in the man's eye as he made this deliverance.

Cautiously and silently the party moved Indian fashion through the wood. After going in this way a hundred paces or so the hunter stopped again, and beckoned the boys, indicating a stealthy approach. Very gingerly they trod until they were abreast the man. Following his muttered directions and example, they quietly parted the intervening brushwood.

It was an unique sight on which their eyes fastened; one they would not readily forget. Beyond them was a small natural clearing, such as often occurs in the densest scrub.

It was circular in form, and about fifty yards in diameter. Here, almost in the centre of the clearing, the bird had bailed up the beast. Curiosity in the emu had grown into anger, and was at a white heat, judging from the manner in which it pirouetted and menaced the dog, keeping up the while an incessant gabble. The gabble, rightly interpreted, declared that the time of vengeance was at hand. The fates were thanked for being so kind as to furnish this fitting opportunity for paying off old scores: "Here, you sneaking thief and flying murderer, stop! It's you and I for it now; so, off with your coat and roll up your sleeves!"

Nor was Master Dingo disinclined to accept the challenge thrown down by the strutting bird. Weary as he was and full of pain, he was in no humour to eat humble-pie, or to fly before another foe. His warring instincts rose to the gage of his hereditary enemy. Many of his kind were scarred with wounds from the terrible emu kick, or deep score made by the horny toe of this formidable antagonist.

Nor could he retreat, if so inclined: behind him, to a certainty, was the monstrous biped; far more to be feared than this animated piece of impertinence, whose wicked eye squinted and winked in defiance.

Forgotten in a moment is all fear, whether of the visible bird or the invisible pursuers. Handicapped as he is, and goaded by his pain and shameful condition, the dingo fires the first shot, as it were, by making a sudden jump at the emu's throat, narrowly missing it, and still more narrowly missing the leg stroke of the bird as it made its counter-stroke.

Both bird and beast are practised in all the arts and devices of animal warfare. Each knows the tactics of the other. But for the disability of the dog through the tenacious trap the chances would be in his favour; but his exhaustion and encumbrance give the odds to the other. Still, he makes a gallant fight, and the bird needs all its wits and agility to escape his savage snaps, one of which, had he been able to lay hold, would tear out the neck from throat to breast.

The combat was at its height between these gladiators when the pursuers sighted them. The boys hold their breath in fair amazement as they eagerly watch the two figures in the sunlit arena struggling for the mastery. So engrossed are the combatants that the spectators may come out into the open and surround them, for all the notice that will be taken of them. As it is, the boys' astonishment is quickly transmuted into animal excitement and battle-lust. They take sides, and cheer, now the beast and now the bird.

But the end comes quickly and tragically enough. The pace of the conflict tells terribly upon the dingo. He is now weakening fast; can hardly see, so bloodshot are his eyes. Yes, he can hold out but little longer. Realising this, he fights purely on the defence for breath. Then, concentrating all his energies in one last irresistible stroke, he springs, arrow-like, and this time strikes fair on the bullseye—the neck of his adversary. The emu had failed to elude the panther-like spring. But now the counter-stroke!

When the dingo's fangs close vice-like upon the emu's throat the bird's fate is irrevocably sealed. The jugular vein is torn out with a mouthful of flesh and muscle, and the skin is stripped to the bosom. What time this savage and fatal stroke is given the vengeful bird, by one terrific downward blow of its powerful leg and toes, disembowels the hanging dog; and then with a lightning side-stroke, delivered full on the forehead of the prone beast, smashes in its skull. A vain attempt to crow a note of victory; a few short, uncertain, rotatory movements, life-blood gushing the while from its severed jugular, then a collapse, falling across the body of its slain adversary!

Which of the two is the victor?

The surprise of the boys, at the sudden and bloody termination of the fight, may be better imagined than described. They stared aghast for some moments at the spectacle, too dazed to move or speak. Even the hardened bushman, George, was moved.

"Well, of all the fights I ever seed, this licks creation; it's better nor cock-fightin'. Be gosh, 'twas a grand fight to a finish!"

The trapper now busies himself with the scalping-knife, and, as the boys stand around, a feeling of sadness rises within as they contemplate the slain.

"Poor brutes!" said Sandy feelingly, "I've a notion, lads, that they deserved a better fate."

"The boss wouldn't agree to that as fur as the dorgs is concerned. As fer the emu, he's neither good nor bad," grunted the old man.

"Well, after all," broke in Joe, "it's their nature, as old Simpson is always preaching to us in school. They're not to blame for following their instincts. By jings! there's no coward's blood in these poor brutes,—they're as brave as brave."

But such moralising was beyond Nosey George.

"Emus is sight enough in a way, an' only eats grass an' roots,—but dingos! they're vermin, an' any death's good enough fur them. By the hokey!" exclaimed he as he looked at the trap; "I'm blamed if here isn't the blessed paw!"

It was true. The wretched beast's foot was evidently so lacerated and broken by its efforts to escape, and in dragging the trap, that when it made the last and fatal spring the imprisoned paw parted from the leg in the very act, and that severance enabled it to reach the emu's neck. Having secured the trap and the scalp, the group retraced their steps to where they had hitched the horses.

The haul proved successful beyond measure. To secure four dingoes in one scoop was a great stroke of luck. Not so much luck, on reflection, as skilful management. An amateur might have set a hundred traps with seeming skill and not have bagged a dog. No one save a trapper like George could trap with any degree of certainty.

"I s'pose you'll bag the balance to-night," remarked Tom to the trapper when they had remounted.

"No jolly fear! Never catch any more along this line."

"How's that?"

"Why, d'yer think a dingo's no sense? Be gosh! all the calves in creation wuddent tempt what's left of the vermin to come along this track again. Wish we'd a' got the old dog, though."

"What are you going to do next?" inquired Tom.

"Fust an' foremost thing is to collect the traps, then we'll burn the weaners."

"Won't you try for the other dogs?"

"My oath, won't I?"

"Give us your programme, George, there's a good fellow."

"I'll try 'em about Razorback with the traps, as soon as they've quietened down a bit. They've been scared out of their precious wits by this 'ere business."

In due time the party arrived at the homestead. Mr. M'Intyre expressed his gratification at the result of the trapper's work, and praised his skill. He further bade George continue his work until the beasts were exterminated, promising him a liberal reward should he achieve this end.

The boys related with great gusto, to an almost incredulous household, the particulars of the fight to a finish.

The trapper fixed his camp in the hills, and employed his best endeavours to trap the remaining dingoes with but partial success, securing one only. The old dingo, which on a former occasion had left two of his claws in a trap, and now had received this additional fright through the ensnarement of his comrades, was not to be lured by any device, however crafty. George, who knew their run intimately, surrounded them with traps. 'Twas all in vain, set them never so wisely.

This defiance and immunity irritated the old man beyond endurance, and he swore by all the dignities to get their scalps, if it took him till the crack of doom.

As he was camped on the ranges, in the vicinity of Razorback, his weekly ration was taken out to him by the boys, who were keen on this matter. They had been out twice with the rations, and now were being sent out the third time. What befel them on that trip will be related in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE CHASE, AND ITS SEQUEL

"A southerly wind and a cloudy sky,Proclaim a hunting morn;Before the sun rises away we go,—The sleep of the sluggard we scorn."OLD SONG.

"A southerly wind and a cloudy sky,

Proclaim a hunting morn;

Before the sun rises away we go,—

The sleep of the sluggard we scorn."OLD SONG.

The sleep of the sluggard we scorn."

OLD SONG.

"Now then, sleepies,—up you get!" cried Sandy in the early morning, as he performed his usual preliminary of whipping off the bed-clothes from the sleepy-headed Joe and Tom.

"Sun's laughing at you through the windows. Come, Master Hawkins!" cried he with a grin as he tumbled that grunting individual on to the floor, piling the bed-clothes on top of him, and then seating himself on the wriggling pile. "If soft measures won't avail I am prepared to adopt severe ones."

Tom, now thoroughly aroused, and as peppery as you like, shouted and yelled and writhed, getting his arm at last round his persecutor, the laughing Sandy, and by a violent effort pulling him on to the broad of his back, thus reversing their positions.

"You red-headed Scotchman, I'll teach you meddle with—" pommel—"me again"—pommel, pommel.

Here a cold douche arrested the uplifted arm of the irate Tom, and took his breath for a moment, as it descended upon the prone bodies, accompanied by sundry "ouchs" and shrill yells. As the boys scrambled to their feet they joined forces and rushed the dodging Joe, who, after a few ineffectual dives, was caught and jolly well punched.

The usual early morning diversion ended, the lads, rosy with health and brimming over with animal spirits—the essence of good nature for all their rough play—dressed with haste and made for the stockyard, to pick their steeds.

This occupied their time till the seven o'clock breakfast, after which they secured from the storeman the rations for the trapper.

"Now Sandy, my boy, ye'll no forget to tell George what I named at breakfast."

"M-yes, about the dingoes, father?"

"No, stupid. Didna I ask you to tell him that, dingoes or no dingoes, he is to come next week at the latest, to handle the colts?"

"Oh yes, dad, I won't forget. I expect he'll growl a bit, as he's mad on getting the dogs and the reward. He's quite cranky over it."

"He'll come richt enough if ye gie him my order."

The trapper's camp, as previously stated, was situated about eleven miles from the homestead. Four miles or so from home the track roughened, and became what is known as broken country, all hills and gullies, for the most part very rocky, and heavily wooded in places.

The boys' progress was but slow, owing to the nature of the ground, and it took them nearly three hours to reach the camp, which they found unoccupied. After cooeeing in vain for the absentee, they proceeded to light a fire in order to boil the billy, spreading the substantial lunch which Mrs. M'Intyre had furnished them.

"Bother old Nosey; wish he'd turn up!" exclaimed Sandy, when the boys had finished their repast. "We can't go till he comes. There'd be no end of a row if we went home without delivering the message."

"Oh, he'll be here before long," interjected Joe. "I vote we do a camp in the shade for an hour or two; it's hot enough to fry a steak."

This was good advice, and the boys made themselves as comfortable as circumstances permitted under the shade of the trees. So the hours passed without any sign of the trapper.

"Well, I declare," exclaimed Tom for the twentieth time in the course of the last hour, "it's too bad of Nosey. I'm full up of waitin' here with nothing to do. Can't you leave a message somehow for the ole cuss?"

"How is it to be done, Hawkins?"

"Oh bother! write a note, of course."

"Well, you are a greeney, Tom. Where's the pen, ink, and paper to come from?"

"Why, hasn't ole Nosey——?"

"Old Nosey, be hanged! Of course he hasn't, any more than he's got a dress suit and a toilet mirror."

"I've got a pencil," said Joe, feeling in his pocket.

"No good in the world; where's the paper to come from; an' supposin' we had pens, ink, paper, blotting-pads, writing desks, and whatever else you like to name in the scribbling line, what good 'ud it all be?"

"Meaning——?"

"Meanin' this, you dunderheads—it's got to be read."

"Well?"

"Well!—of all the thick-heads, muddle-pates, soft-uns, hodges, and idiots that ever I came across——!"

"Here, draw it mild, young porridge-pot. There's two to one against you: mind that, you red herring!"

"I'llmindmore than that, if I am the son of a Scot, which is no great disgrace, after all," replied Sandy jeeringly. "But look here and listen, chiels. I'll tell you a story—

"Once upon a time, when pigs were called swine an' monkeys chewed tobacco, there lived a bully English captain, the commander of a man o' war. This frigate, sailing up the channel on her return from foreign parts, sighted a French ship, not more'n about twice her size. Instead of closing with the Frenchy slap bang, an' givin' her what-for, she turned tail an' showed her a clean pair of heels. This outrageous proceeding on the part of a British sea-dog demanded instant investigation, and so the jolly captain was promptly court-martialled. After the case had been put by the prosecuting officer, and not denied by the prisoner, he was asked by the president of the court why he did not engage the enemy. The captain, in reply, said that he had ten reasons. 'Name them,' says the boss officer. 'The first is: I had no powder; it was all used up.' 'Enuf sed,' sings out the judge. 'We don't want the other nine. You're discharged, my man, without a stain on your character.'"

"Oh, that's all right for a yarn," cried Joe; "but I want to know what it's got to do with your father's message to Nosey?"

"Just as much as it's got to do with the grass of a duck in a forty-acre paddock," jeered Sandy.

"It's a story with a moral, boys; and as Captain Kettle—no, I mean Cuttle, says in that book of Dickens, the moral of the story lies in the application."

"Apply it, my wise man."

"Here then: old Nosey has ten reasons for not gettin' a written message."

"Name the first!"

"He can't read."

"Now then, Joe," said Tom, turning to that worthy, "what's the verdict of the court?"

"I s'pose we'll have to discharge the prisoner without a character," replied Joe with a wink.

"Blow these bally flies!" cried Tom, after an interval. "They're here in millions. Faugh!—splutter—there's one down my jolly throat. Say, Joe, what are you goin' to do?"

"Boil the billy," replied that youth laconically. "May as well do something, an' kill time."

So the hours sped until the sun was well on its descending curve in the late afternoon. Their patience was now thoroughly exhausted in waiting for the trapper. They canvassed the reasons for his non-appearance, until they were mortally sick of discussing the subject.

"Tell you what, boys, message or no message, Nosey or no Nosey," cried Sandy at last, "we must make tracks for home. We are not to blame for old George's absence. They'll be wondering what's become of us. It'll take us all our time to get there before dark as it is. At the worst, we'll have to come out to-morrow."

It took but a few minutes after this to secure the horses, saddle them, call the dog which had accompanied them to heel, and set out on the return journey.

After jogging briskly for a couple of miles or so the cattle dog, a strong wiry hound and a noted warrior among his species, began to sniff about, uttering a series of low, short barks.

"Hello, Brindle, what's up? Got 'possum scent? Bandicoot, I 'spect. Fetch him, boy!"

Just at this moment Brindle made a dash forward, what time a big dog-dingo started out from under an old log a hundred yards or so ahead. The route taken by the chase lay up a long gully. This gully was, more correctly speaking, a depression, lacking abrupt and precipitous sides, and was comparatively free from rocks.

The boys hesitated a moment, but the temptation was too strong. Joe, clapping his spurs to his steed's sides, started off with a clatter, the others following pell-mell. The gully was long and winding, and to this, for some reason, the dingo stuck. The hunters now began to gain a little on the beast, and were in full sight, the cattle dog just holding his distance. At length the gully petered out at the base of a ridge, over which the quarry sped, the dog and boys in full chase. The other side of the ridge was more precipitous, and covered with bracken and stunted bushes. Down this the pursuit thundered, Joe in the lead and well to the cattle dog's heels: the dingo leading by not more than seventy yards. So absorbed was the boy in the hunt that he remained in ignorance of a calamity that was even now happening to one of his mates.

Tom's horse, in bounding down the ridge, and when close to the bottom, put his foot in a wombat's[#] hole that was hidden by bracken. Over came horse and rider, Tom striking the ground on head and shoulder, while Sandy, who was about a length behind, narrowly averted collision with the fallen steed and boy. As quickly as possible he pulled up his galloping animal, shouting out as he did so to Joe, who was too far away and too much engrossed in the chase to hear the call.

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