“When we were up country on
the selection, we had a rooster at our place, named
Bill,” said Mitchell; “a big mongrel of
no particular breed, though the old lady said he was
a ’brammer’-and many an argument
she had with the old man about it too; she was just
as stubborn and obstinate in her opinion as the governor
was in his. But, anyway, we called him Bill,
and didn’t take any particular notice of him
till a cousin of some of us came from Sydney on a
visit to the country, and stayed at our place because
it was cheaper than stopping at a pub. Well,
somehow this chap got interested in Bill, and studied
him for two or three days, and at last he says:
“‘Why, that rooster’s a ventriloquist!’
“‘A what?’
“‘A ventriloquist!’
“‘Go along with yer!’
“’But he is. I’ve
heard of cases like this before; but this is the first
I’ve come across. Bill’s a ventriloquist
right enough.’
“Then we remembered that there
wasn’t another rooster within five miles-our
only neighbour, an Irishman named Page, didn’t
have one at the time-and we’d often
heard another cock crow, but didn’t think to
take any notice of it. We watched Bill, and sure
enough he was a ventriloquist. The ‘ka-cocka’
would come all right, but the ‘co-ka-koo-oi-oo’
seemed to come from a distance. And sometimes
the whole crow would go wrong, and come back like
an echo that had been lost for a year. Bill would
stand on tiptoe, and hold his elbows out, and curve
his neck, and go two or three times as if he was swallowing
nest-eggs, and nearly break his neck and burst his
gizzard; and then there’d be no sound at all
where he was-only a cock crowing in the
distance.
“And pretty soon we could see
that Bill was in great trouble about it himself.
You see, he didn’t know it was himself-thought
it was another rooster challenging him, and he wanted
badly to find that other bird. He would get up
on the wood-heap, and crow and listen-crow
and listen again-crow and listen, and then
he’d go up to the top of the paddock, and get
up on the stack, and crow and listen there. Then
down to the other end of the paddock, and get up on
a mullock-heap, and crow and listen there. Then
across to the other side and up on a log among the
saplings, and crow ‘n’ listen some more.
He searched all over the place for that other rooster,
but, of course, couldn’t find him. Sometimes
he’d be out all day crowing and listening all
over the country, and then come home dead tired, and
rest and cool off in a hole that the hens had scratched
for him in a damp place under the water-cask sledge.
“Well, one day Page brought
home a big white rooster, and when he let it go it
climbed up on Page’s stack and crowed, to see
if there was any more roosters round there. Bill
had come home tired; it was a hot day, and he’d
rooted out the hens, and was having a spell-oh under
the cask when the white rooster crowed. Bill
didn’t lose any time getting out and on to the
wood-heap, and then he waited till he heard the crow
again; then he crowed, and the other rooster crowed
again, and they crowed at each other for three days,
and called each other all the wretches they could
lay their tongues to, and after that they implored
each other to come out and be made into chicken soup
and feather pillows. But neither’d come.
You see, there were three crows-there
was Bill’s crow, and the ventriloquist crow,
and the white rooster’s crow-and each
rooster thought that there was two roosters in
the opposition camp, and that he mightn’t get
fair play, and, consequently, both were afraid to
put up their hands.
“But at last Bill couldn’t
stand it any longer. He made up his mind to go
and have it out, even if there was a whole agricultural
show of prize and honourable-mention fighting-cocks
in Page’s yard. He got down from the wood-heap
and started off across the ploughed field, his head
down, his elbows out, and his thick awkward legs prodding
away at the furrows behind for all they were worth.
“I wanted to go down badly and
see the fight, and barrack for Bill. But I daren’t,
because I’d been coming up the road late the
night before with my brother Joe, and there was about
three panels of turkeys roosting along on the top
rail of Page’s front fence; and we brushed ’em
with a bough, and they got up such a blessed gobbling
fuss about it that Page came out in his shirt and
saw us running away; and I knew he was laying for
us with a bullock whip. Besides, there was friction
between the two families on account of a thoroughbred
bull that Page borrowed and wouldn’t lend to
us, and that got into our paddock on account of me
mending a panel in the party fence, and carelessly
leaving the top rail down after sundown while our
cows was moving round there in the saplings.
“So there was too much friction
for me to go down, but I climbed a tree as near the
fence as I could and watched. Bill reckoned he’d
found that rooster at last. The white rooster
wouldn’t come down from the stack, so Bill went
up to him, and they fought there till they tumbled
down the other side, and I couldn’t see any
more. Wasn’t I wild? I’d have
given my dog to have seen the rest of the fight.
I went down to the far side of Page’s fence
and climbed a tree there, but, of course, I couldn’t
see anything, so I came home the back way. Just
as I got home Page came round to the front and sung
out, ‘Insoid there!’ And me and Jim went
under the house like snakes and looked out round a
pile. But Page was all right-he had
a broad grin on his face, and Bill safe under his arm.
He put Bill down on the ground very carefully, and
says he to the old folks:
“‘Yer rooster knocked
the stuffin’ out of my rooster, but I bear no
malice. ‘Twas a grand foight.’
“And then the old man and Page
had a yarn, and got pretty friendly after that.
And Bill didn’t seem to bother about any more
ventriloquism; but the white rooster spent a lot of
time looking for that other rooster. Perhaps
he thought he’d have better luck with him.
But Page was on the look-out all the time to get a
rooster that would lick ours. He did nothing
else for a month but ride round and enquire about roosters;
and at last he borrowed a game-bird in town, left
five pounds deposit on him, and brought him home.
And Page and the old man agreed to have a match-about
the only thing they’d agreed about for five years.
And they fixed it up for a Sunday when the old lady
and the girls and kids were going on a visit to some
relations, about fifteen miles away-to stop
all night. The guv’nor made me go with them
on horseback; but I knew what was up, and so my pony
went lame about a mile along the road, and I had to
come back and turn him out in the top paddock, and
hide the saddle and bridle in a hollow log, and sneak
home and climb up on the roof of the shed. It
was a awful hot day, and I had to keep climbing backward
and forward over the ridge-pole all the morning to
keep out of sight of the old man, for he was moving
about a good deal.
“Well, after dinner, the fellows
from roundabout began to ride in and hang up their
horses round the place till it looked as if there was
going to be a funeral. Some of the chaps saw me,
of course, but I tipped them the wink, and they gave
me the office whenever the old man happened around.
“Well, Page came along with
his game-rooster. Its name was Jim. It wasn’t
much to look at, and it seemed a good deal smaller
and weaker than Bill. Some of the chaps were
disgusted, and said it wasn’t a game-rooster
at all; Bill’d settle it in one lick, and they
wouldn’t have any fun.
“Well, they brought the game
one out and put him down near the wood-heap, and rousted
Bill out from under his cask. He got interested
at once. He looked at Jim, and got up on the wood-heap
and crowed and looked at Jim again. He reckoned
this at last was the fowl that had been humbugging
him all along. Presently his trouble caught him,
and then he’d crow and take a squint at the
game ’un, and crow again, and have another squint
at gamey, and try to crow and keep his eye on the
game-rooster at the same time. But Jim never committed
himself, until at last he happened to gape just after
Bill’s whole crow went wrong, and Bill spotted
him. He reckoned he’d caught him this time,
and he got down off that wood-heap and went for the
foe. But Jim ran away-and Bill ran
after him.
“Round and round the wood-heap
they went, and round the shed, and round the house
and under it, and back again, and round the wood-heap
and over it and round the other way, and kept it up
for close on an hour. Bill’s bill was just
within an inch or so of the game-rooster’s tail
feathers most of the time, but he couldn’t get
any nearer, do how he liked. And all the time
the fellers kept chyackin Page and singing out, ’What
price yer game ‘un, Page! Go it, Bill!
Go it, old cock!’ and all that sort of thing.
Well, the game-rooster went as if it was a go-as-you-please,
and he didn’t care if it lasted a year.
He didn’t seem to take any interest in the business,
but Bill got excited, and by-and-by he got mad.
He held his head lower and lower and his wings further
and further out from his sides, and prodded away harder
and harder at the ground behind, but it wasn’t
any use. Jim seemed to keep ahead without trying.
They stuck to the wood-heap towards the last.
They went round first one way for a while, and then
the other for a change, and now and then they’d
go over the top to break the monotony; and the chaps
got more interested in the race than they would have
been in the fight-and bet on it, too.
But Bill was handicapped with his weight. He
was done up at last; he slowed down till he couldn’t
waddle, and then, when he was thoroughly knocked up,
that game-rooster turned on him, and gave him the father
of a hiding.
“And my father caught me when
I’d got down in the excitement, and wasn’t
thinking, and he gave me the step-father
of a hiding. But he had a lively time with the
old lady afterwards, over the cock-fight.
“Bill was so disgusted with
himself that he went under the cask and died.”