Chapter IV: Part 4

"Oh, father! mother!" cried Sandy at last, picking up his gun, pleasure beaming from his face. "This is what Harry meant when he said last night he'd brought out a parcel from the town that'd come by steamer." Then with a rush, Joe and Tom at his heels, he danced round the abashed Scotchman, and gave him a hug, repeating the dose with interest on Mrs. M'Intyre. It was hard for the boys to settle down to breakfast and dislodge their eyes from the weapons. What their souls coveted most was a gun. The clamant claims of hunger, however, are not to be disregarded; so, stacking their guns in a corner, the boys did ample justice to a generous meal.

"Did you have a pleasant ride this morning, boys?" inquired Mrs. M'Intyre. "You've not been out on the run before, Tom, have you?"

"No, ma'am. We'd a good time, though!"

"How far did you go, Sandy?"

"To the top of Bald Hummock, mother."

"Splendid view from the top, is it not, Joe?"

"Not bad, Mrs. M'Intyre."

"That's a negative descreeption o' ane o' the graundest sichts the hale deestric' can boast," said Mr. M'Intyre, with emphasis.

Joe became conscious of the banality.

"An' why did ye no' tak' Mr. Neville wi' you, boys? Ye did wrang no' to invite him to ride wi' you. I think ye owe him an apologee, Saundy."

"I'm very sorry," said the lad, turning in some confusion to Mr. Neville. "If I'd thought----"

"Oh, I shouldn't have dreamed of going out at such an early hour, my lad," replied Neville loftily. He had a somewhat affected accent and a superior air. "I nevvah exert myself before breakfast. Besides, I am not sure that I should find a safe escort in a parcel of--er--schoolboys. With the young ladies, now," he continued, fixing his monocle and bestowing a patronising stare upon Sandy's sisters, Maggie and Jessie, "I--I--should be delighted to go for a bush ride, as I think these equestrian expeditions are called in Awestralia, in the cool of the afternoon."

"We don't call them even bush rides out here, Mr. Neville," answered Jessie saucily. She resented patronage. "We call 'em spins. Boys, I vote we all go for a spin this afternoon. Let's ride as far as Ben Bolt's cave. It'll be something interesting to show Mr. Neville. Ben Bolt's a famous bushranger hereabouts, you know, and the cave is a favourite rendezvous for his gang, as well as a safe hiding-place. At least, it was so until a few months ago, when the police and black trackers discovered it, and nearly nabbed him. Fancy having a bushranger's camp on the Bullaroi boundary! But Ben never uses it now. So let's ride out to it. Are you game, boys?"

"Game!" snorted Sandy. "What's to be game about? The main thing is, will Mr. Neville care for an eighteen-mile spin? If not, we could go for a short ride down the Crocodile."

"Please don't question my ability, boy!" retorted the new chum, who resented the implication contained in Sandy's remark. "I find," continued he, addressing his host, "you good people out heah seem to think that Awestralia is the only place where horseback riding is indulged in----"

"We ride steers also, an' billies too," slyly interjected Joe, with a wink at the girls.

"And we read that they ride donkeys and--er--hobby-horses in England," chipped in Jessie, whose eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Good for you, ole Jess! Let 'em bring out their English fox-hunters an' steeple-chasers that they brag so much about, and we'll give 'em a dingo run, or a go at cutting out scrubbers,[#] an' see how they'd be with their pretty coats an' breeches, at the tail of the hunt!"

[#] Wild, unbranded cattle, frequenting scrub country,

"Are ye addressing the English nation or oor guest, Saundy?"

M'Intyre could be caustic when he willed. He had no liking for Australian blow, and hit at it as he would hit at a snake, whenever occasion arose. He now turned the laugh against his son, Jess laughing loudest of all.

"It's settled, then, that we ride out to the cave this afternoon?" said Maggie, with an inquiring eye on Neville.

"I'm shore 'twill be a pleasant jaunt, Miss M'Intyre," replied the Englishman. "I shall have pleasure in acting as your escort. But this--er--famous--er--notorious--er--highwayman, is it--er--safe? I mean--er--I'm thinking of the--er--ladies, you know."

"What's to be afraid of?" quoth Jessie. To her, risk meant spice, an added zest. Her whole heart went out to the life of the open air and the pleasures of the chase. Her greatest delight was in a mad scamper through the bush behind the dogs, in the kangaroo hunt.

"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Neville; Mag and I'll protect you should the--er--famous--notorious--bushranger--highwayman turn up," went on the audacious minx. "I'd dearly love to see Ben Bolt. I think he's a lot better than many who run him down. Oh my! wouldn't it be fun if we surprised him in the cave? I'd----"

"Stop, Jess; cease your blether!" said Mr. M'Intyre sternly. "The mon may no' be as black as he's pented, but he's no' an honest mon. Misguided he may be to an extent, and no' a'thegither answerable for some of the steps in his doonward career, but a creeminal for a' that, whom the country were weel rid o'. But as for the reesk, there's na reesk in ridin' to the cave. The Sub-Inspector telt me a few days ago that Ben Bolt's gone o'er the border. News is to hand to the effect that he stuck up a Chinaman on the Brisbane road. So the cave's safe enough."

"That's settled, then," broke in Maggie. "If we leave here about four o'clock 'twill be early enough, and will give us plenty of time to get back by dark."

"Maidie, my pet," said Mrs. M'Intyre to her little three-year-old, a dainty, precocious miss, "what are you staring at? It's rude to stare at any one like that."

"Oh, muzzer!" exclaimed the child, turning her bright eyes mother-wards for a moment and then fixing them with a fascinated gaze upon the Englishman.

"What is it that interests you, little girl?" remarked Neville in a patronising tone. "Is it the colour of my tie?"

Maidie shook her curly head, and, without removing her eyes from Mr. Neville's face, leaned towards Jessie, who sat next to her, and whispered, "The genkilmun's got somesin' on his fevvers."

Suspended from the tip of one of Neville's incipient moustaches was a yellow string of egg-yolk. Jess had observed this for some time, with a tendency to hilarity whenever it caught her eye. Maidie's comical description added fuel to the fire of the girl's merriment, sending her into convulsive laughter. She answered looks of interrogation by pointing to the dangling egg thread, and saying as well as circumstances permitted, "Maidie says--ha--ha--ha!--that Mr. Fevv--he--he--he!--Mr. Neville's got egg on his--fev--feathers." This explanatory and ludicrous mixture created a general explosion among the young folk. The situation, however, was promptly ended by Mrs. M'Intyre, who discreetly rose on seeing that the guest did not join in the general laugh.

There was nothing much for the men-folk to do; but the boys were burning to try their new fowling-pieces, The squatter, seeing their intent, directed them to use their skill on the cockatoos and king parrots that were devastating the maize crop.

These birds, especially the former, proved wily customers, so that not many opportunities offered for testing the guns. Enough was done, though, to prove that the guns were no "slouches," and great things were predicted when the lads should "know" their respective weapons.

"Whatyer think of the new chum, Joe?" said Sandy to Blain, as they sat on a log under a low-spreading wattle tree, on the look out for a flying shot.

"Goes thirteen to the dozen, ole man, don't he? Knows a lot more'n us, he reckons, and can't help showin' it."

"Yes, he can't stand us chaps at no price. By George! Jess's got his measure, and Mag too, for that matter. They'll take his nibs down a peg or two before he goes, I bet tuppence."

"Little Maidie fitted him all right," chipped in Tom. "Fevvers--ha--ha!--yes, goose feathers."

It was evident that the visitor was not in favour with the young people. He had struck a false note. No one can be quicker than boys to detect superciliousness and to resent it. The patronising air is to them the unforgivable sin. Henceforth Neville went by the name of "Fevvers" among the boys, to the great amusement of the girls, who, unfortunately for the Englishman, had assigned him a place in prig-dom.

Neville, it must be confessed, was a bit of a prig; but at heart he was not at all a bad fellow, and there came a time not far ahead when respect supplanted contempt in the pals, and the ridiculous nickname was dropped; while he on his part discontinued the use of the irritating comparison, "the way we do things in England," which at the beginning he was for ever introducing.

The household was enjoying a siesta after the typical Christmas dinner which was partaken of at midday. Stillness reigned within the house, save the cracking of house timbers under the influence of the heat. This seductive calm and the sweet sleep of the girls was at length rudely broken by Sandy, who in the exercise of a brother's privilege shook the door violently as he shouted, "Now then, lazies, get up and dress! It's half-past three."

"Bother you, Sandy, you _are_ a nuisance!" sleepily complained Jessie. "I--I--was having _such_ a lovely dream. Neptune was just on the heels of a blue flyer,[#] and I was galloping alongside him. The chase led us to Blind-fall Gully, and we three took the jump together, and were almost landed on the other side when you thumped the door. I thought at first it was the thud of Kangie's tail, but no! there she was flying through----"

[#] Maiden kangaroo, a very fast runner.

"That comes of eating too much plum-duff an' mince-pie, my girl. But I say, you two, look slippy, or you'll be too late. I told Jacky to saddle Nigger for you, Jess. What'll you take, Mag? Rainbow or Sultan? They're both up."

"Don't care, Sandy. I'll take Sultan, I think. No, I'll take Rainbow. Wait a moment, p'r'aps----"

"Oh! stop your silly nonsense. I'll put the saddle on Sultan," shouted the impatient boy, as he made off through the house to the stockyard.

"Say, Sandy!" cried out Jess, who was now wide awake. "Have you roused Mr.--er--Fevvers yet?"

"'Ssh! mother'll hear you," exclaimed the boy warningly, as he returned to the door. "He didn't have a snooze. Says it's unbusinesslike to sleep in the daytime. Says they never do that in England. England be blowed, say I. An' whatyer think? Harry offered him the loan of his leggin's, but he wouldn't have 'em. Says they smell of the stockyard, ha--ha! Says they don't wear 'em in England. Listen! He's got on a pair of white duck britches, an' my crikey! they won't be white any longer. He asked Harry for his fourteen-foot stockwhip. Says he was told an 'Awestralian' horse would never budge without one. Only dad was there I'd 'a' put his saddle on Dick Swiveller, an' by jing! we'd 'a' had some sport. We'll knock fun out of him as it is, I reckon. But look alive, girls, or y'll be left behind."

*CHAPTER XV*

*A BUSH RIDE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES*

"Then hey for boot and horse, lad!
And round the world away;
Young blood will have its course, lad!
And every dog his day."
KINGSLEY.

The weather in Australia at Christmas is not ideal for riding parties. Midsummer heat and dust, together with hordes of flies, largely countervail the delights of the saddle.

The enthusiastic party that cantered along the tracks leading from the Bullaroi homestead on this particular Christmas, with one exception, made small bones about either dust or heat. Neville, however, was irritated by the dust which the horses' feet knocked up. Nor would he seek alleviation as did the others by leaving the track at every opportunity. The victim of prejudice and conventionality, expressed in terms of cussedness, he obstinately stuck to the dusty track. The boys and Jessie frisked here and there, making short cuts, jumping gullies and logs, and generally enjoying themselves. They raised, it is true, clouds of dust, to the annoyance of the new chum, as they pounded along the track on their return to the others, after having forged ahead some distance; behaving, in short, like gambolling dogs. Mag would have dearly loved the frolic, but hospitality's demands made it imperative that she--the eldest--should partner the guest.

Neville was no rider. His knowledge of the ways of the horse was of the most elementary kind. Had he had the common sense to have admitted that palpable fact, many of his painful experiences, and indeed tortures, would have been minimised, if not altogether avoided.

Like all inexperienced riders, he responded to every movement of the horse. He had no sense of balance. He held the reins shoulder high, and was for ever jerking them. When his body was not stiffly straight it inclined forward. The inevitable result was made abundantly manifest in chafed limbs and aching bones. With Neville, as with most new-chum riders, the trousers legs _would_ work up from the bottom, displaying a section of calf, to the great amusement of the boys, who baa'd most vehemently at such times.

This, however, must be reckoned for grace in Neville: he made no complaint, nor admitted any discomfort. He was forward in his criticisms of the boys' style of riding: their seats were un-English and cowboy.

No greater contrast between the riders could well be imagined than that which the new chum and the pals presented. Theirs was to the manner born, to be confounded neither with cowboy nor military. While there is an utter absence of stiffness in the Australian style, there is at the same time nothing bordering on the truculent as affected by the cowboy. The movements are willowy and rhythmic. Horse and man are one and indivisible. This means to both the minimum of work with the maximum of ease.

How far removed from this attainment was poor Neville! His figure was of the ramrod pattern for the first few miles--ultra military, so to speak. His feet, well through the stirrups, inclined outwards at a sharp angle; his left arm, held at right angle as rigid as a semaphore, gripped the reins; while his right clutched the stockwhip with tenacious grasp. The steed, a fair pacer in experienced hands, in his became a veritable jogger. He rose and fell in springless fashion with every motion of the horse.

It was not in Neville's power to maintain that iron rigidity, and so he gradually inclined forward. His back became bowed, and his nose at times was in imminent danger of the horse's head. His arms, too, hung listlessly at either side, until at last his appearance resembled nothing so much as a doubled-up Guy Fawkes perched on a rail. Yet his dogged spirit, essentially British, half courage, half cussedness, bore him up.

Nearing the caves, the party, with the exception of Neville and his companion, raced ahead, and by the time that the latter arrived were cooling off beneath the shade of some coolibahs.

And now disaster of such a character as to shake from him the last remains of superiority and propriety, overwhelming him in the depths of humiliation, overtook poor Neville. These mortifying results were brought about by his attempted gallantry.

The selected camp, as related, was beneath the grateful shade of a cluster of coolibah[#] trees that grew on the banks of a mountain stream, close to the mouth of the caves. Seeing that Maggie was about to dismount unassisted, the youth exclaimed in eager tones, "Wait a moment, Miss M'Intyre!" and so saying, threw himself from his horse in order to do the gallant by helping his companion down, "as they do in England."

[#] Water gum trees.

Sad to say, however, so cramped and stiff were his limbs, especially his nether extremities, that the instant he touched ground his legs doubled in a powerless condition, and he fell prone to the earth. Unfortunately, the ground at the spot where he tumbled down began to slope towards the creek. In his frantic efforts to rise quickly to his feet he overbalanced himself, and began to roll down the incline. He saved himself for a second, and the impending disaster might have been averted but for the confounded stockwhip, which led to his undoing in a most effectual way. This weapon, which he still held in his clenched right hand, got entangled with his legs by some means, lasso fashion, bringing him smartly to the ground again in a fresh attempt to rise. The sloping bank at this point became almost precipitous: with a rapid turn over-and-over, he rolled down the steep gradient, crashed through an undergrowth of bushes and bracken that fringed the perpendicular bank of the creek, and shot out into its clear, deep waters.

This unrehearsed performance, taking less time to act than to relate, brought a powerful shriek from Maggie, who, arrested in her intention to dismount unaided by Neville's proffered aid, beheld from her horse the undignified collapse of her escort, with its quickly succeeding acts of comedy and tragedy.

The others, who were witnesses of this performance, hugely enjoyed it, giving a loud hurrah as the new chum splashed into the creek. There was one exception. Sandy, who was on his way to the creek with the billy can, and who realised in a moment that the discomfited Englishman had fallen into a deep pool,--the very spot where he had often fished for big perch,--threw away the billy and rushed to the spot where the unfortunate man had fallen in. Only that day had Neville declared that "my water exercises have been confined to the house bath."

Beyond the agitated surface there were no signs of their visitor in the water. Without pause, the lad took a header to the bottom, which was at least ten feet from the top, discerned the sunken man kicking and clawing, hauled him to the surface, and towed him to the bank. Here willing hands were ready to grip the victim of this misadventure and pull him to land.

As soon as he was dragged to safety, the cause of his abject helplessness in the water was revealed. The stockwhip had so encircled his legs as to prevent the free use of them, besides which the shock of the whole accident had to an extent numbed his senses.

In sooth he was a sorry sight as he lay on the turf. The immersion did not cover more than half a minute; it was long enough, though, to take him to the verge of unconsciousness and to fill his lungs and stomach with water. The boys speedily unwound the whip, and subjected Neville to some rough but wholesome treatment, during which process the water was rapidly ejected from his interior regions.

The girls, as soon as Neville was landed, discreetly withdrew. Merriment had dissolved into pity.

"Poor Mr. Neville! I'm _so_ sorry. Isn't it a shame, Mag?"

"Seems like a dream; it all happened so quickly and unexpectedly. I'm afraid father'll be very angry about it. The poor fellow was going to be so gallant, too. 'Permit me to assist you,' he said, and the next moment----"

Here the whole scene comes up so vividly and comically that, strive as she may, Maggie cannot withhold laughter of a somewhat hysterical kind. And so, between laughter and tears, the two girls superintended the billy-boiling and tea-making business.

Meanwhile the lads, stripping Neville under the lee of the bank, wrung his clothes, and then re-dressed him, bringing him up to the fire little the worse for his cold douche. The girls quickly recognised the finer qualities of Neville's character, which broke through the crust of his artificiality in the hour of adversity.

"I'm very sorry to have caused this trouble, Miss M'Intyre. No one's to blame but myself. Your brother and his mates have been exceedingly kind to me. Indeed, I owe a debt to your brother that I can never repay, for without doubt he saved my life. I was utterly helpless with that wretched whip curled around me."

Indeed, it was true. The accident might easily have had a fatal termination, and the thought of it (for all that Neville cut such a grotesque figure in his shrunken clothes) drove the last remains of latent hilarity away. Maggie assured the forlorn-looking youth that no thanks were due to any one; that all deplored the accident, and were thankful that the finale inclined rather to the comic than the tragic.

"Take this pannikin of hot tea, Mr. Neville. Father says that whisky's not in it with tea for recruiting one's jaded energies."

As there was no need for starting on the return ride awhile, the three boys, leaving the girls and Neville at the camp, proceeded to the caves.

The caves, three in number, were connected with one another by narrow entrances. The outermost one had an inlet through a narrow crevice. This opening was concealed from the casual eye by a sentinel-like boulder which stood directly opposite, and about eighteen inches in advance of the wall of rock. It was a squeeze for any one above the average size to get through.

Before its occupation by the bushrangers the outer cave, by evident signs, formed a favourite wallaby haunt. These had been disturbed and hunted by the bushrangers, who from time to time, according to police report, used it as a hiding-place. They had often lain there when the district was filled with troopers. On one occasion, as was afterwards known, Ben Bolt and his mate, a youth of eighteen years, lay concealed for weeks. The boy had been badly wounded in the thigh during a brush with the police in the New England ranges. Ben Bolt, who was passionately attached to him, by incredible labour and consummate skill--for the pursuing police were on their tracks all the time--brought his wounded mate to the caves in order that he might lie in safety until his sores were healed.

Sandy was the only one of the lads who knew anything about the caves. In company with his father he had visited them a few weeks previously. He therefore acted as a guide to the party.

The fissure, a mere crack in the limestone rock, extended in tortuous fashion for some distance. Lengthening out and making a curve, it suddenly broadened into a chamber of respectable dimensions. At the entrance of the crevice Sandy had lit a candle, one being sufficient for the cramped passage. Before entering the cave proper, all three candles brought for that purpose were lit.

The cave was bat-inhabited. Large numbers of these uncanny creatures, which were clinging to the roof and sides, disturbed and dazzled by the light, flew about in aimless fashion, often striking the boys in their uncertain flight. Numbers of them fastened on to their clothes and limbs with their claw-like pinions.

Joe and Tom, to whom this was a new experience, were uneasy and a good bit scared. Their nervousness increased when the fluttering nocturnals more than once extinguished the lights.

"You must do as I do, boys!" sang out Sandy, who was in advance, as they walked cautiously over the uneven and stone-littered floor. Sandy had removed his hat and held it over the candle. This, while it darkened all above, gave ample light on the floor space, and protected the candle from the nocturnals. The others thereupon followed suit, and soon reached the opening on the opposite side that led to the second chamber.

This narrow passage made a stiff ascent for some yards, inclining to the left, and then extending like a funnel. Sandy was proceeding very cautiously, for the opening into the interior cave was made at about ten feet from its floor. A rough ladder of lawyer vines hung from the opening in the wall to the basement. Down this the boys speedily slipped, and found themselves in a dome-like space, bigger by far than any room, barn, or church that they had seen. The atmosphere was very chill, and the continual drip of falling water made a monotonous sound. A narrow, clear stream of running water flowed along one side, disappearing in a floor crack near the far corner.

Contrary to what one would have expected, the lime crystals were few, and for the most part small; not to be mentioned in the same breath with the matchless statuary of the far-famed Jenolan Caves. On the ground, however, were some interesting stalagmites, whose grotesque figures highly amused the boys. At the first sight, though, a fearsome feeling possessed them. They were children of the sun, and this new and cryptic experience in the cold, dark, vaulted chamber quickened their pulses and shortened their breaths.

Everything seemed to have a ghostly appearance to the pals. It was a fitting abode for spectral creatures, and they had a feeling that at any moment such might appear. This sensation, however, was of short duration. A few minutes' familiarity with their surroundings dissipated it, and the lads moved freely in their investigations.

"Didn't you say there was another cave adjoining this, Sandy?"

"Yes, I'll show it to you in a few minutes."

While the question was being asked and answered, Sandy was peering into a crevice immediately behind a huge stalagmite, and in a dark corner of the cave.

"This looks as if it might open out somewhere, but the opening's jammed with a big limestone boulder."

"Let's have a pull at it," said Tom, as he leaned forward to take hold of a projecting point.

"No go, Tom. Look at its weight! See how tightly it's wedged! You'll never budge that. It'll need a crowbar to shift it. Come along, boys, and we'll take a peep at the other cave, just to say we've seen it; then we must make tracks back."

Sandy, however, bore in mind this sealed chamber which was destined later to yield important and far-reaching results. He made for a low, narrow aperture in the wall, at a far corner, which opened directly into a vault-like ceil--a small bedroom or pantry, as the case might be.

"Here's where the rangers camped," said Sandy, when the boys had struggled through. "Here's their beds, an' there's where they had their fire."

A couple of sheets of stringy-bark, placed stretcher-fashion on crossed sapling frames, formed the sleeping-bunks of the outlaws. On these were placed a quantity of bracken which made a comfortable resting-place for men who more often than not slept upon the ground.

"I say, Sandy," remarked Joe, after standing a moment in deep thought, "this is an all-right place for hidin' in, but where'd they keep the mokes? That's what beats me."

"It beats more'n you. It beats father. It beats the police. Yes, they can't get a clue. Must have had the horses handy, too; for when the police got into the cave the time they tracked 'em here, the rangers couldn't have been gone more'n a few minutes, 'cause a fire was still burning in Ben Bolt's room, as they call it. The bobbies have searched inside and outside and all over the ridge for another opening, but can't find it."

"They've clean bunged the p'lice, the cute beggars!" exclaimed Tom, with a grin. "Wonder if they'll ever come back again. Ole Ben's a game un. They say he wears a reversible suit of different colours. An' sometimes he straps up a leg an' fastens a wooden peg on it an' stumps along, led by a dog on a string like a blind beggar."

"He's always bluffin' the police, anyway," said Joe. "The Sub-Inspector was at our place about a month ago, telling father how he an' the others were fooled not so long ago."

"Tell us, Joe."

"Well, 'twas like this. A bushman on a piebald horse rode up to the police camp out Kean's swamp way, bearing a note from Sub-Inspector Garvie, ordering them to cross the ranges an' get into Walcha secretly, as he possessed reliable information to the effect that Ben Bolt intended to stick up the bank two days later.

"It appears this same man called at the Sub's quarters earlier in the day, who was laid up with a sprained leg. This chap told how he'd been in Ben Bolt's company two nights previously. The ranger and his mate--the same boy as was wounded--came upon him as he lay by his fire in the evening, and asked permission to camp alongside. They pretended to be stockmen in search of strayed heifers, and made out that they had come across their tracks just at nightfall. As it was a goodish way to the station, they would be glad to sleep by his fire and get after the cattle at dawn.

"The man said that as soon as he spotted 'em he knew 'em, but he was too frightened to let on. He gave 'em some grub, an' then lay down in his blanket. As soon as they had scoffed the prog they lay down too, on the off side of the fire.

"The man didn't go to sleep, though he pretended to. By an' by the two men began to talk in low tones. He could hear 'em, though, pretty well, and found out that they were goin' to stick up the Walcha bank. The date they named was four days from that night. Although the chap lay as if he were dead he didn't sleep a wink. Just before daylight the coves saddled their horses, which had been short-hobbled, and singing out, 'So-long,' they galloped off.

"'And what prompted you to bring this information?' said the Sub.

"'Well, if you cop the rangers,' he answered, 'I shall expect something substantial for supplying these particulars.'

"'As for that, you'll get your share. And now you can do something further that'll help you in the matter of reward. Take this note to Sergeant Henessey, who is camping with four police and a tracker in the foothills, at the head of Kean's swamp.'

"The Sub-Inspector, who had hastily written a note of instruction to the Sergeant, handed it to the man, who said his name was Sam Kelly. Sam promised to deliver it by daybreak; which he did. As soon as the Sergeant read it, he roused up the men, and after a hasty meal it was 'Saddle up.' A few minutes later the troopers were on their way to cop the rangers. Now listen: that very day, towards evening, the Port Macquarie mail was stuck up!"

"My eye!" said Sandy, "weren't the p'lice sold! Fancy ole Ben goin' into the lion's den with his information an' then takin' the letter out to the camp, an' none of 'em cute enough to twig 'im! He's a downy cove is Ben. Ain't he, Joe?"

"They say," concluded Joe, "that the piebald he rode was his favourite horse, the blood-bay he calls Samson."

"But how was it he turned him piebald?"

"_Painted patches of pipeclay on him!_"

"Now, then," exclaimed Sandy, pulling out his watch, "we've only a few minutes left, an' we mustn't be late, as Mr. Neville won't be able to ride fast."

"Poor old Fevvers!" exclaimed Tom reminiscently. "This hasn't been much of a treat for him."

*CHAPTER XVI*

*THE DINGO RAID*

"What's up, old horse? Your ears you prick,
And your eager eyeballs glisten.
'Tis the wild dog's note, in the tea-tree thick,
By the river to which you listen.

* * * * *

Let the dingo rest, 'tis all for the best;
In this world there's room enough
For him and you and me and the rest,
And the country is awful rough."
ADAM LINDSAY GORDON.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"W-h-a-t!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Had a good look round, George?"

Nod.

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

Head-shake.

"Whatyer make of it?"

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

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

"Suppose it is; what of that?"

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

"Five dorgs an' two bitches."

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

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

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

The trapper nodded assent, and the incident passed.

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

"Tell it by their paws."

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

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

"How's that?"

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

"Too fly for poison, eh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I say three," judged the judicious Joe.

"I say one," opined the cautious Sandy.

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

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

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

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

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

*CHAPTER XVII*

*DINGO *_*V.*_* EMU: A FIGHT TO A FINISH*

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

The next morning's visit told another tale.

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

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

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

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

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

The trapper, armed with a heavy "nulla-nulla," dispatched the brutes, and scalped them; for the district Stock Board, to induce their extermination, gave L1 per scalp, and experienced trappers like Nosey George did well at times. They concluded that there was at the least one other victim; for while the bitches were snapping and howling, answering howls of rage and sympathy could be heard in the distance along the trail.