The ground around was strewn with small tufts of white wool. There was a complete circle of eager, wriggling dogs--all jammed together, heads down, and tails elevated. Not a scrap of the ewe was visible. Paddy Maloney jumped down and proceeded to batter the brutes vigorously with a waddy.
As the others arrived, they joined him. The dogs were hungry, and fought for every inch of the sheep. Those not laid out were pulled away, and!
when old Brown had dragged the last one off by the hind legs, all that was left of that ewe was four feet and some skin.
Dad shook his head and looked grave--so did Anderson. After a short rest they decided to divide into parties and work the ridges. A start was made.
Dad's contingent--consisting of himself and Joe, Paddy Maloney, Anderson, old Brown, and several others--started a mob. This time the dogs separated and scampered off in all directions. In quick time Brown's black slut bailed up an "old man" full of fight. Nothing was more desirable. He was a monster, a king kangaroo; and as he raised himself to his full height on his toes and tail he looked formidable--a grand and majestic demon of the bush. The slut made no attempt to tackle him; she stood off with her tongue out. Several small dogs belonging to Anderson barked energetically at him, even venturing occasionally to run behind and bite his tail. But, further than grabbing them in his arms and embracing them, he took no notice. There he towered, his head back and chest well out, awaiting the horsemen. They came, shouting and hooraying. He faced them defiantly.
Anderson, aglow with excitement, dismounted and aimed a lump of rock at his head, which laid out one of the little dogs. They pelted him with sticks and stones till their arms were tired, but they might just as well have pelted a dead cow. Paddy Maloney took out his stirrup. "Look out!"he cried. They looked out. Then, galloping up, he swung the iron at the marsupial, and nearly knocked his horse's eye out.
Dad was disgusted. He and Joe approached the enemy on Farmer. Dad carried a short stick. The "old man" looked him straight in the face. Dad poked the stick at him. He promptly grabbed hold of it, and a piece of Dad's hand as well. Farmer had not been in many battles--no Defence Force man ever owned him. He threw up his head and snorted, and commenced a retreat.
The kangaroo followed him up and seized Dad by the shirt. Joe evinced signs of timidity. He lost faith in Dad, and, half jumping, half falling, he landed on the ground, and set out speedily for a tree. Dad lost the stick, and in attempting to brain the brute with his fist he overbalanced and fell out of the saddle. He struggled to his feet, and clutched his antagonist affectionately by both paws--standing well away. Backwards and forwards and round and round they moved. "Use your knife!" Anderson called out, getting further away himself. But Dad dared not relax his grip. Paddy Maloney ran behind the brute several times to lay him out with a waddy, but each time he turned and fled before striking the blow.
Dad thought to force matters, and began kicking his assailant vigorously in the stomach. Such dull, heavy thuds! The kangaroo retaliated, putting Dad on the defensive. Dad displayed remarkable suppleness about the hips.
At last the brute fixed his deadly toe in Dad's belt.
It was an anxious moment, but the belt broke, and Dad breathed freely again. He was acting entirely on the defensive, but an awful consciousness of impending misfortune assailed him. His belt was gone, and--his trousers began to slip--slip--slip! He called wildly to the others for God's sake to do something. They helped with advice. He yelled "Curs!" and "Cowards!" back at them. Still, as he danced around with his strange and ungainly partner, his trousers kept slipping--slipping. For the fiftieth time and more he glanced eagerly over his shoulder for some haven of safety. None was near. And then--oh, horror!--down THEY slid calmly and noiselessly. Poor Dad! He was at a disadvantage; his leg work was hampered. He was hobbled. Could he only get free of them altogether!
But he could n't--his feet were large. He took a lesson from the foe and jumped--jumped this way and that way, and round about, while large drops of perspiration rolled off him. The small dogs displayed renewed and ridiculous ferocity, often mistaking Dad for the marsupial. At last Dad became exhausted--there was no spring left in him. Once he nearly went down. Twice he tripped. He staggered again--down he was going--down--down, down and down he fell! But at the same moment, and, as though they had dropped from the clouds, Brindle and five or six other dogs pounced on the "old man." The rest may be imagined.
Dad lay on the ground to recover his wind, and when he mounted Farmer again and silently turned for home, Paddy Maloney was triumphantly seated on the carcase of the fallen enemy, exultingly explaining how he missed the brute's head with the stirrup-iron, and claiming the tail.
