"DON'T SAY HE'S DEAD."
It was comparatively an aimless expedition the boys were making.
Certainly they were to note down any good sites for stations; but
otherwise they roamed about almost wherever Shanter led them. Now it
would be down some lovely creek, overhung by wide-spreading ferns, in
search of fish; now to hunt out and slay dangerous serpents, or capture
the carpet-snake, which the black looked upon as a delicacy. Twice over
they came across the lyre-tailed pheasant; but the birds escaped
uninjured, so that they did not secure the wonderful tail-feathers for a
trophy.
The last time Tim had quite an easy shot with both barrels, and there
was a roar of laughter when the bird flew away amongst the dense scrub.
"Well, you are a shot!" cried Norman.
"Shanter plenty mumkull that fellow with boomerang," said the black,
scornfully.
"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Tim, reloading coolly. "The feathers
would only have been a bother to carry home."
"Sour grapes," said Rifle, laughing.
"Oh, all right," replied Tim; "perhaps you'll miss next. Why--"
Tim stopped short, with the little shovel of his shot-belt in his hand,
as he felt the long leathern eel-shaped case carefully.
"What's the matter?" said Norman.
"You feel here," cried his cousin.
"Well," said Norman, running his hand along the belt, "what of it?"
"Full, isn't it?" said Tim.
"Yes. Quite full."
"You're sure it's quite full?"
"Oh yes."
"Then I didn't put any shot in my gun, that's all. I loaded after I
came out this morning."
"Well, you are a pretty fellow," cried Rifle. "I shouldn't like to have
to depend on you if we were attacked by black fellows."
"Black fellow," cried Shanter, sharply. "Baal black fellow. Plenty
wallaby. Come along."
That day, though, they did not encounter any of that small animal of the
kangaroo family, which were plentiful about the hills at home, but went
journeying on along through the bush, with the grass-trees rising here
and there with their mop-like heads and blossom-like spike. Even birds
were scarce, and toward evening, as they were growing hungry and tired,
and were seeking a satisfactory spot for camping, Tim let fall a remark
which cast a damper on the whole party.
"I say, boys," he exclaimed, "whereabouts are we?"
Norman looked at him, and a shade of uneasiness crossed his face, as he
turned in his saddle.
"What made you say that?" he cried.
"I was only thinking that this place is very beautiful, but it seems to
me all alike; and as if you might go on wandering for years and never
get to the end."
"Nonsense!" said Rifle.
"But how are we going to find our way back?"
"Go by the sun," said Norman. "It would be easy enough. Besides we've
got the compass, and we could find our way by that."
"Oh, could we?" said Tim; "well, I'm glad, because it seemed to me as if
we've wandered about so that we might get lost."
"What, with Shanter here?" cried Rifle. "Nonsense! He couldn't lose
himself."
"Want mine?" said the black, running back from where he was trudging
beside the packhorse.
"How are we to find our way back?" said Tim. The black stared without
comprehending. "Here, let me," said Rifle. "Hi, Shanter! Mine find
big white Mary over there?" and he pointed.
"Baal fine big white Mary," cried the black, shaking his shock-head
hard. "Big white Mary--Marmi dere."
He pointed in a contrary direction.
"How do you know?" said Rifle.
The black gave him a cunning look, stooped, and began to follow the
footprints of the horses backward. Then turning, he laughed.
"Of course," said Norman. "How stupid of me! Follow the back track."
"But suppose it comes on to rain heavily, and washes the footmarks out.
How then?"
"Don't you croak," cried Norman, who was himself again. "Who says it's
going to rain?"
"Nobody," said Tim; "but it might."
"Pigs might fly," cried Rifle.
Just then Shanter gave a triumphant cry. He had come to a large
water-hole, by which they camped for the night, and had the pleasure of
seeing their tired horses drink heartily, and then go off to crop the
abundant grass.
"Now, boys," said Norman that night, "I've something to tell you.
To-morrow we go forward half a day's journey, and then halt for two
hours, and come back here to camp."
"Why?" cried Rifle.
"Because we have only just time to get back as father said."
"Why, we've only--"
"Been out eight days, boys," interrupted Norman; "and there's only just
time to get back by going steadily."
"But we can't get back in time," argued Rifle. "We shall only have five
days and a half."
"Yes we shall, if we don't make any stoppages."
"Oh, let's go on a bit farther; we haven't had hardly any fun yet,"
cried Rifle.
But Norman took the part of leader, and was inexorable.
"Besides," he said, "the stores will only just last out."
To make up for it, they started very early the next morning, so as to
get as far away as possible before returning. Then came the mid-day
halt, and the journey back to the water-hole, over what seemed to be now
the most uninteresting piece of country they had yet traversed, and
Shanter appeared to think so too.
"Baal black fellow; baal wallaby; baal snakum. Mine want big damper."
"And mine must plenty wait till we get back to camp," said Norman,
nodding at him, when the black nodded back and hastened the pace of the
packhorse, whose load was next to nothing now, the stores having been
left at the side of the water-hole.
It was getting toward sundown when the ridge of rocks, at the foot of
which the deep pure water lay, came in sight; and Shanter, who was in
advance, checked the horse he drove and waited for the boys to come up.
"Horse fellow stop along of you," he said; "mine go an' stir up damper
fire."
"All right," replied Norman, taking the horse's rein, but letting it go
directly, knowing that the patient would follow the others, while with a
leap and a bound Shanter trotted off, just as if he had not been walking
all the day.
"I am sorry it's all over," said Rifle, who was riding with his rein on
his horse's neck and hands in his pockets. "We don't seem to have had
half a holiday."
"It isn't all over," said Tim; "we've got full five days yet, and we may
have all sorts of adventures. I wish, though, there were some other
wild beasts here beside kangaroos and dingoes. I don't think Australia
is much of a place after all."
"Hub!" cried Norman. "Look, old Tam has caught sight of game."
"Hurrah! Let's gallop," cried Rifle.
"No, no. Keep back. He's stalking something that he sees yonder.
There: he has gone out of sight. I daresay it's only one of those
horrible snakes. What taste it is, eating snake!"
"No more than eating eels," said Rifle, drily. "They're only
water-snakes. I say, though, come on."
"And don't talk about eating, please," cried Tim, plaintively; "it does
make me feel so hungry."
"As if you could eat carpet-snake, eh?"
"Ugh!"
"Or kangaroo?" cried Rifle, excitedly, as they reached the top of one of
the billowy waves of land which swept across the great plain. "Look,
Shanter sees kangaroo. There they go. No, they're stopping. Hurrah!
kangaroo tail for supper. Get ready for a shot."
As he spoke he unslung his gun, and they cantered forward, closely
followed by the packhorse, knowing that the curious creatures would see
them, however carefully they approached, and go off in a series of
wonderful leaps over bush and stone.
As they cantered on, they caught sight of Shanter going through some
peculiar manoeuvre which they could not quite make out. But as they
came nearer they saw him hurl either his boomerang or nulla-nulla, and a
small kangaroo fell over, kicking, on its side.
"Shan't starve to-night, boys," cried Tim, who was in advance; and in
another minute, with the herd of kangaroos going at full speed over the
bushes, they were close up, but drew rein in astonishment at that which
followed.
For as the boys sat there almost petrified, but with their horses
snorting and fidgeting to gallop off to avoid what they looked upon as
an enemy, and to follow the flying herd, they saw Shanter in the act of
hurling his spear at a gigantic kangaroo--one of the "old men" of which
they had heard stories--and this great animal was evidently making for
the black, partly enraged by a blow it had received, partly, perhaps, to
cover the flight of the herd.
The spear was thrown, but it was just as the old man was making a bound,
and though it struck, its power of penetration was not sufficient, in an
oblique blow, to make it pierce the tough skin, and to the boys' horror
they saw the blunt wooden weapon fall to the earth. The next instant
the kangaroo was upon Shanter, grasping him with its forepaws and
hugging him tightly against its chest, in spite of the black's desperate
struggles and efforts to trip his assailant up. There he looked almost
like a child in the grasp of a strong man, and to make matters worse,
the black had no weapon left, not even a knife, and he could not reach
the ground with his feet.
Poor Shanter had heard the horses coming up, and now in his desperate
struggle to free himself, he caught sight of Raphael.
"Boomer--mumkull!" he yelled in a half-suffocated voice. "Mumkull--
shoot, shoot."
The gun was cocked and in the boy's hands, but to fire was impossible,
for fear of hitting the black; while, when Norman rode close up, threw
himself off his horse, and advanced to get a close shot, the kangaroo
made vicious kicks at him, which fortunately missed, or, struck as he
would have been by the animal's terrible hind-claw, Norman Bedford's
career would, in all probability, have been at an end.
Then, in spite of Shanter's struggles and yells to the boys to shoot--to
"mumkull" his enemy--the kangaroo began to leap as easily as if it were
not burdened with the weight of a man; and quickly clearing the distance
between them and the water-hole, plunged right in, and with the water
flying up at every spring, shuffled at last into deep water.
Here, knowing the fate reserved for him, Shanter made another desperate
struggle to escape; but he was wrestling with a creature nearly as heavy
as a cow, and so formed by nature that it sat up looking a very pyramid
of strength, being supported on the long bones of the feet, and kept in
position by its huge tail; while the black, held as he was in that
deadly hug, and unable to get his feet down, was completely helpless.
Without a moment's hesitation, Norman waded in after them to try to get
an opportunity to fire; but the kangaroo struck out at him again with
all the power of its huge leg, and though it was too far off for the
blow to take effect, it drove up such a cataract of water as deluged the
lad from head to foot, and sent him staggering back.
The next moment the object of the kangaroo was plain to the boys, for,
as if endowed with human instinct, it now bent down to press poor
Shanter beneath the water, and hold him there till he was drowned.
Rifle saw it, and pressing the sides of his horse, and battling with it
to overcome its dread of the uncanny-looking marsupial, he forced it
right in to the pool, and urged it forward with voice and hand, so as to
get a shot to tell upon Shanter's adversary.
It was hard work, but it had this effect, that it took off the
kangaroo's attention, so that there was a momentary respite for Shanter,
the great brute rising up and raising the black's head above the water,
so that he could breathe again, while, repeating its previous manoeuvre,
the kangaroo kicked out at Rifle, its claw just touching the saddle.
That was enough, the horse reared up, fought for a few moments, pawing
the air, and went over backwards. Then there was a wild splashing, and
Rifle reached the shore without his gun, drenched, but otherwise unhurt,
and the horse followed.
The black's fate would have been sealed, for, free of its assailants,
the kangaroo plunged the poor helpless struggling fellow down beneath
the surface, attentively watching the approach the while of a third
enemy, and ready to launch out one of those terrible kicks as soon as
the boy was sufficiently near.
"Oh, Tim, Tim, fire--fire!" cried Norman, as he saw his cousin wade in
nearer and nearer: "Quick! quick! before Shanter's drowned."
Tim had already paused four yards away, and up to his armpits in water
as he took careful aim, his hands trembling one moment, but firm the
next, as the kangaroo, bending downward with the side of its head to him
and nearly on a level with the water, which rose in violent ebullitions
consequent upon Shanter's struggles, seemed to have a peculiar
triumphant leer in its eyes, as if it were saying: "Wait a bit; it is
your turn next."
It was all the work of a minute or so, but to the two boys on shore it
seemed a horrible time of long suspense, before there was a double
report, the triggers being pulled almost simultaneously. A tremendous
spring right out of the water, and then a splash, which sent it flying
in all directions, before it was being churned up by the struggling
monster, now in its death throes; then, gun in one hand, Shanter's wrist
in the other, Tim waded ashore, dragging the black along the surface,
set free as he had been when those two charges of small shot struck the
side of the kangaroo's head like a couple of balls and crushed it in.
Drenched as they were, the three boys got Shanter on to the grass, where
he lay perfectly motionless, and a cold chill shot through all, as they
felt that their efforts had been in vain, and that a famous slayer of
kangaroos had met his end from one of the race. The sun was just on the
horizon now, and the water looked red as blood, and not wholly from the
sunset rays.
"Shanter, Shanter, old fellow, can't you speak?" cried Norman, as he
knelt beside the black.
Just then there was a tremendous struggle in the water, which ceased as
suddenly as it had begun.
"Man, don't say he's dead!" whispered Tim, in awe-stricken tones.
Norman made no reply, and Rifle bent softly over the inanimate black
figure before him, and laid a hand upon the sufferer's breast.
"You were too late, Tim; too late," sighed Rifle. "I'd heard those
things would drown people, but I didn't believe it till now. Oh, poor
old Shanter! You were very black, but you were a good fellow to us
all."
"And we ought to have saved you," groaned Norman.
"I wish we had never come," sighed Tim, as he bent lower. "Can't we do
anything? Give him some water?"
"Water!" cried Norman, with a mocking laugh. "He's had enough of that."
"Brandy?" said Rifle. "There is some in a flask. Father said, take it
in case any one is ill."
"Get it," said Norman, laconically, and his brother ran to where, not
fifty yards away, the saddle-bags were lying just as they had been left
early that morning.
The brandy was right at the bottom, but it was found at last, and Rifle
hurried with it to the black's side.
Norman took the flask, unscrewed the top, drew off the cup from the
bottom, and held it on one side to pour out a small quantity, but as he
held it more and more over not a drop came. The top was ill-fitting,
and all had slowly leaked away.
The lad threw the flask aside, and knowing nothing in those days of the
valuable hints for preserving life in cases of apparent drowning, they
knelt there, with one supporting the poor fellow's head, the others
holding his hands, thinking bitterly of the sad end to their trip;
while, in spite of his efforts to keep it down, the selfish thought
would come into Norman's breast--How shall we be able to find our way
back without poor Shanter?
The sun had sunk; the water looked dark and black now. Night was coming
on, and a faint curl of smoke showed where the fire left in the morning
still burned feebly. But no one stirred, and with hearts sinking lower
and lower in the solemn silence, the boys knelt there, thinking over the
frank, boyish ways of the big sturdy savage who lay there before them.
Once or twice a piping whistle was heard from some rail, or the call of
a waterfowl, which made the horses raise their heads, look round, and
then, uttering a low sigh, go on cropping the grass again, after looking
plaintively at their masters, as if protesting against being turned out
to graze with their reins about their legs and their bits in their
mouths.
Then, all at once, just as the stars were beginning to show faintly in
the pearly-grey sky, the three boys started back in horror, for there
was a curious sound, something between a yawn and a sigh, and Shanter
suddenly started up and looked round. Then he rose to his feet, as if
puzzled and unable to make out where he was.
Then his memory came back, and he ran to the edge of the water-hole,
peered through the darkness with his hand over his eyes, and without
hesitation waded in, seized the kangaroo, as it floated, by one of its
hind-legs, and dragged it ashore.
"Marmi Rifle; chopper--chopper," he cried.
One was handed to him in silence, for a curious feeling of awe troubled
the boys, and they could hardly believe in the truth of what they were
seeing in the semi-darkness. But the blows they heard were real enough,
and so was the wet figure of Shanter, as he approached them, bearing the
great tail of his enemy.
"Big boomer go bong," said Shanter in a husky voice.
"Want mumkull mine. Shanter mumkull big boomer. Now fire big roast and
damper."
With a sigh of relief the boys made for the fire, threw on a few twigs
to catch first, and as there were a good heap of embers, larger pieces
of wood soon followed. Then after removing the horses' saddles and
bridles, and hobbling them to keep them from straying, the boys gladly
took off some of their soaking garments and huddled round the fire,
where the black was busily roasting the tail of the smaller kangaroo,
which he had fetched, while the boys were occupied with their horses.
"Mine wear baal clothes," he said pityingly, as he, with his skin dry
directly, looked at their efforts to dry themselves. Then the big tin
billy was boiled and tea made, its hot aromatic draughts being very
comforting after the soaking, and by that time the tail was ready,
enough cold damper being found for that evening's meal.
But though all was satisfactory so far, Shanter did not join in. He
would eat no damper, drink no tea, and he turned from the roast tail
with disgust, squatting down over the fire with his arms round his
knees, and soon after going off to a spot among the bushes, where he
curled up under a blanket and was seen no more that night.
"Poor old Shanter doesn't seem well," said Norman.
"No wonder," replied Tim.
"And he thinks he killed the old man. Why didn't you speak, Tim?"
"Wasn't worth it," was the reply. "I didn't want to kill the great
thing."
An hour later the boys were under their canvas shelter, forgetting all
the excitement of the evening, and dreaming--of being home in Norman's
case, while Rifle dreamed that a huge black came hopping like a kangaroo
and carried off Aunt Georgie.
As for Tim, he dreamed of the encounter again, but with this
difference--the boomer had still hold of Shanter, and when he took up
the gun to fire it would not go off.