brute with his fist he overbalanced and fell out of the saddle. He
struggled to his feet, and clutched his antagonist affectionately by
both paws--standing well away. Backwards and forwards and round and
round they moved. "Use your knife!" Anderson called out, getting
further away himself. But Dad dared not relax his grip. Paddy Maloney
ran behind the brute several times to lay him out with a waddy, but
each time he turned and fled before striking the blow. Dad thought to
force matters, and began kicking his assailant vigorously in the
stomach. Such dull, heavy thuds! The kangaroo retaliated, putting Dad
on the defensive. Dad displayed remarkable suppleness about the hips.
At last the brute fixed his deadly toe in Dad's belt.

It was an anxious moment, but the belt broke, and Dad breathed freely
again. He was acting entirely on the defensive, but an awful
consciousness of impending misfortune assailed him. His belt was gone,
and--his trousers began to slip--slip--slip! He called wildly to the
others for God's sake to do something. They helped with advice. He
yelled "Curs!" and "Cowards!" back at them. Still, as he danced around
with his strange and ungainly partner, his trousers kept
slipping--slipping. For the fiftieth time and more he glanced eagerly
over his shoulder for some haven of safety. None was near. And
then--oh, horror!--down THEY slid calmly and noiselessly. Poor Dad!
He was at a disadvantage; his leg work was hampered. He was hobbled.
Could he only get free of them altogether! But he could n't--his feet
were large. He took a lesson from the foe and jumped--jumped this way
and that way, and round about, while large drops of perspiration rolled
off him. The small dogs displayed renewed and ridiculous ferocity,
often mistaking Dad for the marsupial. At last Dad became
exhausted--there was no spring left in him. Once he nearly went down.
Twice he tripped. He staggered again--down he was going--down--down,
down and down he fell! But at the same moment, and, as though they had
dropped from the clouds, Brindle and five or six other dogs pounced on
the "old man." The rest may be imagined.

Dad lay on the ground to recover his wind, and when he mounted Farmer
again and silently turned for home, Paddy Maloney was triumphantly
seated on the carcase of the fallen enemy, exultingly explaining how he
missed the brute's head with the stirrup-iron, and claiming the tail.

Chapter IX.

D