Joe Wilson and His Mates [66]
and corrugated-iron kitchen and wash-house
on piles in the back-yard, with some women washing clothes inside.
Dave and the publican bundled in there and shut the door --
the publican cursing Dave and calling him a crimson fool, in hurried tones,
and wanting to know what the hell he came here for.
The retriever went in under the kitchen, amongst the piles,
but, luckily for those inside, there was a vicious yellow mongrel cattle-dog
sulking and nursing his nastiness under there -- a sneaking, fighting,
thieving canine, whom neighbours had tried for years to shoot or poison.
Tommy saw his danger -- he'd had experience from this dog --
and started out and across the yard, still sticking to the cartridge.
Half-way across the yard the yellow dog caught him and nipped him.
Tommy dropped the cartridge, gave one terrified yell, and took to the Bush.
The yellow dog followed him to the fence and then ran back
to see what he had dropped.
Nearly a dozen other dogs came from round all the corners
and under the buildings -- spidery, thievish, cold-blooded kangaroo-dogs,
mongrel sheep- and cattle-dogs, vicious black and yellow dogs --
that slip after you in the dark, nip your heels, and vanish
without explaining -- and yapping, yelping small fry.
They kept at a respectable distance round the nasty yellow dog,
for it was dangerous to go near him when he thought he had found something
which might be good for a dog to eat. He sniffed at the cartridge twice,
and was just taking a third cautious sniff when ----
It was very good blasting powder -- a new brand that Dave had recently got
up from Sydney; and the cartridge had been excellently well made.
Andy was very patient and painstaking in all he did, and nearly as handy
as the average sailor with needles, twine, canvas, and rope.
Bushmen say that that kitchen jumped off its piles and on again.
When the smoke and dust cleared away, the remains of the nasty yellow dog
were lying against the paling fence of the yard looking as if
he had been kicked into a fire by a horse and afterwards rolled in the dust
under a barrow, and finally thrown against the fence from a distance.
Several saddle-horses, which had been `hanging-up' round the verandah,
were galloping wildly down the road in clouds of dust,
with broken bridle-reins flying; and from a circle round the outskirts,
from every point of the compass in the scrub, came the yelping of dogs.
Two of them went home, to the place where they were born,
thirty miles away, and reached it the same night and stayed there;
it was not till towards evening that the rest came back cautiously
to make inquiries. One was trying to walk on two legs, and most of 'em
looked more or less singed; and a little, singed, stumpy-tailed dog,
who had been in the habit of hopping the back half of him along on one leg,
had reason to be glad that he'd saved up the other leg all those years,
for he needed it now. There was one old one-eyed cattle-dog round that shanty
for years afterwards, who couldn't stand the smell of a gun being cleaned.
He it was who had taken an interest, only second to that of the yellow dog,
in the cartridge. Bushmen said that it was amusing
to slip up on his blind side and stick a dirty ramrod under his nose:
he wouldn't wait to bring his solitary eye to bear --
he'd take to the Bush and stay out all night.
For half an hour or so after the explosion there were several Bushmen
round behind the stable who crouched, doubled up, against the wall,
or rolled gently on the dust, trying to laugh without shrieking.
There were two white women in hysterics at the house,
and a half-caste rushing aimlessly round with a dipper of cold water.
The publican was holding his wife tight and begging her between her squawks,
to `hold up for my sake, Mary, or I'll lam the life out of ye.'
Dave decided to apologise later on, `when things had settled a bit,'
and went back to camp. And the dog that had done it all,
`Tommy', the great, idiotic mongrel retriever, came slobbering round Dave
and lashing
on piles in the back-yard, with some women washing clothes inside.
Dave and the publican bundled in there and shut the door --
the publican cursing Dave and calling him a crimson fool, in hurried tones,
and wanting to know what the hell he came here for.
The retriever went in under the kitchen, amongst the piles,
but, luckily for those inside, there was a vicious yellow mongrel cattle-dog
sulking and nursing his nastiness under there -- a sneaking, fighting,
thieving canine, whom neighbours had tried for years to shoot or poison.
Tommy saw his danger -- he'd had experience from this dog --
and started out and across the yard, still sticking to the cartridge.
Half-way across the yard the yellow dog caught him and nipped him.
Tommy dropped the cartridge, gave one terrified yell, and took to the Bush.
The yellow dog followed him to the fence and then ran back
to see what he had dropped.
Nearly a dozen other dogs came from round all the corners
and under the buildings -- spidery, thievish, cold-blooded kangaroo-dogs,
mongrel sheep- and cattle-dogs, vicious black and yellow dogs --
that slip after you in the dark, nip your heels, and vanish
without explaining -- and yapping, yelping small fry.
They kept at a respectable distance round the nasty yellow dog,
for it was dangerous to go near him when he thought he had found something
which might be good for a dog to eat. He sniffed at the cartridge twice,
and was just taking a third cautious sniff when ----
It was very good blasting powder -- a new brand that Dave had recently got
up from Sydney; and the cartridge had been excellently well made.
Andy was very patient and painstaking in all he did, and nearly as handy
as the average sailor with needles, twine, canvas, and rope.
Bushmen say that that kitchen jumped off its piles and on again.
When the smoke and dust cleared away, the remains of the nasty yellow dog
were lying against the paling fence of the yard looking as if
he had been kicked into a fire by a horse and afterwards rolled in the dust
under a barrow, and finally thrown against the fence from a distance.
Several saddle-horses, which had been `hanging-up' round the verandah,
were galloping wildly down the road in clouds of dust,
with broken bridle-reins flying; and from a circle round the outskirts,
from every point of the compass in the scrub, came the yelping of dogs.
Two of them went home, to the place where they were born,
thirty miles away, and reached it the same night and stayed there;
it was not till towards evening that the rest came back cautiously
to make inquiries. One was trying to walk on two legs, and most of 'em
looked more or less singed; and a little, singed, stumpy-tailed dog,
who had been in the habit of hopping the back half of him along on one leg,
had reason to be glad that he'd saved up the other leg all those years,
for he needed it now. There was one old one-eyed cattle-dog round that shanty
for years afterwards, who couldn't stand the smell of a gun being cleaned.
He it was who had taken an interest, only second to that of the yellow dog,
in the cartridge. Bushmen said that it was amusing
to slip up on his blind side and stick a dirty ramrod under his nose:
he wouldn't wait to bring his solitary eye to bear --
he'd take to the Bush and stay out all night.
For half an hour or so after the explosion there were several Bushmen
round behind the stable who crouched, doubled up, against the wall,
or rolled gently on the dust, trying to laugh without shrieking.
There were two white women in hysterics at the house,
and a half-caste rushing aimlessly round with a dipper of cold water.
The publican was holding his wife tight and begging her between her squawks,
to `hold up for my sake, Mary, or I'll lam the life out of ye.'
Dave decided to apologise later on, `when things had settled a bit,'
and went back to camp. And the dog that had done it all,
`Tommy', the great, idiotic mongrel retriever, came slobbering round Dave
and lashing