90 TROPIC DAYS 



terriers, in violation of an all-precautionary training, 

 molested a death adder, the emulation of each inciting 

 the other to recklessness. When the fray was over 

 and the wicked little serpent lay squirming in death, 

 both dogs took joyful credit on account of the feat. 

 An hour after one began to froth at the lips, and in 

 another hour he lay dead. His son and companion, as 

 well as rival in all rat and lizard hunts, softly approached 

 the body, lifting each foot with almost solemn delibera- 

 tion. He sniffed, and catching a whiff of the scent of 

 death, sat on his haunches, threw back his head, and in 

 loud and piercing tones lamented the tragedy until 

 from very hoarseness he could howl no longer. He 

 stood the solitary spectator of the burial, and as the 

 soil was patted down tenderly, sniffed the spot, whim- 

 pered plaintively, and followed with downcast mien. 

 Unable to fathom the mystery of death, yet fearful, 

 if not resentful, he wandered about for days rebuking 

 the moon, or its dire influence, and hailing passing 

 steamers with weak whines. Time soon soothed the 

 mental hurt. 



Since I became a milker and tender of pet cows 

 many instances have been revealed of the patience 

 and amiability of these inestimable beasts. The man 

 who owns the cattle on a thousand hills, who employs 

 stockmen by the dozen, who sends off hundreds of fat, 

 contented, happy, liberty-loving oxen in droves to end 

 their days in an unknown locality amid the clatter and 

 swish of machinery and with the fearful scents of blood 

 and decaying offal defiling the air, has few opportunities 

 of studying the nicer qualities of his possessions. He 

 may be full of bullock lore and able to recite sensational 

 and entertaining stories illustrative of the ways of the 

 big mobs which tramp from native hills and downs to 

 the city of the thousand deaths. He knows, perhaps, 



