Nor could he retreat, if so inclined: behind him, to a certainty, was the monstrous biped; far more to be feared than this animated piece of impertinence, whose wicked eye squinted and winked in defiance.
Forgotten in a moment is all fear, whether of the visible bird or the invisible pursuers. Handicapped as he is, and goaded by his pain and shameful condition, the dingo fires the first shot, as it were, by making a sudden jump at the emu’s throat, narrowly missing it, and still more narrowly missing the leg stroke of the bird as it made its counter-stroke.
Both bird and beast are practised in all the arts and devices of animal warfare. Each knows the tactics of the other. But for the disability of the dog through the tenacious trap the chances would be in his favour; but his exhaustion and encumbrance give the odds to the other. Still, he makes a gallant fight, and the bird needs all its wits and agility to escape his savage snaps, one of which, had he been able to lay hold, would tear out the neck from throat to breast.
The combat was at its height between these gladiators when the pursuers sighted them. The boys hold their breath in fair amazement as they eagerly watch the two figures in the sunlit arena struggling for the mastery. So engrossed are the combatants that the spectators may come out into the open and surround them, for all the notice that will be taken of them. As it is, the boys’ astonishment is quickly transmuted into animal excitement and battle-lust. They take sides, and cheer, now the beast and now the bird.
But the end comes quickly and tragically enough. The pace of the conflict tells terribly upon the dingo. He is now weakening fast; can hardly see, so bloodshot are his eyes. Yes, he can hold out but little longer. Realising this, he fights purely on the defence for breath. Then, concentrating all his energies in one last irresistible stroke, he springs, arrow-like, and this time strikes fair on the bullseye—the neck of his adversary. The emu had failed to elude the panther-like spring. But now the counter-stroke!
When the dingo’s fangs close vice-like upon the emu’s throat the bird’s fate is irrevocably sealed. The jugular vein is torn out with a mouthful of flesh and muscle, and the skin is stripped to the bosom. What time this savage and fatal stroke is given the vengeful bird, by one terrific downward blow of its powerful leg and toes, disembowels the hanging dog; and then with a lightning side-stroke, delivered full on the forehead of the prone beast, smashes in its skull. A vain attempt to crow a note of victory; a few short, uncertain, rotatory movements, life-blood gushing the while from its severed jugular, then a collapse, falling across the body of its slain adversary!