He was a horseman,
was Pat. The others twisted a stick in the wires, and proceeded
carefully to lead their horses over. When it came to Farmer's turn he
hesitated. Dad coaxed him. Slowly he put one leg across, as if
feeling his way, and paused again. Joe was on his back behind the
saddle. Dad tugged hard at the winkers. Farmer was inclined to
withdraw his leg. Dad was determined not to let him. Farmer's heel
got caught against the wire, and he began to pull back and grunt--so
did Dad. Both pulled hard. Anderson and old Brown ran to Dad's
assistance. The trio planted their heels in the ground and leaned back.

Joe became afraid. He clutched at the saddle and cried, "Let me off!"
"Stick to him!" said Paddy Maloney, hopping over the fence, "Stick to
him!" He kicked Farmer what he afterwards called "a sollicker on the
tail." Again he kicked him. Still Farmer strained and hung back. Once
more he let him have it. Then--off flew the winkers, and over went Dad
and Anderson and old Brown, and down rolled Joe and Farmer on the other
side of the fence. The others leant against their horses and laughed
the laugh of their lives. "Worse 'n a lot of d--d jackasses," Dad was
heard to say. They caught Farmer and led him to the fence again. He
jumped it, and rose feet higher than he had any need to, and had not
old Brown dodged him just when he did he would be a dead man now.

A little further on the huntsmen sighted a mob of kangaroos. Joy and
excitement. A mob? It was a swarm! Away they hopped. Off scrambled
the dogs, and off flew Paddy Maloney and Dave--the rest followed
anyhow, and at varying speeds.

That all those dogs should have selected and followed the same kangaroo
was sad and humiliating. And such a waif of a thing, too! Still, they
stuck to it. For more than a mile, down a slope, the weedy marsupial
outpaced them, but when it came to the hill the daylight between
rapidly began to lessen. A few seconds more and all would have been
over, but a straggling, stupid old ewe, belonging to an unneighbourly
squatter, darted up from the shade of a tree right in the way of
Maloney's Brindle, who was leading. Brindle always preferred mutton to
marsupial, so he let the latter slide and secured the ewe. The
death-scene was most imposing. The ground around was strewn with small
tufts of white wool. There was a complete circle of eager, wriggling
dogs--all jammed together, heads down, and tails elevated. Not