That night, when the others were fast asleep in bed, Tom dressed himself very quietly—there was no need to get a candle, for there was a bright moon by whose light he could see quite well. He hurried, for he meant to go to Coranderrk Station, two miles away, sneak Barak’s Magic Gun, and just see for himself what its powers were like.
Fortune favoured Tom. Barak had somehow or other got some beer, although no one was allowed to sell beer to black men. Barak was in a drunken sleep and had not locked his door. Tom tiptoed in, took the Magic Gun from its place on the wall, and went out on his search for game. Tom walked steadily on until he was some miles from home. By this time the sun was rising, the whole country was bathed in a golden and purple light, but Tom had no thoughts for beauty or scenery. The Magic Gun filled his thoughts. He walked until, from very weariness, he sat down to rest against a log; not a thing had he seen upon which to try the Magic Gun, which had to be primed with nails instead of powder.
He enjoyed the bread and butter he had brought with him, and after he had finished it he felt rather sleepy—indeed, he closed his eyes for a moment—only for a moment, however, for just as he was pinching himself to keep awake, he saw a big old man kangaroo standing erect, looking at him, not many feet away. Stealthily Tom took his Magic Gun from the ground, raised himself and prepared to fire. With a bound the kangaroo was off, Tom following at a hot pace.
“Sure luck with the Magic Gun,” said Tom to himself, for though the kangaroo went like the wind, Tom kept up with it. On and on they went, for miles and miles it seemed to Tom, until at last the kangaroo seemed to be winded, for he suddenly stopped and backed up against a tree facing Tom. With a shaky hand Tom put in six nails, raised the gun to his shoulder and fired.
Bang went the gun; the air was so full of smoke that for some minutes nothing could be seen for it, but as it cleared away Tom shouted for joy, for the old man kangaroo was nailed to the tree as securely as if he had been held by several pairs of hands, while the nails were driven in.
“Gour-gour-gah-gah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!”
A shout of laughter came from the tree-top. Tom, looking up, saw an old kookooburra (or laughing jackass) with head bent back, laughing and chuckling; soon he was joined by two young birds. The old one flew down, looked first at the dead kangaroo, then at Tom, after which he flew back to the branch on which he had been sitting and indulged in another burst of laughter; in this he was joined by the two young birds.
It seemed to Tom to be a personal insult. They must be laughing at him, because he knew no better than to shoot a kangaroo. He remembered now, the kangaroo was always hunted with dogs, never shot.
“Cheeky things,” said Tom, “I’ll teach them a lesson. They know I dare not shoot a kookooburra, so they think they can laugh at me as much as they like. I know what I’ll do, with this Magic Gun I can split the branch on which they are standing, then they won’t laugh so loud and long. One nail will be enough to do it.”
No sooner thought of than it was done. Bang went the gun once more, and before those rude kookooburras could fly away, the branch had opened, in slipped their little toes, and there they were caught nicely in a trap.