Part 11

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 Caesar, 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._

"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.'