The last colt had been driven into the crush 'fiercely snorting, but in vain, and struggling with erected mane,' and enlarged 'in the full foam of wrath and dread,' when another form of excitement was announced. A dangerous-looking four-year-old bullock was now yarded in the outer enclosure, light of flesh but exceeding fierce, which he proceeded to demonstrate by clearing the place of all spectators in the shortest time on record.
Climbing hurriedly to the 'cap' of the stock-yard fence, they looked on in secure elevation, while the toreadors cunningly edged him into the crush, and there confined him like the colts. Here he began to paw the ground and bellow in ungovernable rage. At this stage the manager thus delivered himself: 'It's Mr. Smith's turn, by the list, to ride this bullock, but he says he don't care. Is there any gentleman here as'll ride him?'
With Mr. Smith's natural disinclination for the mount the crowd apparently sympathised. The bullock meanwhile was pawing the earth and roaring in a hollow and blood-curdling manner, as who should say, 'Let me at him; only let me have one turn with hoof and horn.' To the unprejudiced observer the mount seemed one that no gentleman would court or even accept.
However, the Gippslander, removing his pipe from his mouth, calmly remarked, 'I'll ride him,' whereupon the crowd burst out with a cheer, evidently looking upon the offer as one of exceptional merit.
There was no bridle or saddle in this case. A rope was fastened around the animal's body, and with this slender accoutrement only, the stock-rider deposited himself upon the ridge of the red bullock's back. Then the gate was opened, and out he came in all his glory.
No one that has merely observed the clumsy gambols of the meadow-fed ox can have an idea of the speed and agility of the bush-bred steer, reared amid mountain ranges and accustomed to spurts up hill and down, with a smart stock-horse rattling by the side of the drove, always making excellent time, and not infrequently distancing their pursuers amid the forests and morasses of their native runs.
This one had a shoulder like a blood horse, great propelling power, and stood well off the ground, with muscular arms and hocks to match.
He reared, bucked, and plunged almost with the virulence and variety of the colts, and when, after a prolonged and persevering contest, he gradually managed to shift his rider on to his croupe, and thence by a complicated and original twist of his quarters dislodged him, it was felt by the spectators that he had worthily sustained the honour of the stock-riding fraternity. Cheers resounded from all sides, as the crowd returning to a centre surrounded the fallen but not disgraced combatant. I think the boys were privately disappointed that the bullock did not turn to gore his antagonist, but he was too much excited for such an attack. He made a bee-line for the fence, which, all-ignorant of its flimsy nature, he did not attempt to jump or overthrow, contenting himself with running by the side of it until he came to the corner, where a gate was cunningly left open for his departure. After a respectable 'cap' had been collected for the veteran, who was more than twice the age of the other competitors, the prizes were distributed, and the entertainment concluded.
As an Australian I may be slightly prejudiced, but I must confess to holding the opinion that our bush-riders in certain departments are unrivalled. The South American 'gaucho' and the 'cow-boy' of the Western States are, doubtless, wonderful horsemen, but they ride under conditions more favourable than those of our bushmen. The saddle of the Americans is the old-fashioned Spanish one—heavy, cumbrous, and, besides the high pommel and cantle, provided with a horn-like fixture in front, to which the lasso is attached generally, but which serves as a belaying-pin and a secure holdfast for the rider in case of need. The tremendous severity of the heavy curb-bit must also tend to moderate the gambades of all but the most vicious or untamed animals. Besides all this, the horses ridden by them are mere ponies compared to the big, powerful Australian colts, and as such easier to control.
But let the stranger, when minded to try his horsemanship, find himself upon a 'touchy' three-year-old, and how insecure does his position appear! He is a good way off the ground, which said ground is mostly extremely hard. The colt is nearly sixteen hands high, and feels strong enough in the loins, if fully agitated, to throw him into a gum-tree. The single-reined snaffle, to which he trusts his life, is of the plainest, cheapest description of leather and iron. The saddle is the ordinary English saddle, fuller in the flap and pads, but otherwise giving the impression of being hard, slippery, and affording but little hope of recovery when once the seat is shaken.