"Why, you don't say that, 'squire?" asked our new acquaintance, approaching the captive to get a nearer view.
"Yes, it is. We pasture them out a little ways, and when the people at Ballarat feel like having a feast we catch one, but sometimes they get a little wild."
"Wall, I swow to man, if that don't beat all that I ever heard of, and no mistake. I've seen big cock-turkeys, and uncle Josiah raised one for last Thanksgiving that was a whopper, but this knocks him. I say, what could I get a pair of these 'ere for?"
The stranger very imprudently laid his hand upon the bird for the purpose of feeling his condition, and what proportion of flesh there was to feathers. Hardly had the captive felt his touch when all of his native fierceness returned, and while our countryman, with a grave face, was still expressing his wonder, the cassiowary raised one of his muscular legs and kicked him full on his breast. In another instant the American was going backward at a rapid rate, and finally brought up full length upon the earth. For a second he didn't move, then slowly gathering up his lank form, he looked first at the cassiowary, and then at Murden, and muttered,—
"Dod rot yer Australia turkeys,—they don't know manners."
The crowd roared with laughter, and for a long time our American friend was known by the nickname of "Turkey Johnson."
CHAPTER L.
ARRIVAL OF SMITH.—ATTEMPT TO BURN THE STORE.
Even after we had captured the cassiowary we did not know what to do with it, as Murden would not listen for a moment to the idea of its being killed, and yet the bird was too formidable an opponent to play with. While we were debating how to get the bird to Ballarat, an old stockman, who upon the discovery of gold had left his employment and gone into the teaming business, suggested that we should tie a handkerchief over his head, and guaranteed that we would then lead as docile as a pet lamb.