He had been a splendid kangaroo hunter, and took quite an extraordinary amount of pleasure in this pursuit.

He would run down the biggest kangaroo and "bail him up" unerringly under a tree; and whenever the doomed animal tried to get away Bruno would immediately go for his tail, and compel him to stand at bay once more until I came up to give the _coup de grace_.

Of course, Bruno received a nasty kick sometimes and occasionally a bite from a snake, poisonous and otherwise.

He was not a young dog when I had him first; and I had now made up my mind that he could not live much longer.

He paid but little attention in these days to either Yamba or myself, and in this condition he lingered on for a year or more.
One morning I went into the second hut--which we still called Gibson's, by the way, although he had never lived there--when to my dismay and horror (notwithstanding that I was prepared for the event), I beheld my poor Bruno laid out stiff and stark on the little skin rug that Gibson had originally made for him.