CHAPTER XXI

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*THE WARRIGAL'S STRATEGY*

"Hast thou given the horse his might? Hast thou clothed his neck with the quivering mane?

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The glory of his snorting is terrible. He paweth in the valley and rejoiceth in his strength. He goeth out to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear and is not dismayed.

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He smelleth the battle afar off: The thunder of the captains, and the shouting." JOB.

"Noo, men, we'll be on the move."

The leader sprang to his horse and directed him on to the plain.

"Where do you expect to pick 'em up, Mac?"

"Micht sicht them at ony minute, maybe no' for hours; maybe no' at a', Captain."

"Willy and Jacky, you gang on aheed and keep your een weel peeled for signs. No sae fast, lads; mustna spoil the sport at the stairt. Let the blacks get weel aheed. We maun sicht them afore they tak alairm, or it'll be a hopeless stern chase."

Joe, Tom, and Sandy, greatly to their delight, were with the "flying column." Yellow Billy was with the trap contingent, while Jimmy Flynn was stationed with Mr. Gill in the iron-bark clump. Neville, at his earnest request, was given a place with Mr. M'Intyre.

As soon as he touched the myall country, the leader cautiously skirted it, until the party were well out and away from the range of hills that continued on the eastern side. He then took an inward course, and made a slant which carried them back to the foot-hills.

So far there was neither sight nor sound of the mob, nor were there any indications of their presence at any recent date. From the range base another tack was taken, which brought them upon the edge of a scrub that had wedged itself into the plain. By this time the column had covered a lot of ground.

"We'll fringe the timber for a while, and then, if we've nae luck, we'll hae to divide; half to go into the ranges, and the other to keep richt along the plain. Keep weel in, lads, we'll cut that pint," continued the leader, as the men moved on through the outer fringe of scrub; while out on the plain, which was dotted with rosewood and myall clumps, the black boys moved with lithe and stealthy movements.

"Father, I hear a whistle!"

"Hist, men! quiet all o' ye!"

"There it's again!" exclaimed Sandy after a moment's silence, as a low whistle came from the plain. "That's Jacky's whistle, dad, sure enough. I'd know it among a thousand----"

"A' richt, my boy. Jacky's got something. We'll move oot quietly and see."

Wheeling to the right, the column soon arrived at the spot indicated by Jacky's whistle. The black boy stood by the side of his horse, pointing to some fresh droppings and to numerous hoof-tracks.

"What is it, Jacky?" exclaimed Mr. M'Intyre as the men rode up.

"Blendy brumby bin here, Boss, few minutes ago."

The tracks and signs were so fresh that, as the black said, it was only the question of a few minutes since they occupied the spot.

"Most fortunate we've got ahint them. They're near by. At ony moment we micht sicht them. Ye'll fa' into a doubble column, men. Captain, ye'll tak seeven men and I'll keep the ithers. We'll hae twa columns a hunder yairds apairt."

In this fashion the men proceeded slowly, with a black boy ahead of each column as a scout, and following the tracks of the brumbies. As predicted, in a few minutes Willy held up a warning hand.

The columns quickly closed up to the scouts, and their leaders saw, through the willow-like branches of a myall clump, the long-sought-for mob. The horses were standing close together in an expectant attitude. Their suspicions were aroused. Though they had not scented the wind of their pursuers, nevertheless, with that wonderful _something_ so common in wild things, they _felt_ the enemy's presence.

The intervening distance was about three hundred yards. According to arrangement, each column opened out at its head, with the object of outflanking the horses. Silently the columns wheeled to the left and right sharply, and then moved forward. While in the act of executing this tactic their presence was detected, and scanned in a moment. Then, with a snort, or rather a fusilade of snorts and neighs, heads erected, manes and tails streaming, away flew the alarmed steeds; and in swift pursuit, maintaining their formation, the men followed.

There was no intention of unduly alarming the brumbies, therefore all shoutings and stock-whip crackings were restrained. And now the hunters begin to feel the ardour of the chase, both horses and men; for so eager were the station horses to join in the hunt that the riders were obliged to take a double pull on them.

Neville, in the excitement of the raid, forgot the orders, and broke his line, making a rush for the tail of the flying mob. The Captain, however, nipped his intention in the bud with a few red-hot expletives, ordering the Englishman back to his place in the line.

The brumbies, when started, were about eight miles from the wing, and headed directly for it, going off from the jump with a fine burst. The wily warrigal, however, was not going to be run off his legs in a spurt; in a short time the breakneck pace is moderated, and the straggling mob close up.

The horsemen hung on the flanks of the galloping steeds, steadying into an accommodating pace, and, as previously directed, making a semicircle, whose points extended beyond the sides of the retreating animals. The station mares were in the mob, capering for the moment as wildly as any in their company. Tallboy lagged somewhat in the rear. He had evidently received scant courtesy from the brumbies. It was observed that his heart was not in this matter. Had they wished, the horsemen could easily have cut him out of the mob.

The flying steeds--about fifty, young and old--had covered about two-thirds of the distance to the terminal point of the wing, and had not once swerved from this direction. The men were in high glee. So far it was nothing more than an exhilarating gallop, and they kept up the formation beautifully. The horses, too, although the day was very hot, had not yet shown any sign of distress. It was a different thing with some of the hunted animals, however. There were some very old stock among the mares. The pace and the heat combined were telling heavily upon them, and they that rode could read.

One of these was a chronic "roarer," and her distressed gasps were plainly heard above the thunder of the hoof. Two of the mares began to lag in a palpable manner, despite the encouraging whinneying of the stallion, as he turned from side to side with a troubled look.

They who belittle the intelligence of animals, and treat them as lacking heart and soul, can have had little experience of their nature and ways. The old sheik of the wilderness was full of concern for his many wives. Love, despite all that the poets may say, is not blind; it is open-eyed and alert. Had he been alone the warrigal would have snorted at his foes with the utmost disdain, and led them such a dance as not all their imaginings had ever conceived. But, alas! some at least of his faithful ones would be overtaken; were even now in peril. Desertion? Never!

Rescue! but how? Yes; he will plan, he will outwit. He will use strategy against strategy, and at once, by which he may draw these merciless foes from the weaklings and give them an opportunity of escape.

Quickening his pace, he raced along, closely followed by his company--save some half-dozen of the more exhausted mares, who were now widely separated from their mates. Then, wheeling sharply, the flying squadron dashed across the plain towards the foot-hills in a furious gallop.

Divining his altered tactics, the Captain and M'Intyre increased their speed, taking no notice of the hindermost horses, and closely watching the head and ruck of the flying squadron.

On, on! in mad gallop, whip and spur going freely now, sped the hunted and the hunters; and as they suddenly dashed across the face of the Captain's column, it seemed as if nothing human could stay their flight. The bold Captain and his men, however, nothing daunted nor surprised, wheeled a little more to the left, having some advantage in being well out, as well as being high up on the brumbies' flanks.

"Now, boys," cried Captain White, "head 'em, rush 'em!" Saying which, he rode straight for the stallion's head--who was leading--with four men pounding at his heels. It was a splendid attempt to head the mob, and succeeded save with one exception. That exception was the warrigal!

The bunch of men hurled themselves on the leader, and had he not swerved there would have been a terrific impact, which might have spelled disablement or death to more than one. When a man's blood is up in riotous chase he joyously challenges death in ways that chill him to the bone in cool blood.

The grey demon, however, swerved to the right with tremendous speed, and the Captain crossed his course within a couple of feet of his stern; his only revenge being a savage cut with his whip across the retreating animal's flanks. But if the men's rush failed with the leader, they stopped the stampede of his immediate followers.

Floss and Jeannie, who were hard on the heels of the warrigal, were intercepted and turned. The stock whips, cracking like a blaze of musketry, played upon the ruck of the confused animals in merciless fashion, scoring their flanks and ribs. In a few seconds they were driven, pell-mell, back to the line of retreat. In the meantime those immediately behind the mob, and those on the right flank, kept the balance going and together. Thus the defeated ones regained their fellows, discomforted, and not a little cowed, in their leaderless condition.

And what of the warrigal?

To continue the chase of him were only to knock the horses up in fruitless pursuit. No! he must be abandoned. With liberty uncurtailed let him roam the wilds, fancy free. The station runaways remain, as well as others that will be of value and service.

So wisely reasoned man, but not so the warrigal. Foiled in his purpose, regardless of his own pursuit, the great equine leader wheeled in a wide circle, uttering the while shrill neighs to attract his consorts. 'Tis for naught, however, that he utters challenge to his enemies and appeal to his mates. The stockmen have ringed the mob, and now at a slower pace they continue the drive; the men opening out, and keeping abreast the leading horses.

And now the iron-bark clump is near at hand. To this the enraged stallion gallops. The wing men, on the alert, watch this last manoeuvre, and line out to intercept him should he make for the hills. Such was not his intention, though; and their appearance only accelerates the execution of his determination, which was simply to regain his companions; this he did with a rush, no one saying nay.

M'Intyre and his men were careful not to push the driven beasts, but were content to let them make the pace. And now at a swinging canter--old mares well up, despite all fatigue---they struck the clump, and passed the point to which the wing extended. The wing men, joining in the cavalcade by orders of their leader, pass to the right flank and reinforce the drivers there.

They are now within half a mile of the trap. At a preconcerted signal the men close up, and amid an unceasing fusilade of stock-whip crackings the beasts are hustled, the rear men flogging up the lagging ones.

The calico wing acts effectually on the one side, allowing a strong line to form up on the other. Barring accidents, the hunt is as good as finished; for in a moment or two the horses will be entering the trap mouth.

The outlaw is leading the mob in a direct line for the yard. But, stay! His keen eyes sight the fence. _It is a trap_! Past adventures flood his recollection and shape judgment and determination. Inside the trap, death or slavery! Outside, liberty!

Is it too late? No! By the ashes of his fathers he will elude his would-be captors! His faithful spouses, naught, alas! will save them. Let those who dare follow him! Away, then!

With a wild rush, when within some two hundred yards of the trap mouth, he turns swiftly to the right at a tangent, so as to head his enemies and cut away on the outside of the fence.

The gallant grey well deserves his freedom. His courage, devotion, and intelligence should surely prevail upon the men. But the pursuers were not indulging in any sentiment just then, and as soon as his last tactic was revealed the race of interception was begun. He might yet have escaped, for he was full of running, but, alas! the unseen foe!

The five men detailed at the trap mouth, were grouped thereat, just behind a cluster of silver wattles, ready for any emergency. It seemed to them that their services would not be required.

But, see! the warrigal!

There is no time to reason. In a flash they streak out from cover and ride straight at the flying barb. Something must happen. The fearful impact, narrowly escaped but an hour ago, occurs. There is no attempt on either side to avoid the issue. With a mighty bound and a savage snap of his teeth the warrigal flings himself at the foremost, bringing horse and rider down with a crash, both lying motionless upon the plain.

At the same moment, and scarce a length behind, came Yellow Billy. His attempt to head the runaway was blocked by the impact of the steeds. Too near to swerve, his horse struck the leading beast on the hind-quarters at the moment of the crash, adding to the confusion, and coming down a cropper.

Staggered by the violent collision, the stallion is brought to a sudden stop, but not to the ground. And now an astounding thing happens. Yellow Billy, while falling with his steed, to save himself from the warrigal's feet clutched frantically at that animal's mane, and, by a clever vault, to the amazement of his comrades, sprang upon the outlaw's back.

It would be hard to say if at that particular moment the horse himself was cognisant of the act. The pause covered but the fraction of a second. With a bound he leaped the fallen bodies, and, there being no one in front to stay him, tore off in a direction that skirted the trap fence.

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