i A KANGAROO-HUNT 5 
stockyard gates at 1 1 that bright morning, with just 
touch enough of frost in the air to redden our cheeks 
and our noses. There was plenty of muscle and go in 
the horses ; each man was on his finest jumper, each 
lady on hers. Eric, who joined in the fun, rode on 
the pony “ Paddy ” beside my grey mare. After hand- 
shakes and greetings as much as our fretting horses 
would allow, we were off and away, ambling, 
trotting, cantering, spreading, and driving, as we bore 
to the left, then on to the fern and over the brow of 
the hill, where soon, with a shrill chorus, the dogs 
spoke to a find ; we halted for a second as five or 
six kangaroos scattered in front of us, turning in a 
dazed way from right to left, as they dodged in such 
close quarters among us that with the butt-end of his 
whip a horseman knocked one over, then the hounds 
bend and falter, doubling back and landing another 
with a scrimmage on his back on the ground ; now 
up the hill and away like the wind the rest go, 
clearing yards at a bound ; through the thick fern 
we steeplechase over logs, squeezing, dodging, crashing 
in and out of the gums, then “ for’ard ” on the wide 
sweep of the valley to a bit of galloping ground, where, 
with desperate speed, “ long, limber, and grey,” the 
hounds in full cry flash past ; the kangaroos, leaping 
ten yards at a stretch, disappear ; with the sun and 
wind in our faces, with wild halloas from every side, 
and a chorus of “ hold ups,” we swish through a 
swamp ; a fallen branch and a stumble, and Paddy 
is on his nose, but before we have time to dismount, 
both pony and rider are up again, and away now, with 
snap and crash, cheating falls we dodge through a net- 
work of saplings and flying logs. Neck to neck the 
horses rattle their hoofs through the fern, a yelping 
sound, a cracking of whips, then a mass of draggled 
