“Yes. In the feathery line. When shall I see you again?” “We are going back to the South Coast on Saturday.” “Then let me see you to-morrow. Let me call for you at your house--and bring you back into town for dinner in the evening. May I do that?” “Thank you,” said Somers. “What does ‘thank you’ mean? _Danke!_ No, thank you.” “Yes, thank you,” said Somers. “Don’t thank _me_, man,” suddenly shouted the other. “I’m the one to do the thanking.” Somers felt simple startled amazement at these sudden shouts--loud shouts, that you might almost hear in the street. At last Jack and Somers left. Jack had felt it his business to keep quiet: he knew his chief. But now he opened his mouth. “What do you think of Kangaroo?” he asked. “I’m beyond thinking,” said Somers. “I know, that’s how he leaves you when he makes a set at you. But he’s a rattling fine sort, he is. He puts a heart into you when your chest’s as hollow as an old mustard tin. He’s a wonder, is Kangaroo: and he keeps on being a wonder.” “Yes, he’s certainly a wonder.” “My, the brain the man has! I say, though, talking about tigers and kangaroos reminded me of a thing I once saw. It was up in the North. I was going along when I heard snarls out of some long buffalo grass that made my hair stand on end. I had to see what it was, though, so into the grass goes I. And there I saw a full-grown male kangaroo backed up against a tree, with the flesh of one leg torn clean from the bone. He was gasping, but he was still fighting. And the other was a great big cat, we call ’em tiger-cats, as big as a smallish leopard, a beauty--grey and black stripes, and straighter than a leopard. And before you could breathe, a streak of black and grey shot at that ’roo’s throat, seemed to twist in mid air--and the ’roo slipped down to the ground with his entrails ripped right out. I was so dumbfounded I took a step in the grass, and that great hulking cat stopped and lifted his face from his warm food that he’d started on without ever looking up. He stood over that ’roo for ten seconds staring me in the eyes. Then the skin wrinkled back from his snout, and the fangs were so white and clean as death itself, and a low growl came out of his ugly throat. ‘Come on, you swine,’ it said as plain as words. I didn’t you bet. I backed out of that beastly grass. “The next one I saw was a dead one. And beside him lay the boss’ best staghound, that had been trained to tackling wild boars since he was a pup: dead as well. The cat had come fossicking round our camp on the Madden River. “My gad, though, but the size of the brute, and muscle like you couldn’t find in any other beast. I looked at the claws on the pads. They’re as sharp as a lancet, and they’d tear the guts out of a man before he could squeak. It was good-bye ’roo, that time.