In front of them dimly-seen
objects tore through the grass; every now and again out went an arm,
there was a spurt of smoke, and another buffalo fell. The blacks
and the Chinaman were away behind, gathered in a cluster, skinning
the first beast killed, while the pack-horses cropped the grass
and bit at the flies. Considine was nowhere to be seen.
"Let's go back and see what Tommy is up to," said the shooter.
"He's a hard case, is Tommy. If there's any trouble about he'll
get into it, or get somebody else into it. He'll wing one of us in
a minute, the way he's blazing. What's he firing at?"
Suddenly the festive Tommy was seen to dash hurriedly out of the
patch of bamboo, with the old original buffalo cow so close to his
horse's tail that, if the horse stumbled, the cow had him at her
mercy.
"She'll have 'im!" yelled the shooter. "Good cow! Can't she steam?
Come on, and let's see the fun!"
For a while it looked any odds on the cow; then she slackened pace,
wheeled round, and bolted back to the bamboos. They found Tommy very
excited. He had used about eighteen cartridges, and had nothing
to show for it.
"That's the most underhand cow ever I seen!" said Tommy. "She runs
into them there bamboos and pretends she's going to run right clean
through to Queensland, and when I go in after her, she wheels round
and hunts me for my life.
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