The car appeared over the pine ridge. It came very quietly and stopped as it topped the rise.
There were three men in the car. An old man with a face the companion of quiet stone and hot sunshine sat in the centre. The youth on his left held a rifle. The driver, a man in his thirties, was a product of the cities. They all gazed eagerly before them searching the clumps of belah and mulga for signs of kangaroo.
The driver gave an exclamation and pointed. Two kangaroos were resting in the shade of a pine-tree at the foot of a sandhill. They sat drowsing in the still heat. The larger one scratched his body with his small front paws. They sat facing each other. The sandy soil at their feet was pierced with thin, dry grass and springy with old leaves.
They heard the driver’s exclamation and raised themselves erect, both heads turned, watching. They were still as the tree that sheltered them.
‘Quick! Steady!’ said the old man. ‘Take your time. Two hundred and fifty yards, I’d say.’
The tall youth, brown and eager, fumbled with the rifle. He slipped back the safety catch and alighted. His shirt sleeves were rolled above his elbows. He stood very erect and steady, his cheek tense against the rifle stock. The barrel projecting before him wavered a little uncertainly then froze into pregnant stillness.
‘Take your time,’ said the old man.
He slid his fingers into his vest pocket searching for cigarette papers. The driver sat tautly at the wheel, his face twisted as if in anticipation of some hurt. The sharp report released his held breath and his shoulders sank.
For a fraction of a second after the report the kangaroos remained motionless. The speeding bullet left a wake of shrill sound.
The larger kangaroo leaped startledly forward. His mate doubled low and bounded away between the pines in a frenzy of speed. The buck tore the ground with his toes as he turned to follow her.
She led him towards the thicker pines on the ridge.
The youth lowered his rifle. He looked perplexed and turned to the old man inquiringly.
‘You hit him all right,’ said the old man. ‘Keep your eye on him.’
For fifty yards the larger kangaroo held the distance between him and the flying doe, then his speed lessened. She drew away from him. He staggered. Suddenly he leaped high in the air, striking with his forepaws as if death had closed with him. He twisted his body and landed off his balance. He crashed heavily on his side, rose again and sprang sideways thrusting desperately to ward death’s hands from off his vitals. He shook his head from side to side, frantic in a terrible darkness.
The old man sat forward in the car.
‘He’s fighting,’ he called. ‘You’ve got him. He’s fighting.’
The youth ran towards the animal. The wind of his speed billowed the shirt tucked beneath his belt. He reloaded the rifle as he ran.
‘Sit tight,’ said the man at the wheel.
He started the car and sped after the youth. He was stirred with an excitement-fear, like one who witnesses an accident. He drove recklessly. He swerved in and out of belah and mulga. The car lurched over old limbs returning to the soil. He skidded round the spiked butts of wind-slain pine-trees and cut across a clearing to intercept the youth.
‘Look out!’ called the old man. ‘Look out!’ and again, ‘Look out!’
But he was enjoying it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The kangaroo, weak, but as if scatheless from the desperate struggle just ended, again bounded away.
‘See the blood,’ called out the youth, looking towards the car. His face was eager and excited. ‘It’s pouring out his leg. It’s all over him.’
‘Give him another,’ yelled the old man. ‘Sink another into him.’
Again the sharp report. The kangaroo faltered but kept blindly on. The youth followed running. The car lurched behind him.
In a thick clump of pine filled with cool shadow the kangaroo stopped, stood swaying, gazed back at his pursuers with hurt bewilderment.
The youth raised his rifle and fired a third time. The kangaroo lurched forward, scrabbled the earth a moment as if it would conceal itself beneath the soft soil.
The car stopped. The driver and the old man alighted. They joined the youth and stood beside him looking down at the animal. The kangaroo’s eyes were open. One of its powerful legs was saturated with blood. Blood dripped from its nose and slid down the stems of the wild grass. Beneath the soft, warm fur on its narrow chest could be seen the dying beat of its heart.
‘That second shot ripped clean through its belly!’ exclaimed the youth. ‘Ripped clean through its belly and it made no difference. Why was that? He just kept going. Look, you can see where it went through.’
‘They take some stopping,’ said the old man rolling a cigarette. He licked the paper. ‘Well, that’s your first kangaroo,’ he went on. ‘You’ll get scores more before you go home. Enjoying yourself?’
‘Gee! yes,’ said the youth. ‘This is great. It’s good. When I get used to the rifle I’ll be better. This is great. I like this.’