The boys hesitated a moment, but the temptation was too strong. Joe, clapping his spurs to his steed's sides, started off with a clatter, the others following pell-mell. The gully was long and winding, and to this, for some reason, the dingo stuck. The hunters now began to gain a little on the beast, and were in full sight, the cattle dog just holding his distance. At length the gully petered out at the base of a ridge, over which the quarry sped, the dog and boys in full chase. The other side of the ridge was more precipitous, and covered with bracken and stunted bushes. Down this the pursuit thundered, Joe in the lead and well to the cattle dog's heels: the dingo leading by not more than seventy yards. So absorbed was the boy in the hunt that he remained in ignorance of a calamity that was even now happening to one of his mates.
Tom's horse, in bounding down the ridge, and when close to the bottom, put his foot in a wombat's[#] hole that was hidden by bracken. Over came horse and rider, Tom striking the ground on head and shoulder, while Sandy, who was about a length behind, narrowly averted collision with the fallen steed and boy. As quickly as possible he pulled up his galloping animal, shouting out as he did so to Joe, who was too far away and too much engrossed in the chase to hear the call.
[#] Wombat—-a burrowing marsupial.
Returning to the collapsed pair, Sandy jumped off and lifted Tom's head, for the lad lay stiff. His appearance frightened the boy as he lay still and death-like. To his great joy, however, on feeling Tom's wrist, Sandy detected a feeble pulse-beat. Laying his stricken mate gently down in the bracken, he made a hasty examination of his head. It bore no trace of wound, save some gravel scratches and a nasty bruise under the left eye. The relieved boy hurried to the bottom of the ridge, where by good hap was a rill of water. Filling his hat he returned and laved the brow and wrists of his companion. After some twenty minutes or so Tom began to stir, and quickly regained consciousness. No bones were broken, but the boy was badly shaken, and all thoughts of further pursuit were out of the question. The horse, by a miracle, was without hurt.
"You're a lucky beggar, Tom," said Sandy, after a few minutes. "From the way you crashed down I made sure every blessed bone in your body was broken. How do you feel now, ole boss?"
"Oh, I'm all right," replied Tom feebly. "Shoulder's the worst. It's not dislocated, but it pains a lot. Phew! but it does hurt when I move it. I expect it felt the full force of the tumble. But—where's Joe?"
"Joe's ahead. Goodness only knows where he's got to by now. He hasn't a ghost's show of getting the dingo if he makes for the hills."
"I tell you what," continued the boy; "we'll get off home as soon as you feel fit. It's no use waiting for Joe. He can easily catch us. You'll have to go slow, old man, you know."
This was true, for Tom's shoulder was in an agony of ache, which the movement of the horse, after they had mounted, intensified to an almost unbearable degree.
It was long after dark ere the pair sighted the homestead lights. They had not been overtaken by Joe, much to their surprise. They were met at the slip-rails by Harry and Jacky, who had just been dispatched to look for them, as the family were getting uneasy at their prolonged absence. The men returned with the lads to the house. Beyond a severe word to Sandy for being tempted to pursue the impossible when on the homeward track, the squatter justified their act of returning from the camp; also in not waiting for Joe.