A Matter of Ballistics

By A. J. Murison

rHE Coaster was behind schedule, and the work up to date; so the cognescenti at our Papuan tation voted for a day of pigeon hooting on the mainland.

The party was carefully chosen, 'irst, Lennie, who was the chief itizen, an experienced boatman and enerally acknowledged as a leader. 3ck, a Patrol Officer, was welcomed -he to provide the Government ,unch. Clancy, a mechanic; and ?uce, a trader, completed the ex jdition.

Overtures were made to “Doc” to ime along; but, on learning that le country was mostly sago swamp id not a planting potential, he ked to be excused.

Preparations went smoothly. The rosene refrigerator was loaded ito the launch with a minimum of ratches and breakages; cook boys ire warned of an early start; and e hunters spent the evening oil ? shot-guns and other essential ;chanisms.

Daylight, and an early start found e party plugging up the river amst a strong tide. \round a bend, the daddy of all >cs lay snoozing and was reported the launch-boy. fiancy grasped weapon and am imtion but was restrained by nnie. “Only a waste of ammo— )tgun pellets won’t hurt him ” rhe launch drew slowly abeam 3 Clancy became frantic.

All right,” said Lennie. “But you only wasting a cartridge.” fiancy sighted and fired. The c leaped like William Tell’s apple

and hopped into the water. Birds fluttered and squawked. And “Told you,” from Lennie.

“ ’Tis policeman’s thray-oh-thray we’re needing,” wailed Clancy.

“Away back, and we’ll be getting wan.”

This was opposed by the others.

“Mon, the fuel we’ll waste,” said Jock. Clancy countered by point ing out that the launch burned one gallon of diesel fuel per hour, cost approximately ninepence (the good old days); and “T’was return we would for a decent weapon.”

Bruce sagely remarked that if they returned, the District Officer’s wife might commandeer the launch for a picnic.

In face of this, Clancy capitulated and the voyage continued. Crocs abounded and dozed on, regardless of the launch and the baffled Clancy.

Lennie outlined the plan of cam paign; anchor launch, slake thirst, spend an hour ashore with guns, and return to launch with bag.

The anchor went down and the party landed—less Clancy, who stated he was not going to hunt pigeons “at all, at all.” He was warned against any excessive open ing of the refrigerator door, and the others disappeared into the bush All was silent for an hour and then the party returned with empty bags.

It was now that Lennie showed his qualities as a leader. Shot-guns were transferred from Taubadas to cook-boys, and the latter told to get busy. Lennie then poured the drinks Clancy was busy with an empty

shot-gun cartridge, a knife and a spare .303 round found in the bottom of the launch tool-box. These operations were viewed with some apprehension, and Clancy was re quested to move forward in isolation it being agreed a glass would be passed to him as, and when, re quired.

THE day passed pleasantly, with an occasional shot sounding from the bush, in good time, • e cook-boys returned with a siezable bag.

Jock’s boy produced a tangled °* feath .ers, flesh and bone n ? aintai ned, represented two fella pigeon. When asked for a? explanation, he stoutly argued S}?* J l6 , had shot to instructions.

His Taubada had been most in sistent that he “no losem” anv cartridge, so he had only fired when a kill was certain.

Jock was warned that extreme parsimony of this kind would not be tolerated on future occasions Ciancy now declared for home and produced the result of his labours for inspection. He had cut * k°le in the end of the shot-gun c H. tlld S 0 and placed the base of a .303 round through this hole, filling the space between the inner side or the shot-gun cartridge and the outer side of the .303 with wet j? ape V’ firmly rammed. It looked a formidable projectile, and the bird &h,?9ri^rs e^ed it with alarm.

Tis a croc I’ll be shooting on the way home. Faith, I’ll borrow your gun, Lennie.’’ (Clancv’s eun was of the gas-pipe variety)

(Continued on Page 60)

croc leaped like William Tell’s apple

A tangled mass of feathers

Illustrations by Bill Gill.

“No!” Lennie‘s firing-pin was a bit worn and might not detonate the charge.

“How about Bruce’s?” Bruce, who owned a fancy Greener, neither made excuses nor strove to be polite.

“Not on your blanky life,” he said.

Jock “didna wish to appear unco canny like the ithers but, mon, ‘twas no his gun, but one he had borrowed from the Sergeant of Polis, and he felt obleeged to take guid care of it. He’d maybe have to make good any defects and he couldna afford”...

Lennie moved that Jock be no longer heard. Carried, with Jock dissenting.

Resignedly, Clancy picked up his gas-pipe without more ado, moved forward and proceeded to load. “I’ll be having a practice go,” said he.

Hastily, the others dissuaded him.

Noise would disturb the crocs, and so no shooting on the way home.

May not be another .303 round to

make a new projectile. Etc., ei Lennie closed the discussion opening the refrigerator. There w; an element of greatness in Lennc The launch was soon homewas bound, with the hunters comfortaH ensconced “below.”

Soon, the native coxswain pok his head over the coaming and at nounced —“Big fellow wallegoa stop.”

There was a momentary rush climb top-side and see. But it v Clancy’s moment, and he mov forward with gun and ammunitiu Quietly, as ordered by Lennie, t engine was slowed and the laun edged into the bank. Clancy pla» his back against the mast, a steadied fo” action. The engine di to a whisper, Clancy raised his g; took a steady aim and then — AT any time, .303 ammunitj carries a powerful charge s is normally fired from world’s best rifle. Jock’s predeces had been a keen rifleman s possessed the latest sporting Enfield. He had also acquiree brand of ammunition with a spe; charge for shooting crocodiles, : it was a stray round of this t Clancy had found in the tool If During the excitement of sig ing the croc, Clancy had b careful to pick up, unnotti Bruce’s full-choke Greener. Br recognised his gun as Clancy fir The launch hesitated for an stant, from the recoil; the b reverberated up and down the rij and an old grey shag, which fished off that same mangr stump for years and years fi himself madly skywards and flap away—Lennie reported three moi later that he recognised the fellow on the fairway buoy Thursday Island —he had becorn New Australian.

Smoke eddied around Cla* Bruce danced and howled. Jock Lennie cursed crew-boys, ClaE crocs, the brand of rum they been drinking and themselves,, ever going to sea.

Recovering somewhat, grabbed Bruce —who appea, hysterical—held him firmly searched for wounds.

“Where are you hit?” as Lennie.

“I’m not hit,” screeched Brut “Whyinell all this fuss, therr “That blanky Sinn-Feiner used my gun!” He was shooeo to cool down and examine his which Lennie passed back to K The croc lay on the mud wi nasty wound in its side—dead! was eventually roped and ha

alongside, and triumphantly towed home bv the launch.

Much honour and glory came Clancv’s way, over this, but it was Sited 7 that when later shooting parties included Clancy, every one made sure there were no stray .303 rounds lying around, while Bruce showed a tendency to keep his “Greener” in its velvet case and close at hand.