CHAPTER XVI

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*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.

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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."

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