We Embark in the Bear Industry.
When the bailiff came and took away the cows and horses, and completely
knocked the bottom out of Dad's land scheme, Dad did n't sit in the
ashes and sulk. He was n't that kind of person. He DID at times say
he was tired of it all, and often he wished it far enough, too! But,
then, that was all mere talk on Dad's part. He LOVED the selection.
To every inch--every stick of it--he was devoted. 'T was his creed.
He felt certain there was money in it--that out of it would come his
independence. Therefore, he did n't rollup and, with Mother by the hand
and little Bill on his back, stalk into town to hang round and abuse
the bush. He walked up and down the yard thinking and thinking. Dad
was a man with a head.
He consulted Mother and Dave, and together they thought more.
"The thing is," Dad said, "to get another horse to finish the bit of
ploughing. We've got ONE; Anderson will lend the grey mare, I know."
He walked round the room a few times.
"When that's done, I think I see my way clear; but THAT'S the trouble."
He looked at Dave. Dave seemed as though he had a solution. But Joe
spoke.
"Kuk-kuk-could n't y' b-reak in some kang'roos, Dad? There's pul-lenty
in th' pup-paddick."
"Could n't you shut up and hold your tongue and clear out of this, you
brat?" Dad roared. And Joe hung his head and shut up.
"Well, y' know"--Dave drawled--"there's that colt wot Maloney offered
us before to quieten. Could get 'im. 'E's a big lump of a 'orse if y'
could do anythin' with 'im. THEY gave 'im best themselves."
Dad's eyes shone.
"That's th' horse," he cried. "GET him! To-morrow first thing go for
him! I'LL make something of him!"
"Don't know"--Dave chuckled--"he's a----"
"Tut, tut; you fetch him."
"Oh, I'll FETCH 'im." And Dave, on the strength of having made a
valuable suggestion, dragged Joe off the sofa and stretched himself
upon it.
Dad went on thinking awhile. "How much," he at last asked, "did
Johnson get for those skins?"
"Which?" Dave answered. "Bears or kangaroos?"
"Bears."
"Five bob, was n't it? Six for some."
"What, A-PIECE?"
"Yairs."
"Why, God bless my soul, what have we been thinking about? FIVE
SHILLINGS? Are you sure?"
"Yairs, rather."
"What, bear-skins worth that and the paddock here and the lanes and the
country over-run with them--FULL of the damn things--HUNDREDS of
them--and we, all this time--all these years--working and slaving and
scraping and-and" (he almost shouted), "DAMN me! What asses we HAVE
been, to be sure." (Dave stared at him.) "Bear-skins FIVE SHILLINGS
each, and----"
"That's all right enough," Dave interrupted, "but----"
"Of COURSE it's all right enough NOW," Dad yelled, "now when we see it."
"But look!" and Dave sat up and assumed an arbitrary attitude. He was
growing suspicious of Dad's ideas. "To begin with, how many bears do
you reckon on getting in a day?"
"In a day"--reflectively--"twenty at the least."
"Twenty. Well, say we only got HALF that, how much d' y' make?"
"MAKE?" (considering). "Two pounds ten a day...fifteen or twenty
pounds a week...yes, TWENTY POUNDS, reckoning at THAT even. And do you
mean to tell ME that we would n't get more than TEN bears a day? Why
we'd get more than that in the lane--get more up ONE tree."
Dave grinned.
"Can't you SEE? DAMN it, boy, are you so DENSE?"
Dave saw. He became enthusiastic. He wondered why it had never struck
us before. Then Dad smiled, and we sat to supper and talked about
bears.
"We'll not bother with that horse NOW," said Dad; "the ploughing can
go; I'm DONE with it. We've had enough poking and puddling about.
We'll start this business straightaway." And the following morning,
headed by the dog and Dad, armed with a tomahawk, we started up the
paddock.
How free we felt! To think we were finished for ever with the raking
and carting of hay--finished tramping up and down beside Dad, with the
plough-reins in our hands, flies in our eyes and burr in our
feet--finished being the target for Dad's blasphemy when the plough or
the horses or the harness went wrong--was delightful! And the
adventure and excitement which this new industry promised operated
strongly upon us. We rioted and careered like hunted brumbies through
the trees, till warned by Dad to "keep our eyes about;" then we settled
down, and Joe found the first bear. It was on an ironbark tree, around
the base of which we soon were clamouring.
"Up y' go!" Dad said, cheerfully helping Dave and the tomahawk into the
first fork.
Dave ascended and crawled cautiously along the limb the bear was on and
began to chop. WE armed ourselves with heavy sticks and waited. The
dog sat on his tail and stared and whined at the bear. The limb
cracked, and Dave ceased chopping and shouted "Look out!" We shouldered
arms. The dog was in a hurry. He sprang in the air and landed on his
back. But Dave had to make another nick or two. Then with a loud
crack the limb parted and came sweeping down. The dog jumped to meet
it. He met it, and was laid out on the grass. The bear scrambled to
its feet and made off towards Bill. Bill squealed and fell backwards
over a log. Dad rushed in and kicked the bear up like a football. It
landed near Joe. Joe's eyes shone with the hunter's lust of blood. He
swung his stick for a tremendous blow--swung it mightily and high--and
nearly knocked his parent's head off. When Dad had spat blood enough
to make sure that he had only lost one tooth, he hunted Joe; but Joe
was too fleet, as usual.
Meanwhile, the bear had run up another tree--about the tallest old gum
in the paddock. Dad snapped his fingers angrily and cried: "Where the
devil was the DOG?"
"Oh, where the devil wuz the DORG?" Dave growled, sliding down the
tree--"where th' devil wuz YOU? Where wuz the lot o' y'?"
"Ah, well!" Dad said "--there's plenty more we can get. Come along."
And off we went. The dog pulled himself together and limped after us.
Bears were plentiful enough, but we wandered far before we found
another on a tree that Dave could climb, and, when we DID, somehow or
other the limb broke when he put his weight on it, and down he came,
bear and all. Of course we were not ready, and that bear, like the
other, got up another tree. But Dave did n't. He lay till Dad ran
about two miles down a gully to a dam and filled his hat with muddy
water and came tearing back with it empty--till Anderson and Mother
came and helped to carry him home.
We did n't go out any more after bears. Dave, when he was able, went
and got Maloney's colt and put him in the plough. And, after he had
kicked Dad and smashed all the swingle-trees about the place, and got
right out of his harness a couple of times and sulked for two days, he
went well enough beside Anderson's old grey mare.
And that season, when everyone else's wheat was red with rust--when
Anderson and Maloney cut theirs for hay--when Johnson put a firestick
in his--ours was good to see. It ripened; and the rain kept off, and
we reaped 200 bags. Salvation!