In ten
minutes the hubbub had ceased, Dan's master-hand having soothed the
irritated beasts; then having opened them out he returned to the camp
fire alone. Jack had gone on duty before his time and sent the "little
Chinese darlings" to bed.
Naturally Dan's cattle-tussle reminded him of other tussles with ringing
cattle; then the cattle-camp suggesting other cattle-camp yarns, he
settled down to reminiscences until he had us all cold thrills and
skin-creeps, although we were gathered around a blazing fire.
Tale after tale he told of stampedes and of weaners piling up against
fences. Then followed a tale or two of cattle Iying quiet as mice one
minute, and up on their feet crashing over camps the next, then tales of
men being "treed" or "skied," and tales of scrub-bulls, maddened
cow-mothers, and "pokers."
"Pokers," it appears, have a habit of poking out of mobs, grazing quietly
as they edge off until "they're gone before you miss 'em." Camps seem to
have some special attraction for pokers, but we learned they object to
interference. Poke round peaceful as cats until "you rile them," Dan told
us, and then glided into a tale of how a poker "had us all treed once."
"Poked in a bit too close for our fancy while we were at supper," he
explained, "so we slung sticks at him to turn him back to the mob, and
the next minute was making for trees, but as there was only saplings
handy, it would have been a bit awkward for the heavy weights if there
hadn't have been enough of us to divide his attentions up a bit." (Dan
was a good six feet, and well set up at that.) "Climbing saplings to get
away from a stag isn't much of a game," he added, with a reminiscent
chuckle; "they're too good at the bending trick.
