"I expect the rascal will turn up in a few minutes. His horse would soon be knocked up in that country, and he would therefore be unable to catch you after he abandoned the dingo. The cheek of you boys, to think you could run it down in that country!"
The minutes sped without sight or sound of the huntsman. Anxiety deepened in the women; the men, too, became uneasy.
"Some one ought to go after the lad," broke in the perturbed mother, at length. "The poor laddie must have met trouble. His horse has knocked up. Perhaps he has lost himself. Perhaps he——!"
"Perhaps nothing of the kind has happened, except that the horse may have knocked up. You women will always jump to the worst conclusions. Willy, you and I'll ride back a bit; come you too Sandy, if you're not too tired."
Mr. M'Intyre feared more than he showed. It would be easy enough after all, he reflected, for a boy who was ignorant of the lay of the country and who had no experience in bush travelling, to lose his way. He determined, therefore, to take his son with him, so that he might lead them to the spot where the accident occurred, if it were necessary. Accordingly the three set off on the track. Fortunately it was moonlight and clear, so that they were able to make good headway through the bush.
It is time, however, to return to Joe. That ardent hunter had followed the chase for some distance ere he missed his pals. What with the severity of the pace and the increasing roughness of the course, its twistings and turnings, all his attention was focussed on the quarry. If he did think at all of his companions, it was to picture them following close behind. But in the heat of the chase he had little thought for others. When it did dawn upon him that he had outdistanced his companions, as happened eventually, he attributed little importance to that. They, no doubt, had good reason for slackening their pace. His horse, as he well knew, had a dash of speed denied to theirs. Maybe their steeds had caved in. Anyhow, he was having a glorious time, and "the finish" was touched with roseate hues to his imagination.
His horse was justifying the reputation given of him to Joe by Harry, the stockman, one day when they were discussing the relative merits of their mounts.
"For a hack," that worthy had remarked, "there's nothing on the run equal to the little thing you're ridin'. With a light weight up like yourself she can show a dash of foot an' staying powers that'll take a tremendous lot of lickin'."
This was a just criticism, as events were proving. Still, the pace was beginning to tell, and Joe was forced to ease the mare somewhat, even at the risk of losing sight of the quarry. The rough ridges, too, made the going to be precarious.
Things were as bad with Master Dingo, however. The pursuit was hot enough to extend him to the fullest. He was always in view, and could not shake off the foe. As long as he remained in sight it was impossible to resort to any trick by which he might gain time or wind. The ordinary pace of the dingo when on the chase may be described as a lope. This can be kept up the live-long day, and thus wear down the fleetest victim. To keep extended at full gallop in this unwonted fashion is not at all to the dingo's liking, and the sooner he can reach the distant scrub, which is his objective, the better pleased he will be. The cattle dog, though not ordinarily a hunter, is strong and tough, and possessed of a good pair of bellows. He started the game with the utmost alacrity, and now continues it with the greatest vim and determination.