[#] Wombat—-a burrowing marsupial.Returning to the collapsed pair, Sandy jumped off and lifted Tom's head, for the lad lay stiff. His appearance frightened the boy as he lay still and death-like. To his great joy, however, on feeling Tom's wrist, Sandy detected a feeble pulse-beat. Laying his stricken mate gently down in the bracken, he made a hasty examination of his head. It bore no trace of wound, save some gravel scratches and a nasty bruise under the left eye. The relieved boy hurried to the bottom of the ridge, where by good hap was a rill of water. Filling his hat he returned and laved the brow and wrists of his companion. After some twenty minutes or so Tom began to stir, and quickly regained consciousness. No bones were broken, but the boy was badly shaken, and all thoughts of further pursuit were out of the question. The horse, by a miracle, was without hurt."You're a lucky beggar, Tom," said Sandy, after a few minutes. "From the way you crashed down I made sure every blessed bone in your body was broken. How do you feel now, ole boss?""Oh, I'm all right," replied Tom feebly. "Shoulder's the worst. It's not dislocated, but it pains a lot. Phew! but it does hurt when I move it. I expect it felt the full force of the tumble. But—where's Joe?""Joe's ahead. Goodness only knows where he's got to by now. He hasn't a ghost's show of getting the dingo if he makes for the hills.""I tell you what," continued the boy; "we'll get off home as soon as you feel fit. It's no use waiting for Joe. He can easily catch us. You'll have to go slow, old man, you know."This was true, for Tom's shoulder was in an agony of ache, which the movement of the horse, after they had mounted, intensified to an almost unbearable degree.It was long after dark ere the pair sighted the homestead lights. They had not been overtaken by Joe, much to their surprise. They were met at the slip-rails by Harry and Jacky, who had just been dispatched to look for them, as the family were getting uneasy at their prolonged absence. The men returned with the lads to the house. Beyond a severe word to Sandy for being tempted to pursue the impossible when on the homeward track, the squatter justified their act of returning from the camp; also in not waiting for Joe."I expect the rascal will turn up in a few minutes. His horse would soon be knocked up in that country, and he would therefore be unable to catch you after he abandoned the dingo. The cheek of you boys, to think you could run it down in that country!"The minutes sped without sight or sound of the huntsman. Anxiety deepened in the women; the men, too, became uneasy."Some one ought to go after the lad," broke in the perturbed mother, at length. "The poor laddie must have met trouble. His horse has knocked up. Perhaps he has lost himself. Perhaps he——!""Perhaps nothing of the kind has happened, except that the horse may have knocked up. You women will always jump to the worst conclusions. Willy, you and I'll ride back a bit; come you too Sandy, if you're not too tired."Mr. M'Intyre feared more than he showed. It would be easy enough after all, he reflected, for a boy who was ignorant of the lay of the country and who had no experience in bush travelling, to lose his way. He determined, therefore, to take his son with him, so that he might lead them to the spot where the accident occurred, if it were necessary. Accordingly the three set off on the track. Fortunately it was moonlight and clear, so that they were able to make good headway through the bush.It is time, however, to return to Joe. That ardent hunter had followed the chase for some distance ere he missed his pals. What with the severity of the pace and the increasing roughness of the course, its twistings and turnings, all his attention was focussed on the quarry. If he did think at all of his companions, it was to picture them following close behind. But in the heat of the chase he had little thought for others. When it did dawn upon him that he had outdistanced his companions, as happened eventually, he attributed little importance to that. They, no doubt, had good reason for slackening their pace. His horse, as he well knew, had a dash of speed denied to theirs. Maybe their steeds had caved in. Anyhow, he was having a glorious time, and "the finish" was touched with roseate hues to his imagination.His horse was justifying the reputation given of him to Joe by Harry, the stockman, one day when they were discussing the relative merits of their mounts."For a hack," that worthy had remarked, "there's nothing on the run equal to the little thing you're ridin'. With a light weight up like yourself she can show a dash of foot an' staying powers that'll take a tremendous lot of lickin'."This was a just criticism, as events were proving. Still, the pace was beginning to tell, and Joe was forced to ease the mare somewhat, even at the risk of losing sight of the quarry. The rough ridges, too, made the going to be precarious.Things were as bad with Master Dingo, however. The pursuit was hot enough to extend him to the fullest. He was always in view, and could not shake off the foe. As long as he remained in sight it was impossible to resort to any trick by which he might gain time or wind. The ordinary pace of the dingo when on the chase may be described as a lope. This can be kept up the live-long day, and thus wear down the fleetest victim. To keep extended at full gallop in this unwonted fashion is not at all to the dingo's liking, and the sooner he can reach the distant scrub, which is his objective, the better pleased he will be. The cattle dog, though not ordinarily a hunter, is strong and tough, and possessed of a good pair of bellows. He started the game with the utmost alacrity, and now continues it with the greatest vim and determination.So the chase continues, and is now but little more than a mile from the scrub belt which fringes the base of the hills. To this ark of safety, therefore, the dingo strains every muscle, and seizes every small advantage which his instinct discerns. No less strenuous is the cattle dog. He has the staying powers of his class, and he too runs to win. In this way the pursued and pursuers hurry-skurry over bush and brake, over stony ridges and across intersecting gullies.Within half a mile of the scrub the country flattens out, and this gives an advantage to the cattle dog, who closes up. Joe's horse is now in distress. The course has been long and rough, the pace severe, and the grass-fed steed is weakening, can make no headway, is indeed losing in the race. The lad sees this, and chevies the dog on, for he can plainly mark now that unless the chase be ended on this side of the scrub all hope must be abandoned, Oh, to win! A supremely glorious thing were he to achieve the impossible! There are chances. Lots of things might happen yet. On, on, good doggie! Catch him, Brindle! Hurrah, Brindle is closing; is surely creeping up!They are now about three hundred yards from the timber belt, and the dingo is slowly but surely being overhauled. Visions of the scalp as a proud trophy fill the boy's imagination. If only Brindle may seize his victim and hold him till he rides up and gives the brute its quietus with the stirrup iron! Brindle is now not more than four lengths behind, and the beasts are still a hundred yards from the scrub."On then, doggie: catch him: hold him!" shouts Joe across the widely intervening distance. The voice is borne faintly to the dog's ears, and nerves him to heroic effort in this the final stage of the struggle, the last lap, so to speak. Breath is too precious to be wasted in answering cry, but the spurt of the hound speaks volumes: "I shall catch him, master, never fear: I am gaining; but ''twill be on the post."Both dogs, wild and domestic, are stretched to their fullest extent. It is the crowning burst. They are labouring heavily, staggering, and rolling in their stride. The pace is slow but hard. It is a question of endurance. Every ounce of strength in each body is laid under contribution. Once within the scrub the chances in favour of the dingo will immediately increase a hundredfold, for in doubling and dodging through the densely timbered belts the native dog has no equal.Only thirty yards now lie between the dingo and his salvation—the good thick scrub that will swallow him up; but—the breath of the pursuer blows hot upon him. Throwing his head over his shoulder for the fraction of a second, the desperate beast sees that only by a miracle can he escape. The adversary is upon his quarters, and in another second the brute's fangs will be buried in his back. It is a supreme moment. Now or never! Making a super-canine effort, the fear-stricken thing draws away from its enemy in the last dozen strides. Saved, saved! Alas, alas! Right at the very fringe, and within a single step of safety, he tumbles in a heap, and with a convulsive gasp rolls over and gives up the ghost: the prolonged exertions have broken his heart.You can work your will on the hunted one now, Brindle: no need to fear the vicious snap that was reserved for you should the worst happen. But the dog's instincts inform him that all power of resistance has gone from that mute and still form; indeed, he has no strength to worry should the call be made: the last spurt has left him without a vestige of strength. And so, when Joe appeared upon the scene a few minutes later, it was to behold the motionless dingo, and by his side, with lolling tongue and cavernous mouth, the panting and exhausted Brindle.In a moment the boy has slid from his horse, and is dancing a grotesque fandango, expressive of his unbounded joy. But, when in a calmer moment he understood the tragedy of it from the dingo's side of things, a feeling of compassion possessed him, yet joy persisted. "He's a noble fellow, and has given me the grandest sport I've ever had. I'm sorry, and yet I'm glad," quoth the lad. "What'll old Nosey say to this! My stars, ain't the boys out of it! Wonder where the poor beggars have got to. Hope nothing's happened to them. Poor beast!" apostrophising the dingo, "you made a royal struggle and deserved to escape, but the fates were against you. And you, good old Brindle; my word, you've covered yourself with glory, sir! Poor fellow, you are done up; can only blink your pleasure; can't wag even the tip of your tail. Good doggie, I'm proud of you!""I'm blest if I don't skin the dingo," exclaimed he, after a moment's pause. "I'll keep it as a trophy. Something to look at in after years when I'm a grey-beard," chuckled the youth. So saying, he whipped out his knife. Joe had never before skinned a dingo, but as he had performed that office on many a wallaby and 'possum he was fairly expert, and in a few minutes had achieved his object. Rolling the pelt in the approved manner, the youth bound it with a stout piece of cord which he extracted from his pocket, and fastened it to the saddle ring."Next thing's to get some water. My word! I'm as dry as leather, an' could drink a tank dry. The animals, too, are clean done up, an' I'll get nothing out of them unless they have water. Good gracious! why—the sun's down, an' it'll soon be dark."Not until this moment did the young hunter realise his position. "Must be miles and miles off the track," muttered he as he took a brief survey of his surroundings. "I'll have to make tracks with a vengeance! Won't do to be nipped here. Let's see; yes, the way back is across that flat for a certainty, and then over yon stony ridge. Beyond that we bend to the right till we reach a rocky creek." In this way the hunter strove to recall the innumerable bends and curves taken in the chase. "Ah, here's the moon rising: good old moon!"Joe had plenty of heart, nerve, and resource. His good spirits were proverbial. Yet the situation was not at all inviting. Fourteen miles or so from home on the eve of night. A complete stranger to this rough and trackless region, and his horse badly used up! These were things calculated to try the nerves and tax the courage of the benighted youth.He made small bones of these, however, and started off at a slow pace on his return. The dog had recovered sufficiently to drag himself along at the horse's heels. The boy eagerly scanned the country for signs of water for this would afford the greatest relief to man and beasts: all of whom felt an intolerable thirst. At last they dropped across a small pool in a stony creek, to their great delight.Both horse and dog drank as if they would never stop. This, the boy felt, would be bad for the animals, and he sought to stay them. He with difficulty checked the horse, but the dog would not quit lapping until he was as tight as the proverbial drum. Joe himself drank sparingly, and then moved onward. The dog soon began to vomit, and appeared to be on the verge of collapse. So after vain waiting and entreaty the lad was forced to leave it behind, in the hope that it would recover during the night, when he had small doubt as to its ability to find its way home. The horse went easier, now that she had assuaged her thirst. All light had vanished save that of the moon, which shed an uncertain light, making puzzling shadows on the rough ground."It's time I was at the head of the long gully," muttered the lad. "From there it's only a mile or so to the home track. Get up Jill, and moosey along. The other chaps are home by this time I expect, and they're wondering what's become of me."Strange to say, the long gully refused to appear, until it dawned on Joe at last that he was off the track. None but those who have experienced it can understand the weird feeling that possesses one in the dawn of that consciousness. To be in the lonely Australian bush, where the silence is an oppression, is something like being cast adrift in mid-ocean on a raft, with nothing in sight save the wild waste of waters.That he had lost his bearings became increasingly evident to the wanderer as he moved along. He became a prey to disquieting qualms and the creeping chill of apprehension. Gruesome accounts of the fate of lost travellers had often been related at the home fireside, and these memories awoke in his mind."I'm off the track all right; still, I'm sure to cut across the Razorback trail; it'll lie over in that direction." After a pause he determined to adhere to the way that he had been pursuing for some little while. On then "breast forward." There is no semblance of a track, and presently the lad gets into very difficult country. It would be bad enough to travel through in daylight, but now the trouble is accentuated; yet the boy, with strong faith in his ultimate emergence from this chaos, bravely faces the situation. Up hill, down dale, across gullies, forcing the patches of scrub, slithering down ridges, going on hands and knees, ever and anon, to feel for the hoof-prints on what appeared to be the longed-for track—an unceasing march goes on.At last the mare, completely done up, comes to grief over a tree root, and tumbles to mother earth. The rider rises, unhurt; not so the mare, who has strained her fetlock. What is to be done now? It is a serious mischance, and the boy feels the gravity of the situation. The only thing to be done is to relieve his steed of saddle and bridle, cache his accoutrements, and trudge along on foot."Might have been worse," sighed the philosophic lad. "Poor Jill! I don't like leaving you; but it won't be for long, my beauty. Your master will send some one to look after you to-morrow. To-morrow!—Why, it must be past midnight now! Good-bye, Jill."On speeds the gallant youth, whistling and singing snatches as he tramps the interminable bush. "Might be worse," he reiterates in thought. There's a chill in the midnight air, and the walk will warm him nicely. On, then, through the still hours! Not even the hollow note of the night-owl or the familiar thump made by the feeding marsupial breaks the monotony of silence. No sound, indeed, save the crunching of the traveller's boots on the rough ground. How long drawn out the day has been. It seems an eternity since he dowsed Tom and Sandy on the bedroom floor. Lucky beggars, they are snug and sound under the blankets, dreaming the happy dreams of youth; while he, Joe Blain, is tramp, tramp, tramping. At length the thought of his comrades' sweet repose fills him with longing for rest and sleep."How long ago it is since I broke my fast? Must be eight, ten, twelve hours; yes, twelve mortal hours! Eat! Oh, for a slice of damper and salt junk! That were a feed if you like. Puddings, tarts, cakes! Bah! Gimme a slice (thick) of Nosey's damper, an' a slab of that corn-beef."What a sinking seems to fill his being! How heavy his boots have grown! How steep those everlasting ridges have become! How lovely to crouch down on that patch of bracken—for five minutes only! He must stop and rest awhile; not to lie and sleep: just to get his wind and ease his tired limbs. Shall he——? But no! he must first cut the track—then! His limbs are trembling; he must not stand still, or he will fall. On, on—to the station track! Onward, then, creeps the tottering, stumbling lad. Whistle and song have long ceased. Fatigue reigns supreme, and sheer weariness confuses his brain, and bears heavily on will. Mechanically now, the dear lad staggers over the pathless waste.But see! Yes, there is a change. What is that line ahead? Is it on the ground or in the air? It rises and falls in the moonlight, but still persists. The ground, too, is getting smoother. The ridges have disappeared. Hurrah! Is not this the end? A few steps more now, and—the station track!On trudges the lost boy with rising hope. But, alas! the line thickens, darkens, deepens, until it stands out solid, an impregnable scrub. How weird it all is; how awful! In a moment the benighted lad is stripped of hope. He is frightened beyond words. With a momentary strength born of despair the wretched youth coasts the dismal scrub, seeking an opening in vain. Suddenly he stumbles over a soft, dark mass, and falls to the ground. Putting out a hand instinctively, he touches the substance. Great Cæsar, it is the dingo! Yes, it has happened to poor Joe Blain as it has to many a one more experienced in the ways of the bush—he has circled!This shock is the last blow. Nature is drained of her resources and can hold out no longer. The lad sinks back into a half-swoon, which presently merges into a dreamless sleep.* * * * *"Joe, old fellow, wake up! Wake up, I say; Joe—Joe—d'ye hear?""W-w-w-what is it? Drat you, lemme lone. 'Snot mornin'. There's goo-good fler, so s-s-sleep——"Joe Blain, eyes sealed, dead with sleep, rolls over on the ground, and never was any creature more gently rocked in the arms of Morpheus than he.Another voice now breaks the silence, sharp and penetrating."Hi! hi! there, you sleepy lubber. Are ye going to lie there all day? Rouse up, laddie!"This imperative speech was accompanied by vigorous shakings and rollings."Well, well," grunted the half-awakened boy, "sounds like Mr. M'Intyre's voice. Never knew him to come into the room be-before. Wish they'd leave us alone. Can't open"—and the next moment Joe had relapsed into sleep. Only for a moment, though. The next he was taken neck and crop, lifted to his feet, and shaken violently, what time a voice rasped his ear drum: "Wake up, wake up, ye young Rip Van Winkle!"Opening his eyes, the dazed Joe starts at the unwonted scene. He is not in his bedroom, then! What on earth has happened? Who are these that surround him? Why—he's in the bush! And then the truth dawns upon the weary and weakened lad; he was really lost, and—thank God he is found!He greets the squatter with a wan smile, and, with the grace characteristic of the boy, begins to thank him. But Mr. M'Intyre, patting him affectionately on the back while supporting him with his arm, extracts the cork of a pocket flask with his teeth, and puts it to the lad's mouth."Tak' a pu' at this, ma laddie; it'll revive ye wonderfu'."The brandy worked wonders on the boy, so unaccustomed to it."We—we ran the dingo down, sir—Jill and Brin—why, here's ole Brindle! Left him at the water-hole; too sick to follow. The horse too——""Horse's all right, Joe. We picked her up at the water-hole, where we'll leave her for a few days, as she's limping badly. Can you sit on the saddle before me?" Joe is sure he can, and no time is lost in starting homewards. M'Intyre, to whom the country was an open book, knew a short cut that would take them home in ten miles.During the ride Joe recited his experiences to the squatter, who in return related how Willie had picked up the tracks, sighting first the horse and then the dog, and followed the trail till they came upon the sleeping lad.It was a weary but not unhappy boy who reached the homestead at length. The household, duly apprised by Willy, who had ridden on ahead, were in readiness to cheer the conquering hero.CHAPTER XIXCONCERNING WILD HORSES"Now welcome, welcome, master mine,Thrice welcome to the noble chase:Nor earthly sport, nor sport divine,Can take such honourable place."Ballad of the Wild Huntsmen."Where's Floss and Jeannie, Harry? Don't see 'em in the yard this morning.""No, sir, they didn't come in with the others.""Hoo's that, mon?""I harsk'd Jacky about 'em when he yarded the others, an' he said they wasn't with the rest. Too lazy, I bet, to look after 'em.""But I dinna see Tallboy or Dolly, eyther," said the squatter as he peered through the rails at the horses."I speck they're with the mares down by the dam, or p'raps campin' on the box ridge.""Weel, see that they're no missed the morn. Here you, Jacky," to the black boy; "come along here.""What's matter, Boss?""What for you bin no yard all yarraman?"[#][#] Yarraman—native name for horse."Bail me see some, Boss.""You bin getting lazy. I'll hae to gie you a taste o' the stock whip.""Me no 'fraid you, Boss," replied the black with a grin. "You not like my ole boss, Cap'n White. Him murry quick with whip. Sandy bin tellin' me you only gammon.""See that you drive in every hoof to-morrow morning, or, Sandy or no Sandy, ye'll get a surprise, my boy.""I cam across some brumby tracks yesterday aifternoon in the springers' paddock," continued the squatter to Harry, the head stockman. "Meant to hae spoken aboot it afore.""They're a rare nuisance, they brutes! There maun be a gap in the dog-leg fence at the far side for 'em to ha'e got in. You'd better tak' Jacky and Denny at once, and mak' the fence secure. That pack o' rubbage'll be doing a lot o' mischief among the springers wi' their galloping. Ye'd better go across by the horse-paddock, an' see if ye can get a sicht o' the mares. It's almost as near as the other track.""All right, Boss. Jacky, you go to Ah Fat an' tell 'im to put up some grub. Git the billy an' tots, an' bring 'em along. Tell Denny I want 'im. He's working in the garden.""Oh, I say," bawling after the retreating boy; "tell Denny to git the small cross-cut, an' a couple o' tommies, an' a bit o' wire to do the mendin' with. Slither away, now, ye son of a black buck!"In a few minutes the men are on their way through the horse-paddock to the slip-rails in the far corner, to carry on the repairing work in the springers' enclosure.It may be explained to the uninitiated that the horse-paddock is that nearest the homestead, where the station horses in use are kept; a larger or smaller mob according to requirements. These are yarded at daylight every morning. When the horses required for the day's work are selected the balance are turned loose for the day. The springers' paddock, reserved for the breeding cows, was a large one; one of the best on the run, in fact. The men as they rode along kept a sharp look-out for the missing steeds. Separating as they neared the dam—which was a large sheet of water backing up in the gullies for a mile or so—they rode on either side, coming together at the box-tree ridge where the slip-rails were located. No sign of the horses!"Strange, chaps! Wonder where they can be. Floss an' Dolly are fair terrors for hidin'. But—hello! there's the slip-rails down!"Sure enough, the two topmost rails were down. Who could have done it?The mystery is soon solved; the ground on the outside being trampled with horse hoofs. It told its tale of cause and effect quickly enough to these bushmen."The blessed brumbies hev got in an' coaxed 'em out, sure enough. It's the warrigal's[#] mob for a quid. Fifty of 'em, if there's a hoof.[#] Warrigal—wild, savage; applied indifferently by the natives to animals and men."How d'yer think they horses got the rails down, Harry?"The speaker was Denny Kineavy, who was a new chum at this kind of work."Why, it's the ole warrigal's work o' course. Trust 'im fur findin' out a way o' gettin' up a flirt with the ladies. He's the cutest cuss in Australia, bar none. Full o' blood he is too. New Warrior strain outer a great arab mare of Kurnel Dumaresque. I know 'im well, fur I was with Captain White just after he'd bought both dam an' foal from the ole Kurnel; or rather, I should say, Dumaresque swopped 'em fur a stud Hereford 'e was terribly struck on."Yes; he was allus a wild un. My word, you should 'a' seen 'im as a yearling! Allus leadin' the other youngsters into mischief; breakin' into the lucem paddocks, an' chasin' the dorgs till they was in mortial terror of 'im; gettin' mad fits among the horses; kickin' an' squealin' an' chiveyin' em', till one day the Captain gits in a towerin' rage an' says to me an' one-eyed Bob, who was workin' fur 'im then: 'Run in that dad-busted, bloomin' brute an' fix 'im; it's the only way ter take the divvil outer 'im.'"You see, 'e was a grand, upstandin' beast as a colt, an' the Captain wunst thought to have 'im fur stud purposes, fur all 'e was a mix breed; but 'e soon seed that was outer the question."Well, as I was sayin', the Captain orders me an' one-eyed Bob to yard 'im. 'Twarn't no easy job nuther, I tell you; for the brute soon cottoned what we was up to. At larst, after a lot of trouble, we yards 'im, and with 'im a couple o' colts an' a lot er fillies. Bob threw the lasso a dozen times afore 'e noosed 'im, cause 'e kept dodgin' in an' out among the fillies. It was the deuce's own job to separate 'em."At larst, I say, Bob fixed 'im, an' didn't 'e perform. Howe'er, Bob 'olds 'im, an' I gits 'old of the slack to give a turn round the post, so's ter bring 'im up. But all of a suddent 'e makes a mad rush at Bob, sendin' 'im sprawlin' with three ribs broke; whisks the rope outer my hands, an' streaked fur the slip-rails—six on 'em there wor—an' by 'evans! jumps like a cat at 'em; comin' down with 'is belly on top, smashin' the rail, but fallin' on the outside; never, of course, breakin' 'is bloomin' neck—an' galloped orf like mad."Must 'a' bin red mad sure enuff, fur 'e broke through the wire fence the Cap had round 'is 'orse-paddock; and that's the larst we seen of 'im fur months."Then one day I was on the out station, lookin' after some steers, when I come acrost 'im in a mob of brumbies he'd chummed up with. 'E was 'aving a pretty rough time of it, I could see; fur there was a couple o' stallions in the mob as wasn't agreeable fur 'is company in the 'arem; an that's 'ow we come ter git 'im a few years after, I 'spect.""Thin you did git hould iv th' grey divvil?" exclaimed Denny."Yes; we got 'im all right. But, look here, chaps, no time's to be lost. These beggars may be still in the paddock. If not, they've got out the way they came in, an' are 'eadin' fur the ranges. We'll cut across to the north end where the fence crosses Rocky Crick. I 'spect that's where they've broken in. It looked a bit shaky a fortni't ago, as I come by. I don't think they've got in at the dog-leg end, that the Boss spoke about. Anyhow, we'll try the Crick fust."A sharp ride of about four miles brought the men to the spot indicated by Harry. It was a rocky bit of country, and sure enough they found the "shaky" post and rails lying on the ground. The immediate cause of this was a big limb of a dry stringy-bark tree, which had fallen upon the weak spot and smashed it down. The horse tracks about the spot showed conclusively that the mob had gone in and out by this means.According to Jacky, the black boy, the inward tracks were about three days old; the outward, a few hours. Without doubt, the brumbies had "nosed" the rails to which the mares had been attracted by their neighings, early in the night. Then in the dawning of the morning they had moved out to one of their haunts in the ranges."The only thing now is to get back an' tell the Boss. 'E'll be mad when he knows, you bet; thinks no end o' Floss an' Jeannie. Put up the rails, boys, quick an' lively." In a few minutes the men had fixed up the broken panels securely, and then rode homewards."Saay, Harry, me bhoy, how'd yees yard th' ould stag, as ye was sayin' when ye was talkin' forninst th' slip-raales?"Wasn't an old stag then, an' isn't now, fur that matter, the brute's in 'is prime yet. Let's see, 'e's risin' 'leven now, an' we got 'im just afore I left the Captain fur the Boss here. Lemme think. Yes, it's just over five year ago; he'd be about six, then. Fur all his tricks, the two stallions had driven 'im off their beat. 'E'd got a couple o' mares, though, an' kep' 'em in the range country on the out-station; but it was all of an accident that we got 'im."One day me an' the Captain was ridin' through the run, havin' a good look at the stock; fur we had a notion of cuttin' out a mob o' fats. Well, as I was sayin', we was ridin' along the back part of the run, an' we came acrost a couple o' brumbies, each with a foal. 'Stead o' scootin', as they does in giniral, the mares galloped in a circle, but didn't clear."'It's mighty strange,' ses the Captain. 'What are they 'angin' about fur, an' where's their mate? Never seed 'em parted afore.' 'It is strange,' ses I; 'an' there's only one thing to account fur it, an' that is the cove's about sumwheres 'andy.'"We moved on to a rocky gully that opens out on to a big plain. At one place a log fence runs acrost to keep the stock in. Bymby we comes plump onter it, an', great gosh alive! if there weren't the grey. 'E seed us as soon as we spotted 'im, an' set up a great squealin' an' pawin', but cuddn't get away. There 'e was, like a bandicoot in a V-trap. 'E was caught by the off hind-leg, between two big logs that lay clost together. 'E was jammed tight enough. Wunder was 'e didn't break a leg."When the Cap saw the fix 'e was in, didn't 'e just cuss fur joy. Then 'e sends me back to the hut, about two mile away, fur ropes, an' ole Jack the keeper. Well, I streaked fur the hut, you bet, an' was there less'n no time. Soon me an' Jack, with two green 'ide lassoes an' an 'emp one, also a axe, was on the spot."When the 'orse sees the ropes 'e yelled, an' roared, an' pawed, an' snapped 'is teeth, fur all the world like a trapt dingo. An', wud you believe it?the blarmy mares hadn't follered us up! There they was just ahind us, whinneying and screamin'; their way o' swearing an' cussin' I s'pose. Wish-I-may-die if we didn't have to put the stock whip on 'em to roust 'em away."'How are yer goin' ter manage 'im,' ses I to the Cap when I comes up with the things."'I'll soon let yer see,' ses 'e. 'Fust of all we'll pass a rope round 'is free 'ind-leg well up on to the shank. Then we'll put another on the front fetlock an' acrost 'is flanks.'"Well, it took us a goodish bit to fix 'im up. I forgot ter say that we tied the third rope round 'is neck, an' that was no easy job, fur every time the Cap threw the lasso he'd dodge it with 'is 'ed like a fightin' kangaroo. But, ter make a long story short, when we'd roped 'im, we levered one of the logs with saplin's so's ter git 'is other leg free. Then, didn't 'e play up! But by the time we'd given 'im arf a dozen falls, an' two o' them riglar croppers, 'e seed it was no use, throws up the sponge, an' comes along quietly."We didn't give 'im any charnse, you bet, as 'e was such a sly demon. So we got 'im ter the stockyard at the 'ead station, a matter o' thirteen mile or so. We put 'im in the crush fust, then got a 'evvy 'alter on 'im, an' tied it to 'is front off leg so's 'e cuddent jump; in that way we fixed 'im fur the night."Early nex' morning, just as I was thinkin' o' gittin' up, there comes a tremenjious 'ammerin' an' bangin' at the door, shoutin' out sumthin' I cuddent understand. I jumps up an' opens the door, an' there was ole Jack singin' out an' makin' a great fluster."'What in thunder's the matter, Jack?' ses I."'Warrigal's gone!' ses 'e, all tremblin' like. 'Cleared right out in the night.'"Off I rushes ter the yards, an' sure enuff, the beast had cleared; yet the rails was up."''Ow the dickens 'e got out, Jack?' ses I, lookin' round. Presently I comes ter the slip-rails, an' soon spots 'ow 'e done it. I'm blest if the ole cuss didn't lay down ter it at the rails an' 'riggled 'is way out sideways. You cud see the ground all tore up by 'is 'oofs as 'e inched 'is way out. There was a knot at the lower side o' the rail, an' it was covered with 'air an' blood, which shows what a tight squeeze it was.""But 'ow the blazes did he gat out iv th' pathock whin he was knee-haltered?""Like enuff 'e worked 'is 'edstall off as 'e 'riggled through. We thought we'd made it tight enuff fur anythin'. Anyways 'e cleared, an', what's more, 'e an' the mares moved off the run an' wasn't 'eard of fur long, then 'e was found bossin' a mob on Bullaroi."By this time the men had reached the homestead. Leaving the others at the stockyard, Harry proceeded to the house to break the bad news to the owner.The squatter was greatly put out by the turn the affair had taken. Two of the horses were brood mares on which he set a high value, and for which he had given a big price. They were full of breeding, having the famed Gemma di Vergi strain on the sire's side. The occurrence was no less than a calamity in more ways than one.Their location was in difficult country, and with such a rogue as the grey outlaw to lead and direct, the job of rescue seemed by no means easy or certain. Mr. M'Intyre, however, was determined to regain his mares, and at the same time to capture or destroy that equine demon. One thing in his favour was the fact that in midsummer there was a scarcity of water in the ranges, and their run, for a while, at any rate, must be in and about the foot-hills.As was usual in those days, the neighbouring station-holders were invited to join in the brumby hunt, which is, as a rule, the most exciting, and, at times the most dangerous, sport that Australia can furnish, keenly relished by bushmen.The brumby is no more a native Australian horse than the mustang is a native American horse; that is to say, it is not indigenous to the country. Brumbies are the descendants of imported horses which have escaped into the bush and bred there.When Australian settlements were confined to the barest fringe of the continent, it was very common for stock, both horses and cattle, to stray from the settled areas into the great wilderness beyond.An historic illustration is to be found in the genesis of colonial expansion. When the first expedition sailed from England, not only were officials, soldiers, and convicts shipped; but also an assortment of domestic animals to furnish the requirements of the penal colony proposed to be established on the shores of Botany Bay.As the cattle in the new settlements increased, many beasts strayed beyond the borders of the occupied country to the interior forests and plains; and before very long "brumbies" (wild horses) and "scrubbers" (wild cattle) covered large tracts, often to the great annoyance of the advancing line of settlers.CHAPTER XXTHE BRUMBY HUNT"Like a wintry shore that the waters ride o'er,All the lowlands are filling with sound;For swiftly we gain where the mobs of the plainLike a tempest are tearing the ground!And we'll follow them hard to the rails of the yard,Over gulches and mountain-tops grey,Where the beat and the beat of our swift horses' feetWill die with the echoes away."HENRY KENDALL."How many are coming to the hunt to-morrow, dad?""About a score all told, my son. That is," continued the speaker somewhat inconsequently, "if they a' turn up.""Gills coming, ain't they?""Yes; the old man, son, and ane o' the stockmen'll be here this evening, so as to be ready for the early stairt the morn's morn. That reminds me, I've no telt your mother. They'll be here aboot supper-time.""Captain White coming, I s'pose?""If he's above ground. We'd best coont 'em up. Get a bit o' paper, Saundy, and pit doon the names. Then we'll ken for sure.""Ready, father.""Pit doon oor ain lot first. Mysel', you, Hairry, the blacks, Denny, the bullock driver, the ration carrier, Redgate and Broon from the oot-station, Joe, Tom, N-eville—I suppose. Hoo mony's that?""Thirteen.""So mony's that? At that rate we'll hae ower a score. Weel, that's a' the better. Let's see, noo: pit doun the Gill lot, that's three more. Then there's Captain White. Old Dumaresque says he'll be along, but I dinna reckon on him, so you needna coont him in. White's going to bring twa men wi' him. And, m-yes, there's Davison o' the bank, and Dickson the lawyer. Told 'em the other day I'd let 'em know. They'll need to be here the nicht, too. We'd better send Willy in wi' a message at once. That's a' noo I think. Hoo mony does that tot up?""Twenty-one not counting the Colonel.""Weel, I hope they'll turn up, that's a'.""I say, father, could Jimmy Flynn an' Yellow Billy come?""Eh? Weel, I—I dinna ken. Can they ride?""Ride? Listen to him! Why, Yellow Billy's the boss rider among the boys. You know his steer——""Ah weel," said Mr. M'Intyre laughingly, "we'll hae 'em. Send word by the boy."Accordingly, the invitation was taken to the four Tareelians. Gill and party turned up about dark, and shortly after them the town lot, all of whom were welcomed by their hospitable host.M'Intyre had made extensive preparations for the hunt. There are various methods for trapping wild horses. The one in vogue at Bullaroi and the surrounding stations was that called the "wing" trap. This consists, first of all, in determining the usual brumby run. The next work, and an important one, is the building of yards in a locality specially selected, the object being to get as near as possible to the natural line of the horses' travel when stampeded.The yards must be well constructed, with a high, strong fence, having an open mouth so wide as to give the hunted steed no suspicion of running into a trap. The upper and nether lips of this mouth, after running parallel a short distance, gradually converge to the throat, as it were, finally meeting, and forming a cul-de-sac.From the mouth extremity a vast roll of canvas, or, rather, calico strips about six inches wide, is made fast to one of the fence terminals, and from there, at a slight outward angle, is often taken for miles, being secured at intervals to trees or stakes which are driven into the ground. The wing is fixed breast high. This, to the inexperienced, seems but a flimsy obstacle; but the calico barrier, frail as it appears, acts as an effectual boundary. Brumbies are both timid and suspicious, and very rarely charge a wing. When driven on to one they wheel either to right or left, with never a thought of breaking through or jumping it.The strategy of the "drive" is to station men at intervals from the terminal point of the wing; each man is armed with a heavy stock whip, a cruel enough weapon in the hands of an adept. Others are left at the trap-yard mouth on the outward side, concealed as a rule, and ready to dart out and head the mob should it scent danger when nearing the opening. The remainder of the men proceed to locate and enflank the mob, and drive them in the given direction. This, often, is a very difficult matter, and sometimes the best laid scheme is defeated by a determined and irresistible rush of the mob in the teeth of their assailants.Premising the "round up" and drive to be successful as far as the wing, the wing supports wheel them in the right direction; then close in and pass to the outside to strengthen the flank men, who now form a parallel line with the racing brumbies. Thus, with the calico wing on one side, a living, whip-cracking, yelling cordon on the other, and a harrying force behind, the spectacle is as brilliant and as exciting as Australia can furnish in the line of sport.
[#] Wombat—-a burrowing marsupial.
Returning to the collapsed pair, Sandy jumped off and lifted Tom's head, for the lad lay stiff. His appearance frightened the boy as he lay still and death-like. To his great joy, however, on feeling Tom's wrist, Sandy detected a feeble pulse-beat. Laying his stricken mate gently down in the bracken, he made a hasty examination of his head. It bore no trace of wound, save some gravel scratches and a nasty bruise under the left eye. The relieved boy hurried to the bottom of the ridge, where by good hap was a rill of water. Filling his hat he returned and laved the brow and wrists of his companion. After some twenty minutes or so Tom began to stir, and quickly regained consciousness. No bones were broken, but the boy was badly shaken, and all thoughts of further pursuit were out of the question. The horse, by a miracle, was without hurt.
"You're a lucky beggar, Tom," said Sandy, after a few minutes. "From the way you crashed down I made sure every blessed bone in your body was broken. How do you feel now, ole boss?"
"Oh, I'm all right," replied Tom feebly. "Shoulder's the worst. It's not dislocated, but it pains a lot. Phew! but it does hurt when I move it. I expect it felt the full force of the tumble. But—where's Joe?"
"Joe's ahead. Goodness only knows where he's got to by now. He hasn't a ghost's show of getting the dingo if he makes for the hills."
"I tell you what," continued the boy; "we'll get off home as soon as you feel fit. It's no use waiting for Joe. He can easily catch us. You'll have to go slow, old man, you know."
This was true, for Tom's shoulder was in an agony of ache, which the movement of the horse, after they had mounted, intensified to an almost unbearable degree.
It was long after dark ere the pair sighted the homestead lights. They had not been overtaken by Joe, much to their surprise. They were met at the slip-rails by Harry and Jacky, who had just been dispatched to look for them, as the family were getting uneasy at their prolonged absence. The men returned with the lads to the house. Beyond a severe word to Sandy for being tempted to pursue the impossible when on the homeward track, the squatter justified their act of returning from the camp; also in not waiting for Joe.
"I expect the rascal will turn up in a few minutes. His horse would soon be knocked up in that country, and he would therefore be unable to catch you after he abandoned the dingo. The cheek of you boys, to think you could run it down in that country!"
The minutes sped without sight or sound of the huntsman. Anxiety deepened in the women; the men, too, became uneasy.
"Some one ought to go after the lad," broke in the perturbed mother, at length. "The poor laddie must have met trouble. His horse has knocked up. Perhaps he has lost himself. Perhaps he——!"
"Perhaps nothing of the kind has happened, except that the horse may have knocked up. You women will always jump to the worst conclusions. Willy, you and I'll ride back a bit; come you too Sandy, if you're not too tired."
Mr. M'Intyre feared more than he showed. It would be easy enough after all, he reflected, for a boy who was ignorant of the lay of the country and who had no experience in bush travelling, to lose his way. He determined, therefore, to take his son with him, so that he might lead them to the spot where the accident occurred, if it were necessary. Accordingly the three set off on the track. Fortunately it was moonlight and clear, so that they were able to make good headway through the bush.
It is time, however, to return to Joe. That ardent hunter had followed the chase for some distance ere he missed his pals. What with the severity of the pace and the increasing roughness of the course, its twistings and turnings, all his attention was focussed on the quarry. If he did think at all of his companions, it was to picture them following close behind. But in the heat of the chase he had little thought for others. When it did dawn upon him that he had outdistanced his companions, as happened eventually, he attributed little importance to that. They, no doubt, had good reason for slackening their pace. His horse, as he well knew, had a dash of speed denied to theirs. Maybe their steeds had caved in. Anyhow, he was having a glorious time, and "the finish" was touched with roseate hues to his imagination.
His horse was justifying the reputation given of him to Joe by Harry, the stockman, one day when they were discussing the relative merits of their mounts.
"For a hack," that worthy had remarked, "there's nothing on the run equal to the little thing you're ridin'. With a light weight up like yourself she can show a dash of foot an' staying powers that'll take a tremendous lot of lickin'."
This was a just criticism, as events were proving. Still, the pace was beginning to tell, and Joe was forced to ease the mare somewhat, even at the risk of losing sight of the quarry. The rough ridges, too, made the going to be precarious.
Things were as bad with Master Dingo, however. The pursuit was hot enough to extend him to the fullest. He was always in view, and could not shake off the foe. As long as he remained in sight it was impossible to resort to any trick by which he might gain time or wind. The ordinary pace of the dingo when on the chase may be described as a lope. This can be kept up the live-long day, and thus wear down the fleetest victim. To keep extended at full gallop in this unwonted fashion is not at all to the dingo's liking, and the sooner he can reach the distant scrub, which is his objective, the better pleased he will be. The cattle dog, though not ordinarily a hunter, is strong and tough, and possessed of a good pair of bellows. He started the game with the utmost alacrity, and now continues it with the greatest vim and determination.
So the chase continues, and is now but little more than a mile from the scrub belt which fringes the base of the hills. To this ark of safety, therefore, the dingo strains every muscle, and seizes every small advantage which his instinct discerns. No less strenuous is the cattle dog. He has the staying powers of his class, and he too runs to win. In this way the pursued and pursuers hurry-skurry over bush and brake, over stony ridges and across intersecting gullies.
Within half a mile of the scrub the country flattens out, and this gives an advantage to the cattle dog, who closes up. Joe's horse is now in distress. The course has been long and rough, the pace severe, and the grass-fed steed is weakening, can make no headway, is indeed losing in the race. The lad sees this, and chevies the dog on, for he can plainly mark now that unless the chase be ended on this side of the scrub all hope must be abandoned, Oh, to win! A supremely glorious thing were he to achieve the impossible! There are chances. Lots of things might happen yet. On, on, good doggie! Catch him, Brindle! Hurrah, Brindle is closing; is surely creeping up!
They are now about three hundred yards from the timber belt, and the dingo is slowly but surely being overhauled. Visions of the scalp as a proud trophy fill the boy's imagination. If only Brindle may seize his victim and hold him till he rides up and gives the brute its quietus with the stirrup iron! Brindle is now not more than four lengths behind, and the beasts are still a hundred yards from the scrub.
"On then, doggie: catch him: hold him!" shouts Joe across the widely intervening distance. The voice is borne faintly to the dog's ears, and nerves him to heroic effort in this the final stage of the struggle, the last lap, so to speak. Breath is too precious to be wasted in answering cry, but the spurt of the hound speaks volumes: "I shall catch him, master, never fear: I am gaining; but ''twill be on the post."
Both dogs, wild and domestic, are stretched to their fullest extent. It is the crowning burst. They are labouring heavily, staggering, and rolling in their stride. The pace is slow but hard. It is a question of endurance. Every ounce of strength in each body is laid under contribution. Once within the scrub the chances in favour of the dingo will immediately increase a hundredfold, for in doubling and dodging through the densely timbered belts the native dog has no equal.
Only thirty yards now lie between the dingo and his salvation—the good thick scrub that will swallow him up; but—the breath of the pursuer blows hot upon him. Throwing his head over his shoulder for the fraction of a second, the desperate beast sees that only by a miracle can he escape. The adversary is upon his quarters, and in another second the brute's fangs will be buried in his back. It is a supreme moment. Now or never! Making a super-canine effort, the fear-stricken thing draws away from its enemy in the last dozen strides. Saved, saved! Alas, alas! Right at the very fringe, and within a single step of safety, he tumbles in a heap, and with a convulsive gasp rolls over and gives up the ghost: the prolonged exertions have broken his heart.
You can work your will on the hunted one now, Brindle: no need to fear the vicious snap that was reserved for you should the worst happen. But the dog's instincts inform him that all power of resistance has gone from that mute and still form; indeed, he has no strength to worry should the call be made: the last spurt has left him without a vestige of strength. And so, when Joe appeared upon the scene a few minutes later, it was to behold the motionless dingo, and by his side, with lolling tongue and cavernous mouth, the panting and exhausted Brindle.
In a moment the boy has slid from his horse, and is dancing a grotesque fandango, expressive of his unbounded joy. But, when in a calmer moment he understood the tragedy of it from the dingo's side of things, a feeling of compassion possessed him, yet joy persisted. "He's a noble fellow, and has given me the grandest sport I've ever had. I'm sorry, and yet I'm glad," quoth the lad. "What'll old Nosey say to this! My stars, ain't the boys out of it! Wonder where the poor beggars have got to. Hope nothing's happened to them. Poor beast!" apostrophising the dingo, "you made a royal struggle and deserved to escape, but the fates were against you. And you, good old Brindle; my word, you've covered yourself with glory, sir! Poor fellow, you are done up; can only blink your pleasure; can't wag even the tip of your tail. Good doggie, I'm proud of you!"
"I'm blest if I don't skin the dingo," exclaimed he, after a moment's pause. "I'll keep it as a trophy. Something to look at in after years when I'm a grey-beard," chuckled the youth. So saying, he whipped out his knife. Joe had never before skinned a dingo, but as he had performed that office on many a wallaby and 'possum he was fairly expert, and in a few minutes had achieved his object. Rolling the pelt in the approved manner, the youth bound it with a stout piece of cord which he extracted from his pocket, and fastened it to the saddle ring.
"Next thing's to get some water. My word! I'm as dry as leather, an' could drink a tank dry. The animals, too, are clean done up, an' I'll get nothing out of them unless they have water. Good gracious! why—the sun's down, an' it'll soon be dark."
Not until this moment did the young hunter realise his position. "Must be miles and miles off the track," muttered he as he took a brief survey of his surroundings. "I'll have to make tracks with a vengeance! Won't do to be nipped here. Let's see; yes, the way back is across that flat for a certainty, and then over yon stony ridge. Beyond that we bend to the right till we reach a rocky creek." In this way the hunter strove to recall the innumerable bends and curves taken in the chase. "Ah, here's the moon rising: good old moon!"
Joe had plenty of heart, nerve, and resource. His good spirits were proverbial. Yet the situation was not at all inviting. Fourteen miles or so from home on the eve of night. A complete stranger to this rough and trackless region, and his horse badly used up! These were things calculated to try the nerves and tax the courage of the benighted youth.
He made small bones of these, however, and started off at a slow pace on his return. The dog had recovered sufficiently to drag himself along at the horse's heels. The boy eagerly scanned the country for signs of water for this would afford the greatest relief to man and beasts: all of whom felt an intolerable thirst. At last they dropped across a small pool in a stony creek, to their great delight.
Both horse and dog drank as if they would never stop. This, the boy felt, would be bad for the animals, and he sought to stay them. He with difficulty checked the horse, but the dog would not quit lapping until he was as tight as the proverbial drum. Joe himself drank sparingly, and then moved onward. The dog soon began to vomit, and appeared to be on the verge of collapse. So after vain waiting and entreaty the lad was forced to leave it behind, in the hope that it would recover during the night, when he had small doubt as to its ability to find its way home. The horse went easier, now that she had assuaged her thirst. All light had vanished save that of the moon, which shed an uncertain light, making puzzling shadows on the rough ground.
"It's time I was at the head of the long gully," muttered the lad. "From there it's only a mile or so to the home track. Get up Jill, and moosey along. The other chaps are home by this time I expect, and they're wondering what's become of me."
Strange to say, the long gully refused to appear, until it dawned on Joe at last that he was off the track. None but those who have experienced it can understand the weird feeling that possesses one in the dawn of that consciousness. To be in the lonely Australian bush, where the silence is an oppression, is something like being cast adrift in mid-ocean on a raft, with nothing in sight save the wild waste of waters.
That he had lost his bearings became increasingly evident to the wanderer as he moved along. He became a prey to disquieting qualms and the creeping chill of apprehension. Gruesome accounts of the fate of lost travellers had often been related at the home fireside, and these memories awoke in his mind.
"I'm off the track all right; still, I'm sure to cut across the Razorback trail; it'll lie over in that direction." After a pause he determined to adhere to the way that he had been pursuing for some little while. On then "breast forward." There is no semblance of a track, and presently the lad gets into very difficult country. It would be bad enough to travel through in daylight, but now the trouble is accentuated; yet the boy, with strong faith in his ultimate emergence from this chaos, bravely faces the situation. Up hill, down dale, across gullies, forcing the patches of scrub, slithering down ridges, going on hands and knees, ever and anon, to feel for the hoof-prints on what appeared to be the longed-for track—an unceasing march goes on.
At last the mare, completely done up, comes to grief over a tree root, and tumbles to mother earth. The rider rises, unhurt; not so the mare, who has strained her fetlock. What is to be done now? It is a serious mischance, and the boy feels the gravity of the situation. The only thing to be done is to relieve his steed of saddle and bridle, cache his accoutrements, and trudge along on foot.
"Might have been worse," sighed the philosophic lad. "Poor Jill! I don't like leaving you; but it won't be for long, my beauty. Your master will send some one to look after you to-morrow. To-morrow!—Why, it must be past midnight now! Good-bye, Jill."
On speeds the gallant youth, whistling and singing snatches as he tramps the interminable bush. "Might be worse," he reiterates in thought. There's a chill in the midnight air, and the walk will warm him nicely. On, then, through the still hours! Not even the hollow note of the night-owl or the familiar thump made by the feeding marsupial breaks the monotony of silence. No sound, indeed, save the crunching of the traveller's boots on the rough ground. How long drawn out the day has been. It seems an eternity since he dowsed Tom and Sandy on the bedroom floor. Lucky beggars, they are snug and sound under the blankets, dreaming the happy dreams of youth; while he, Joe Blain, is tramp, tramp, tramping. At length the thought of his comrades' sweet repose fills him with longing for rest and sleep.
"How long ago it is since I broke my fast? Must be eight, ten, twelve hours; yes, twelve mortal hours! Eat! Oh, for a slice of damper and salt junk! That were a feed if you like. Puddings, tarts, cakes! Bah! Gimme a slice (thick) of Nosey's damper, an' a slab of that corn-beef."
What a sinking seems to fill his being! How heavy his boots have grown! How steep those everlasting ridges have become! How lovely to crouch down on that patch of bracken—for five minutes only! He must stop and rest awhile; not to lie and sleep: just to get his wind and ease his tired limbs. Shall he——? But no! he must first cut the track—then! His limbs are trembling; he must not stand still, or he will fall. On, on—to the station track! Onward, then, creeps the tottering, stumbling lad. Whistle and song have long ceased. Fatigue reigns supreme, and sheer weariness confuses his brain, and bears heavily on will. Mechanically now, the dear lad staggers over the pathless waste.
But see! Yes, there is a change. What is that line ahead? Is it on the ground or in the air? It rises and falls in the moonlight, but still persists. The ground, too, is getting smoother. The ridges have disappeared. Hurrah! Is not this the end? A few steps more now, and—the station track!
On trudges the lost boy with rising hope. But, alas! the line thickens, darkens, deepens, until it stands out solid, an impregnable scrub. How weird it all is; how awful! In a moment the benighted lad is stripped of hope. He is frightened beyond words. With a momentary strength born of despair the wretched youth coasts the dismal scrub, seeking an opening in vain. Suddenly he stumbles over a soft, dark mass, and falls to the ground. Putting out a hand instinctively, he touches the substance. Great Cæsar, it is the dingo! Yes, it has happened to poor Joe Blain as it has to many a one more experienced in the ways of the bush—he has circled!
This shock is the last blow. Nature is drained of her resources and can hold out no longer. The lad sinks back into a half-swoon, which presently merges into a dreamless sleep.
* * * * *
"Joe, old fellow, wake up! Wake up, I say; Joe—Joe—d'ye hear?"
"W-w-w-what is it? Drat you, lemme lone. 'Snot mornin'. There's goo-good fler, so s-s-sleep——"
Joe Blain, eyes sealed, dead with sleep, rolls over on the ground, and never was any creature more gently rocked in the arms of Morpheus than he.
Another voice now breaks the silence, sharp and penetrating.
"Hi! hi! there, you sleepy lubber. Are ye going to lie there all day? Rouse up, laddie!"
This imperative speech was accompanied by vigorous shakings and rollings.
"Well, well," grunted the half-awakened boy, "sounds like Mr. M'Intyre's voice. Never knew him to come into the room be-before. Wish they'd leave us alone. Can't open"—and the next moment Joe had relapsed into sleep. Only for a moment, though. The next he was taken neck and crop, lifted to his feet, and shaken violently, what time a voice rasped his ear drum: "Wake up, wake up, ye young Rip Van Winkle!"
Opening his eyes, the dazed Joe starts at the unwonted scene. He is not in his bedroom, then! What on earth has happened? Who are these that surround him? Why—he's in the bush! And then the truth dawns upon the weary and weakened lad; he was really lost, and—thank God he is found!
He greets the squatter with a wan smile, and, with the grace characteristic of the boy, begins to thank him. But Mr. M'Intyre, patting him affectionately on the back while supporting him with his arm, extracts the cork of a pocket flask with his teeth, and puts it to the lad's mouth.
"Tak' a pu' at this, ma laddie; it'll revive ye wonderfu'."
The brandy worked wonders on the boy, so unaccustomed to it.
"We—we ran the dingo down, sir—Jill and Brin—why, here's ole Brindle! Left him at the water-hole; too sick to follow. The horse too——"
"Horse's all right, Joe. We picked her up at the water-hole, where we'll leave her for a few days, as she's limping badly. Can you sit on the saddle before me?" Joe is sure he can, and no time is lost in starting homewards. M'Intyre, to whom the country was an open book, knew a short cut that would take them home in ten miles.
During the ride Joe recited his experiences to the squatter, who in return related how Willie had picked up the tracks, sighting first the horse and then the dog, and followed the trail till they came upon the sleeping lad.
It was a weary but not unhappy boy who reached the homestead at length. The household, duly apprised by Willy, who had ridden on ahead, were in readiness to cheer the conquering hero.
CHAPTER XIX
CONCERNING WILD HORSES
"Now welcome, welcome, master mine,Thrice welcome to the noble chase:Nor earthly sport, nor sport divine,Can take such honourable place."Ballad of the Wild Huntsmen.
"Now welcome, welcome, master mine,Thrice welcome to the noble chase:Nor earthly sport, nor sport divine,Can take such honourable place."Ballad of the Wild Huntsmen.
"Now welcome, welcome, master mine,
Thrice welcome to the noble chase:
Thrice welcome to the noble chase:
Nor earthly sport, nor sport divine,
Can take such honourable place."Ballad of the Wild Huntsmen.
Can take such honourable place."
Ballad of the Wild Huntsmen.
Ballad of the Wild Huntsmen.
"Where's Floss and Jeannie, Harry? Don't see 'em in the yard this morning."
"No, sir, they didn't come in with the others."
"Hoo's that, mon?"
"I harsk'd Jacky about 'em when he yarded the others, an' he said they wasn't with the rest. Too lazy, I bet, to look after 'em."
"But I dinna see Tallboy or Dolly, eyther," said the squatter as he peered through the rails at the horses.
"I speck they're with the mares down by the dam, or p'raps campin' on the box ridge."
"Weel, see that they're no missed the morn. Here you, Jacky," to the black boy; "come along here."
"What's matter, Boss?"
"What for you bin no yard all yarraman?"[#]
[#] Yarraman—native name for horse.
"Bail me see some, Boss."
"You bin getting lazy. I'll hae to gie you a taste o' the stock whip."
"Me no 'fraid you, Boss," replied the black with a grin. "You not like my ole boss, Cap'n White. Him murry quick with whip. Sandy bin tellin' me you only gammon."
"See that you drive in every hoof to-morrow morning, or, Sandy or no Sandy, ye'll get a surprise, my boy."
"I cam across some brumby tracks yesterday aifternoon in the springers' paddock," continued the squatter to Harry, the head stockman. "Meant to hae spoken aboot it afore."
"They're a rare nuisance, they brutes! There maun be a gap in the dog-leg fence at the far side for 'em to ha'e got in. You'd better tak' Jacky and Denny at once, and mak' the fence secure. That pack o' rubbage'll be doing a lot o' mischief among the springers wi' their galloping. Ye'd better go across by the horse-paddock, an' see if ye can get a sicht o' the mares. It's almost as near as the other track."
"All right, Boss. Jacky, you go to Ah Fat an' tell 'im to put up some grub. Git the billy an' tots, an' bring 'em along. Tell Denny I want 'im. He's working in the garden."
"Oh, I say," bawling after the retreating boy; "tell Denny to git the small cross-cut, an' a couple o' tommies, an' a bit o' wire to do the mendin' with. Slither away, now, ye son of a black buck!"
In a few minutes the men are on their way through the horse-paddock to the slip-rails in the far corner, to carry on the repairing work in the springers' enclosure.
It may be explained to the uninitiated that the horse-paddock is that nearest the homestead, where the station horses in use are kept; a larger or smaller mob according to requirements. These are yarded at daylight every morning. When the horses required for the day's work are selected the balance are turned loose for the day. The springers' paddock, reserved for the breeding cows, was a large one; one of the best on the run, in fact. The men as they rode along kept a sharp look-out for the missing steeds. Separating as they neared the dam—which was a large sheet of water backing up in the gullies for a mile or so—they rode on either side, coming together at the box-tree ridge where the slip-rails were located. No sign of the horses!
"Strange, chaps! Wonder where they can be. Floss an' Dolly are fair terrors for hidin'. But—hello! there's the slip-rails down!"
Sure enough, the two topmost rails were down. Who could have done it?
The mystery is soon solved; the ground on the outside being trampled with horse hoofs. It told its tale of cause and effect quickly enough to these bushmen.
"The blessed brumbies hev got in an' coaxed 'em out, sure enough. It's the warrigal's[#] mob for a quid. Fifty of 'em, if there's a hoof.
[#] Warrigal—wild, savage; applied indifferently by the natives to animals and men.
"How d'yer think they horses got the rails down, Harry?"
The speaker was Denny Kineavy, who was a new chum at this kind of work.
"Why, it's the ole warrigal's work o' course. Trust 'im fur findin' out a way o' gettin' up a flirt with the ladies. He's the cutest cuss in Australia, bar none. Full o' blood he is too. New Warrior strain outer a great arab mare of Kurnel Dumaresque. I know 'im well, fur I was with Captain White just after he'd bought both dam an' foal from the ole Kurnel; or rather, I should say, Dumaresque swopped 'em fur a stud Hereford 'e was terribly struck on.
"Yes; he was allus a wild un. My word, you should 'a' seen 'im as a yearling! Allus leadin' the other youngsters into mischief; breakin' into the lucem paddocks, an' chasin' the dorgs till they was in mortial terror of 'im; gettin' mad fits among the horses; kickin' an' squealin' an' chiveyin' em', till one day the Captain gits in a towerin' rage an' says to me an' one-eyed Bob, who was workin' fur 'im then: 'Run in that dad-busted, bloomin' brute an' fix 'im; it's the only way ter take the divvil outer 'im.'
"You see, 'e was a grand, upstandin' beast as a colt, an' the Captain wunst thought to have 'im fur stud purposes, fur all 'e was a mix breed; but 'e soon seed that was outer the question.
"Well, as I was sayin', the Captain orders me an' one-eyed Bob to yard 'im. 'Twarn't no easy job nuther, I tell you; for the brute soon cottoned what we was up to. At larst, after a lot of trouble, we yards 'im, and with 'im a couple o' colts an' a lot er fillies. Bob threw the lasso a dozen times afore 'e noosed 'im, cause 'e kept dodgin' in an' out among the fillies. It was the deuce's own job to separate 'em.
"At larst, I say, Bob fixed 'im, an' didn't 'e perform. Howe'er, Bob 'olds 'im, an' I gits 'old of the slack to give a turn round the post, so's ter bring 'im up. But all of a suddent 'e makes a mad rush at Bob, sendin' 'im sprawlin' with three ribs broke; whisks the rope outer my hands, an' streaked fur the slip-rails—six on 'em there wor—an' by 'evans! jumps like a cat at 'em; comin' down with 'is belly on top, smashin' the rail, but fallin' on the outside; never, of course, breakin' 'is bloomin' neck—an' galloped orf like mad.
"Must 'a' bin red mad sure enuff, fur 'e broke through the wire fence the Cap had round 'is 'orse-paddock; and that's the larst we seen of 'im fur months.
"Then one day I was on the out station, lookin' after some steers, when I come acrost 'im in a mob of brumbies he'd chummed up with. 'E was 'aving a pretty rough time of it, I could see; fur there was a couple o' stallions in the mob as wasn't agreeable fur 'is company in the 'arem; an that's 'ow we come ter git 'im a few years after, I 'spect."
"Thin you did git hould iv th' grey divvil?" exclaimed Denny.
"Yes; we got 'im all right. But, look here, chaps, no time's to be lost. These beggars may be still in the paddock. If not, they've got out the way they came in, an' are 'eadin' fur the ranges. We'll cut across to the north end where the fence crosses Rocky Crick. I 'spect that's where they've broken in. It looked a bit shaky a fortni't ago, as I come by. I don't think they've got in at the dog-leg end, that the Boss spoke about. Anyhow, we'll try the Crick fust."
A sharp ride of about four miles brought the men to the spot indicated by Harry. It was a rocky bit of country, and sure enough they found the "shaky" post and rails lying on the ground. The immediate cause of this was a big limb of a dry stringy-bark tree, which had fallen upon the weak spot and smashed it down. The horse tracks about the spot showed conclusively that the mob had gone in and out by this means.
According to Jacky, the black boy, the inward tracks were about three days old; the outward, a few hours. Without doubt, the brumbies had "nosed" the rails to which the mares had been attracted by their neighings, early in the night. Then in the dawning of the morning they had moved out to one of their haunts in the ranges.
"The only thing now is to get back an' tell the Boss. 'E'll be mad when he knows, you bet; thinks no end o' Floss an' Jeannie. Put up the rails, boys, quick an' lively." In a few minutes the men had fixed up the broken panels securely, and then rode homewards.
"Saay, Harry, me bhoy, how'd yees yard th' ould stag, as ye was sayin' when ye was talkin' forninst th' slip-raales?
"Wasn't an old stag then, an' isn't now, fur that matter, the brute's in 'is prime yet. Let's see, 'e's risin' 'leven now, an' we got 'im just afore I left the Captain fur the Boss here. Lemme think. Yes, it's just over five year ago; he'd be about six, then. Fur all his tricks, the two stallions had driven 'im off their beat. 'E'd got a couple o' mares, though, an' kep' 'em in the range country on the out-station; but it was all of an accident that we got 'im.
"One day me an' the Captain was ridin' through the run, havin' a good look at the stock; fur we had a notion of cuttin' out a mob o' fats. Well, as I was sayin', we was ridin' along the back part of the run, an' we came acrost a couple o' brumbies, each with a foal. 'Stead o' scootin', as they does in giniral, the mares galloped in a circle, but didn't clear.
"'It's mighty strange,' ses the Captain. 'What are they 'angin' about fur, an' where's their mate? Never seed 'em parted afore.' 'It is strange,' ses I; 'an' there's only one thing to account fur it, an' that is the cove's about sumwheres 'andy.'
"We moved on to a rocky gully that opens out on to a big plain. At one place a log fence runs acrost to keep the stock in. Bymby we comes plump onter it, an', great gosh alive! if there weren't the grey. 'E seed us as soon as we spotted 'im, an' set up a great squealin' an' pawin', but cuddn't get away. There 'e was, like a bandicoot in a V-trap. 'E was caught by the off hind-leg, between two big logs that lay clost together. 'E was jammed tight enough. Wunder was 'e didn't break a leg.
"When the Cap saw the fix 'e was in, didn't 'e just cuss fur joy. Then 'e sends me back to the hut, about two mile away, fur ropes, an' ole Jack the keeper. Well, I streaked fur the hut, you bet, an' was there less'n no time. Soon me an' Jack, with two green 'ide lassoes an' an 'emp one, also a axe, was on the spot.
"When the 'orse sees the ropes 'e yelled, an' roared, an' pawed, an' snapped 'is teeth, fur all the world like a trapt dingo. An', wud you believe it?the blarmy mares hadn't follered us up! There they was just ahind us, whinneying and screamin'; their way o' swearing an' cussin' I s'pose. Wish-I-may-die if we didn't have to put the stock whip on 'em to roust 'em away.
"'How are yer goin' ter manage 'im,' ses I to the Cap when I comes up with the things.
"'I'll soon let yer see,' ses 'e. 'Fust of all we'll pass a rope round 'is free 'ind-leg well up on to the shank. Then we'll put another on the front fetlock an' acrost 'is flanks.'
"Well, it took us a goodish bit to fix 'im up. I forgot ter say that we tied the third rope round 'is neck, an' that was no easy job, fur every time the Cap threw the lasso he'd dodge it with 'is 'ed like a fightin' kangaroo. But, ter make a long story short, when we'd roped 'im, we levered one of the logs with saplin's so's ter git 'is other leg free. Then, didn't 'e play up! But by the time we'd given 'im arf a dozen falls, an' two o' them riglar croppers, 'e seed it was no use, throws up the sponge, an' comes along quietly.
"We didn't give 'im any charnse, you bet, as 'e was such a sly demon. So we got 'im ter the stockyard at the 'ead station, a matter o' thirteen mile or so. We put 'im in the crush fust, then got a 'evvy 'alter on 'im, an' tied it to 'is front off leg so's 'e cuddent jump; in that way we fixed 'im fur the night.
"Early nex' morning, just as I was thinkin' o' gittin' up, there comes a tremenjious 'ammerin' an' bangin' at the door, shoutin' out sumthin' I cuddent understand. I jumps up an' opens the door, an' there was ole Jack singin' out an' makin' a great fluster.
"'What in thunder's the matter, Jack?' ses I.
"'Warrigal's gone!' ses 'e, all tremblin' like. 'Cleared right out in the night.'
"Off I rushes ter the yards, an' sure enuff, the beast had cleared; yet the rails was up.
"''Ow the dickens 'e got out, Jack?' ses I, lookin' round. Presently I comes ter the slip-rails, an' soon spots 'ow 'e done it. I'm blest if the ole cuss didn't lay down ter it at the rails an' 'riggled 'is way out sideways. You cud see the ground all tore up by 'is 'oofs as 'e inched 'is way out. There was a knot at the lower side o' the rail, an' it was covered with 'air an' blood, which shows what a tight squeeze it was."
"But 'ow the blazes did he gat out iv th' pathock whin he was knee-haltered?"
"Like enuff 'e worked 'is 'edstall off as 'e 'riggled through. We thought we'd made it tight enuff fur anythin'. Anyways 'e cleared, an', what's more, 'e an' the mares moved off the run an' wasn't 'eard of fur long, then 'e was found bossin' a mob on Bullaroi."
By this time the men had reached the homestead. Leaving the others at the stockyard, Harry proceeded to the house to break the bad news to the owner.
The squatter was greatly put out by the turn the affair had taken. Two of the horses were brood mares on which he set a high value, and for which he had given a big price. They were full of breeding, having the famed Gemma di Vergi strain on the sire's side. The occurrence was no less than a calamity in more ways than one.
Their location was in difficult country, and with such a rogue as the grey outlaw to lead and direct, the job of rescue seemed by no means easy or certain. Mr. M'Intyre, however, was determined to regain his mares, and at the same time to capture or destroy that equine demon. One thing in his favour was the fact that in midsummer there was a scarcity of water in the ranges, and their run, for a while, at any rate, must be in and about the foot-hills.
As was usual in those days, the neighbouring station-holders were invited to join in the brumby hunt, which is, as a rule, the most exciting, and, at times the most dangerous, sport that Australia can furnish, keenly relished by bushmen.
The brumby is no more a native Australian horse than the mustang is a native American horse; that is to say, it is not indigenous to the country. Brumbies are the descendants of imported horses which have escaped into the bush and bred there.
When Australian settlements were confined to the barest fringe of the continent, it was very common for stock, both horses and cattle, to stray from the settled areas into the great wilderness beyond.
An historic illustration is to be found in the genesis of colonial expansion. When the first expedition sailed from England, not only were officials, soldiers, and convicts shipped; but also an assortment of domestic animals to furnish the requirements of the penal colony proposed to be established on the shores of Botany Bay.
As the cattle in the new settlements increased, many beasts strayed beyond the borders of the occupied country to the interior forests and plains; and before very long "brumbies" (wild horses) and "scrubbers" (wild cattle) covered large tracts, often to the great annoyance of the advancing line of settlers.
CHAPTER XX
THE BRUMBY HUNT
"Like a wintry shore that the waters ride o'er,All the lowlands are filling with sound;For swiftly we gain where the mobs of the plainLike a tempest are tearing the ground!And we'll follow them hard to the rails of the yard,Over gulches and mountain-tops grey,Where the beat and the beat of our swift horses' feetWill die with the echoes away."HENRY KENDALL.
"Like a wintry shore that the waters ride o'er,All the lowlands are filling with sound;For swiftly we gain where the mobs of the plainLike a tempest are tearing the ground!And we'll follow them hard to the rails of the yard,Over gulches and mountain-tops grey,Where the beat and the beat of our swift horses' feetWill die with the echoes away."HENRY KENDALL.
"Like a wintry shore that the waters ride o'er,
All the lowlands are filling with sound;
All the lowlands are filling with sound;
For swiftly we gain where the mobs of the plain
Like a tempest are tearing the ground!
Like a tempest are tearing the ground!
And we'll follow them hard to the rails of the yard,
Over gulches and mountain-tops grey,
Over gulches and mountain-tops grey,
Where the beat and the beat of our swift horses' feet
Will die with the echoes away."HENRY KENDALL.
Will die with the echoes away."
HENRY KENDALL.
HENRY KENDALL.
"How many are coming to the hunt to-morrow, dad?"
"About a score all told, my son. That is," continued the speaker somewhat inconsequently, "if they a' turn up."
"Gills coming, ain't they?"
"Yes; the old man, son, and ane o' the stockmen'll be here this evening, so as to be ready for the early stairt the morn's morn. That reminds me, I've no telt your mother. They'll be here aboot supper-time."
"Captain White coming, I s'pose?"
"If he's above ground. We'd best coont 'em up. Get a bit o' paper, Saundy, and pit doon the names. Then we'll ken for sure."
"Ready, father."
"Pit doon oor ain lot first. Mysel', you, Hairry, the blacks, Denny, the bullock driver, the ration carrier, Redgate and Broon from the oot-station, Joe, Tom, N-eville—I suppose. Hoo mony's that?"
"Thirteen."
"So mony's that? At that rate we'll hae ower a score. Weel, that's a' the better. Let's see, noo: pit doun the Gill lot, that's three more. Then there's Captain White. Old Dumaresque says he'll be along, but I dinna reckon on him, so you needna coont him in. White's going to bring twa men wi' him. And, m-yes, there's Davison o' the bank, and Dickson the lawyer. Told 'em the other day I'd let 'em know. They'll need to be here the nicht, too. We'd better send Willy in wi' a message at once. That's a' noo I think. Hoo mony does that tot up?"
"Twenty-one not counting the Colonel."
"Weel, I hope they'll turn up, that's a'."
"I say, father, could Jimmy Flynn an' Yellow Billy come?"
"Eh? Weel, I—I dinna ken. Can they ride?"
"Ride? Listen to him! Why, Yellow Billy's the boss rider among the boys. You know his steer——"
"Ah weel," said Mr. M'Intyre laughingly, "we'll hae 'em. Send word by the boy."
Accordingly, the invitation was taken to the four Tareelians. Gill and party turned up about dark, and shortly after them the town lot, all of whom were welcomed by their hospitable host.
M'Intyre had made extensive preparations for the hunt. There are various methods for trapping wild horses. The one in vogue at Bullaroi and the surrounding stations was that called the "wing" trap. This consists, first of all, in determining the usual brumby run. The next work, and an important one, is the building of yards in a locality specially selected, the object being to get as near as possible to the natural line of the horses' travel when stampeded.
The yards must be well constructed, with a high, strong fence, having an open mouth so wide as to give the hunted steed no suspicion of running into a trap. The upper and nether lips of this mouth, after running parallel a short distance, gradually converge to the throat, as it were, finally meeting, and forming a cul-de-sac.
From the mouth extremity a vast roll of canvas, or, rather, calico strips about six inches wide, is made fast to one of the fence terminals, and from there, at a slight outward angle, is often taken for miles, being secured at intervals to trees or stakes which are driven into the ground. The wing is fixed breast high. This, to the inexperienced, seems but a flimsy obstacle; but the calico barrier, frail as it appears, acts as an effectual boundary. Brumbies are both timid and suspicious, and very rarely charge a wing. When driven on to one they wheel either to right or left, with never a thought of breaking through or jumping it.
The strategy of the "drive" is to station men at intervals from the terminal point of the wing; each man is armed with a heavy stock whip, a cruel enough weapon in the hands of an adept. Others are left at the trap-yard mouth on the outward side, concealed as a rule, and ready to dart out and head the mob should it scent danger when nearing the opening. The remainder of the men proceed to locate and enflank the mob, and drive them in the given direction. This, often, is a very difficult matter, and sometimes the best laid scheme is defeated by a determined and irresistible rush of the mob in the teeth of their assailants.
Premising the "round up" and drive to be successful as far as the wing, the wing supports wheel them in the right direction; then close in and pass to the outside to strengthen the flank men, who now form a parallel line with the racing brumbies. Thus, with the calico wing on one side, a living, whip-cracking, yelling cordon on the other, and a harrying force behind, the spectacle is as brilliant and as exciting as Australia can furnish in the line of sport.