Now, unfortunately, to his deep regret and mortification, he saw his beloved projects rendered nugatory, worthless, and in a manner contemptible, owing to this woeful season.
What was likely to become of the fish if the lake dried up, as it showed every disposition to do? How was one to go forth fowling and coursing when every spare moment was utilised for some purpose of necessity?
As for the hounds, some arrangement would have to be made about feeding and exercising these valuable animals. The horseflesh was wanting, the time was not to be spared, the meat and meal were not always forthcoming. Terrible to imagine, the kennel was commencing to be an incubus and an oppression!
In the midst of this doubt and uncertainty a letter came from a well-known sportsman, Mr. Robert Malahyde, keenest of the keen, offering to take charge of the hounds until the season became more tolerable. His district was not so unfavourably situated as the neighbourhood of Yass, and from his larger herds and pastures he would be able to arrange the ‘boiler’ part of the management more easily than Mr. Effingham.
A meeting of the subscribers was quickly called, when it was agreed that the hounds be sent to Mummumberil till the seasons changed.
As for the pheasants and partridges, which had flourished so encouragingly during the first season, the curse of the time had fallen even on them. The native cat (dasyurus) had increased wonderfully of late. Berries and grass seeds were scanty in this time of famine. In consequence, the survival of the fittest, coupled with acts of highly natural selection, ensued. The native cats selected the young of the exotic birds, but few of the adult game seemed likely to survive this drought.
CHAPTER XX
AN UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT
An expedition was to be organised in spring, and the stock removed, no matter where. It would be the only chance for their lives. As it was, the winter was fast coming upon them. Every blade of the ordinary herbage had disappeared. The nights commenced to lengthen. Frosts of unusual severity had set in. Even now it seemed as if their last hope might be destroyed and their raft dashed on the rocks ere it was floated.
But one morning Dick Evans came up to Wilfred, sadly contemplating the attenuated cows which now represented the once crowded milking-yard. He was riding his old mare, barebacked, with his folded coat for a saddle, and spoke with unusual animation.
‘I believe we’re right for the winter after all, sir. I never thought to see this, though old Tom told me he’d know’d it happen once afore.’