his wages. His name we never knew. We call him "Jack." The neighbours
called him "CRANKY Jack."

Chapter VIII.

A Kangaroo-Hunt from Shingle Hut.

We always looked forward to Sunday. It was our day of sport. Once, I
remember, we thought it would never come. We longed restlessly for it,
and the more we longed the more it seemed to linger.

A meeting of selectors had been held; war declared against the
marsupial; and a hunt on a grand scale arranged for this particular
Sabbath. Of course those in the neighbourhood hunted the kangaroo
every Sunday, but "on their own," and always on foot, which had its
fatigues. This was to be a raid EN MASSE and on horseback. The whole
country-side was to assemble at Shingle Hut and proceed thence. It
assembled; and what a collection! Such a crowd! such gear! such a tame
lot of horses! and such a motley swarm of lean, lank, lame
kangaroo-dogs!

We were not ready. The crowd sat on their horses and waited at the
slip-rails. Dogs trooped into the yard by the dozen. One pounced on a
fowl; another lamed the pig; a trio put the cat up a peach-tree; one
with a thirst mounted the water-cask and looked down it, while the bulk
of the brutes trotted inside and disputed with Mother who should open
the safe.

Dad loosed our three, and pleased they were to feel themselves free.
They had been chained up all the week, with scarcely anything to eat.
Dad did n't believe in too much feeding. He had had wide experience in
dogs and coursing "at home" on his grandfather's large estates, and
always found them fleetest when empty. OURS ought to have been fleet
as locomotives.

Dave, showing a neat seat, rode out of the yard on Bess, fresh and fat
and fit to run for a kingdom. They awaited Dad. He was standing
beside HIS mount--Farmer, the plough-horse, who was arrayed in winkers
with green-hide reins, and an old saddle with only one flap. He was
holding an earnest argument with Joe...Still the crowd waited. Still
Dad and Joe argued the point...There was a murmur and a movement and
much merriment. Dad was coming; so was Joe--perched behind him, "double
bank," rapidly wiping the tears from his eyes with his knuckles.

Hooray! They were off. Paddy Maloney and Dave took the lead, heading
for kangaroo country along the foot of Dead Man's Mountain and through
Smith's paddock, where there was a low wire fence to negotiate. Paddy
spread his coat over it and jumped his mare across.