CHAPTER XVII

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*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.

[Illustration: "The emu failed to elude the panther-like spring."--_See p._ 134.]

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.

The next act was to cremate the slain, which was speedily done. After this the group proceeded to follow the track along which the other snares were secreted. The very first trap contained a dog. It was set in the centre of a soft depression, at the edge of the scrub belt on the farther side. The dog had dragged the trap about three hundred yards, when the "anchor," fouling in some saplings, his retreat was stopped. The beast was immediately brained and scalped, and the body flung into a clump of bushes.

There was still another victim. The farthest out trap was gone. Nothing was to be seen but the trap-hole. George, however, was soon upon the trail. The country here was fairly open, and offered little obstruction to the determined dog. The track led on and on with little deviation until a course of three miles or so had been traversed. It now curved outward and down toward a patch of scrub. Nosey suddenly stopped and pointed to the ground.

"What's up, George?" exclaimed Joe, who stood nearest the trapper.

"Look an' see fur y'reself."

Bending over, Joe saw in a sandy patch the deep impress of the toes of a large bird.

"I can't make it out. What in thunder is it? Far too big for a crow; bigger even than an eagle or a bustard."

"As big as two eagles, young mutton-head," declared the old tough. "Tell 'im, Sandy."

"Why, you greeney; that's an emu track!"

"Emu!" shouted Joe in great excitement. "It's the first time I ever saw an emu track. What an enormous foot he must have."

"Ye'd know it, me boy, if ivver ye got a kick," grunted the trapper. "I've seen them break a dog's leg like a carrot."

"Blest if I don't think he's follerin' up the dingo!" continued Joe.

"Just wot 'e _is_ a-doin' of," answered the man. "These 'ere emus is more curious nor a woman."

Joe now remembered Sandy relating how his father used to lure the emu he was stalking within shot of his fowling piece, by lying flat, and slowly waving his handkerchief from the point of his ram-rod; or even doubling his leg as he lay breast downward, and elevating his hat on the foot thus raised. With slow and hesitating yet irresistible steps, fascinated by the mysterious object, or a victim to curiosity, the bird would approach to its undoing.

This particular emu was no stranger to the dingoes, nor they to him. Never before, though, had he beheld a dingo with such an appendage, or in such difficulties. The unwonted appearance of the canine furnishes the bird with an unusual sensation, and queries in rapid succession flit through its brain. "What on earth is the matter with the limping, whimpering brute? What is that object trailing behind the horrid creature? Let me draw near and behold this great sight!" Fate has delivered his old-time enemy into his hands. That lolling, swollen tongue, those blood-shot eyes, that painful whimper, the wild despairing glances; all these loudly proclaim his downfall. "Well, what matter! He's getting his punishment now. What is there to prevent me wiping out old scores?"

And so, with cautious yet confident step the huge bird, second in size only to the ostrich, strode on at a short distance behind his enemy; and in a few minutes both are swallowed up in the scrub. The huntsmen follow well on the heels of the animals.

"I wonder if the bird's still following?" asked Tom.

"Soon see," answered the trapper, carefully examining the ground. "Not a quarter of an hour since he passed this spot: must be in the scrub still."

A minute or so brought them to the edge of the scrub. Pushing along, they were soon enwrapped in its gloom. Following the advice of George, the boys tied their horses to saplings at the outskirts of the belt, and proceeded on foot. Suddenly the trapper, who was leading, stopped dead in his tracks, and uttered a warning note in a low voice. Motioning the pals to remain where they were, he noiselessly moved forward, and was soon lost in the thick foliage ahead.

"Wonder why ole Nosey made us stay back?" muttered Tom, after the lads had stood silently awhile. "What can be in the air, now?"

"Hist!" exclaimed Sandy in a whisper; "he's returning."

At this moment the trapper reappeared.

"Follow as quiet as mice, an' ye'll see summat like wot ye've ne'er seed afore." There was an unusual gleam in the man's eye as he made this deliverance.

Cautiously and silently the party moved Indian fashion through the wood. After going in this way a hundred paces or so the hunter stopped again, and beckoned the boys, indicating a stealthy approach. Very gingerly they trod until they were abreast the man. Following his muttered directions and example, they quietly parted the intervening brushwood.

It was an unique sight on which their eyes fastened; one they would not readily forget. Beyond them was a small natural clearing, such as often occurs in the densest scrub.

It was circular in form, and about fifty yards in diameter. Here, almost in the centre of the clearing, the bird had bailed up the beast. Curiosity in the emu had grown into anger, and was at a white heat, judging from the manner in which it pirouetted and menaced the dog, keeping up the while an incessant gabble. The gabble, rightly interpreted, declared that the time of vengeance was at hand. The fates were thanked for being so kind as to furnish this fitting opportunity for paying off old scores: "Here, you sneaking thief and flying murderer, stop! It's you and I for it now; so, off with your coat and roll up your sleeves!"

Nor was Master Dingo disinclined to accept the challenge thrown down by the strutting bird. Weary as he was and full of pain, he was in no humour to eat humble-pie, or to fly before another foe. His warring instincts rose to the gage of his hereditary enemy. Many of his kind were scarred with wounds from the terrible emu kick, or deep score made by the horny toe of this formidable antagonist.

Nor could he retreat, if so inclined: behind him, to a certainty, was the monstrous biped; far more to be feared than this animated piece of impertinence, whose wicked eye squinted and winked in defiance.

Forgotten in a moment is all fear, whether of the visible bird or the invisible pursuers. Handicapped as he is, and goaded by his pain and shameful condition, the dingo fires the first shot, as it were, by making a sudden jump at the emu's throat, narrowly missing it, and still more narrowly missing the leg stroke of the bird as it made its counter-stroke.

Both bird and beast are practised in all the arts and devices of animal warfare. Each knows the tactics of the other. But for the disability of the dog through the tenacious trap the chances would be in his favour; but his exhaustion and encumbrance give the odds to the other. Still, he makes a gallant fight, and the bird needs all its wits and agility to escape his savage snaps, one of which, had he been able to lay hold, would tear out the neck from throat to breast.

The combat was at its height between these gladiators when the pursuers sighted them. The boys hold their breath in fair amazement as they eagerly watch the two figures in the sunlit arena struggling for the mastery. So engrossed are the combatants that the spectators may come out into the open and surround them, for all the notice that will be taken of them. As it is, the boys' astonishment is quickly transmuted into animal excitement and battle-lust. They take sides, and cheer, now the beast and now the bird.

But the end comes quickly and tragically enough. The pace of the conflict tells terribly upon the dingo. He is now weakening fast; can hardly see, so bloodshot are his eyes. Yes, he can hold out but little longer. Realising this, he fights purely on the defence for breath. Then, concentrating all his energies in one last irresistible stroke, he springs, arrow-like, and this time strikes fair on the bullseye--the neck of his adversary. The emu had failed to elude the panther-like spring. But now the counter-stroke!

When the dingo's fangs close vice-like upon the emu's throat the bird's fate is irrevocably sealed. The jugular vein is torn out with a mouthful of flesh and muscle, and the skin is stripped to the bosom. What time this savage and fatal stroke is given the vengeful bird, by one terrific downward blow of its powerful leg and toes, disembowels the hanging dog; and then with a lightning side-stroke, delivered full on the forehead of the prone beast, smashes in its skull. A vain attempt to crow a note of victory; a few short, uncertain, rotatory movements, life-blood gushing the while from its severed jugular, then a collapse, falling across the body of its slain adversary!

Which of the two is the victor?

The surprise of the boys, at the sudden and bloody termination of the fight, may be better imagined than described. They stared aghast for some moments at the spectacle, too dazed to move or speak. Even the hardened bushman, George, was moved.

"Well, of all the fights I ever seed, this licks creation; it's better nor cock-fightin'. Be gosh, 'twas a grand fight to a finish!"

The trapper now busies himself with the scalping-knife, and, as the boys stand around, a feeling of sadness rises within as they contemplate the slain.

"Poor brutes!" said Sandy feelingly, "I've a notion, lads, that they deserved a better fate."

"The boss wouldn't agree to that as fur as the dorgs is concerned. As fer the emu, he's neither good nor bad," grunted the old man.

"Well, after all," broke in Joe, "it's their nature, as old Simpson is always preaching to us in school. They're not to blame for following their instincts. By jings! there's no coward's blood in these poor brutes,--they're as brave as brave."

But such moralising was beyond Nosey George.

"Emus is sight enough in a way, an' only eats grass an' roots,--but dingos! they're vermin, an' any death's good enough fur them. By the hokey!" exclaimed he as he looked at the trap; "I'm blamed if here isn't the blessed paw!"

It was true. The wretched beast's foot was evidently so lacerated and broken by its efforts to escape, and in dragging the trap, that when it made the last and fatal spring the imprisoned paw parted from the leg in the very act, and that severance enabled it to reach the emu's neck. Having secured the trap and the scalp, the group retraced their steps to where they had hitched the horses.

The haul proved successful beyond measure. To secure four dingoes in one scoop was a great stroke of luck. Not so much luck, on reflection, as skilful management. An amateur might have set a hundred traps with seeming skill and not have bagged a dog. No one save a trapper like George could trap with any degree of certainty.

"I s'pose you'll bag the balance to-night," remarked Tom to the trapper when they had remounted.

"No jolly fear! Never catch any more along this line."

"How's that?"

"Why, d'yer think a dingo's no sense? Be gosh! all the calves in creation wuddent tempt what's left of the vermin to come along this track again. Wish we'd a' got the old dog, though."

"What are you going to do next?" inquired Tom.

"Fust an' foremost thing is to collect the traps, then we'll burn the weaners."

"Won't you try for the other dogs?"

"My oath, won't I?"

"Give us your programme, George, there's a good fellow."

"I'll try 'em about Razorback with the traps, as soon as they've quietened down a bit. They've been scared out of their precious wits by this 'ere business."

In due time the party arrived at the homestead. Mr. M'Intyre expressed his gratification at the result of the trapper's work, and praised his skill. He further bade George continue his work until the beasts were exterminated, promising him a liberal reward should he achieve this end.

The boys related with great gusto, to an almost incredulous household, the particulars of the fight to a finish.

The trapper fixed his camp in the hills, and employed his best endeavours to trap the remaining dingoes with but partial success, securing one only. The old dingo, which on a former occasion had left two of his claws in a trap, and now had received this additional fright through the ensnarement of his comrades, was not to be lured by any device, however crafty. George, who knew their run intimately, surrounded them with traps. 'Twas all in vain, set them never so wisely.

This defiance and immunity irritated the old man beyond endurance, and he swore by all the dignities to get their scalps, if it took him till the crack of doom.

As he was camped on the ranges, in the vicinity of Razorback, his weekly ration was taken out to him by the boys, who were keen on this matter. They had been out twice with the rations, and now were being sent out the third time. What befel them on that trip will be related in the next chapter.

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