BURT, THE AXE-WIELDING MADMAN © ~ Part 4 ~ CHAPTER 3

     While we were up in the mali paddock chopping up stumps and small trees, Old Burt was in a foul mood.
"Be careful with that axe handle! You've already put a couple of nicks in it!"
"I'm being as careful as I can be Burt. I can't do any more than my best!"
"You're a useless bastard that's why! Not only are ya a useless bastard, you're a useless pommy bastard!"
"What about you Burt? Let's talk about you for a change!"
"What about me?", he said in an angry, defensive way.
"Well, it seems really funny to me, 'cause we're really very much alike, you and I."
"What d'ya mean by that?"
"You think I'm a useless pommy bastard right?"
"Right first time mate!"
"And I think you're a useless Aussie bastard!"
"WHAT!", he roared. "What did you say?"
"You heard me."

     By this time old Burt had steam hissing out of his big hairy ears. He gave the tree a big blow with his axe and all of a sudden, without warning, the axe-head broke off the handle.
"Grand streuth! Fuck me pink! That's your fault, ya pommy bastard!"
     Now he was really pissed so he pulled a long piece of bailing string out of his pocket and tried to bind the handle back together again.
"Here, give me your axe. This broken handled one is good enough for a pommy!"
     The first time I swung the axe, a big splinter tore a hole in mi right hand first finger.
"Shit!", I cursed out loud.
"Now what's the matter with the windging pommy?"
"There's nothing wrong with me. You're the one who broke the axe-handle!"
"You trying to tell me I'm a useless bastard, are ya?"
"Yeh! You're as useless as you say I am."
"Alright ya pommy fucking bastard. You tell me one thing that you can do better than me!"
     After a couple of seconds, I said,
"Alright Burt, I can play a trumpet much better than you can and you'll never be able to play a trumpet as long as your arsehole points to the ground mate!"
     Burts' face went deep purple now and the veins in his neck were just about to pop. The sun was beating down really hot now and through the smoke and haze of the fires I could still make out Burts' distorted features.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!", he roared at the top of his voice. "I'll fucking kill you ya pommy bastard!", he said as he lifted the large sharp bush axe above his head.

     'Uh Oh!', I heard my inner voice say. 'Now you've really done it! You've pushed a big button this time! If I was in your boots I'd start running for my life, mate!'

     As soon as Burt took one step in my direction, I took 10 fast steps in the opposite direction. Off I ran as fast as I could go towards the Bush, which was about 100 yards away.
     As I ran flat out across the soft Mali red dirt it was very hard to get some traction on mi boots. I ran around some of the smoking fires, hoping I would give him the slip in the gray, billowing Bush smoke but when I looked over my shoulder, he was gaining on me like a mad, hungry roo dog!
     I jumped clean over one small fire and then over a couple of big old logs, looking over my shoulder very quickly. Again old Burt was still hot on mi tail. His slanty eyes were now wide open and bulging just like a big bullfrogs' and he had foam and saliva running out of the corners of his tightly stretched mouth.

      Faster and faster I ran across the paddock. I had a big pain in mi chest as mi breath was violently being sucked in and out. I only had about 20 yards to go now as I headed for the thickest part of the scrub I could see. I now knew how a big, old gray roo felt with an arse full of buckshot.

     Old Burt started to roar again when he realized I'd outrun him, which under the circumstances was not surprising.
"Ya pommy bastard! I'll fucking split ya in two when I get a good swing at ya!"
     I did not waste my breath trying to answer him because my heart and head were pounding with pain as the breath came in loud raspy gasps. The next second, mi right boot hit hard ground as I threw misen headlong through the dense scrub. Some of the thorny bushes ripped mi shirt and tore at my bare arms but it made no difference. I slowed down very little as I pushed the low hanging branches out of mi way.
"Come back here ya useless pommy bastard!", Burt roared from the edge of the Mali where he'd finally given up the chase.
     I was in such a state of fear and dread that I even pissed misen a little bit but I pressed on into the Bush till I felt like I was safe, away from Burt.
"You'll have to come out of the scrub before the day's out mate and when ya do, I'll git ya!"
     My breathing was still deep and raspy so I just crouched behind a Wattle bush and watched old Burt rant and rave from a safe distance.

     'Now what do I do?', I thought. 'If I stay in the scrub I'll more than likely die of thirst.' By now I was really dry and thirsty. 'If I go back to the Mali Paddock old Burt will kill me!'

     The only thing left for me to do now as to have a good cry, then I could think straight again and maybe I could work out how I was going to get myself out of the bind I was now in.

     I spent about 2 hours in the scrub watching old Burt in the distance as he wailed away with the axe at an old box-tree stump. It would be dark soon enough and old Burt would hop in the Ute, with his dogs in the back and leave me in the Bush, on mi own, all night with no food or water.
     Thirsty as I was, I had no intention of coming out of the Mali. I could probably survive for another day with no water if I kept still but I would not survive for 24 seconds with an axe sticking out of mi head!
     Finally, the sun went down and old Burt made his way back over to where I was hiding,
"Ya better come out now mate. It's time to go home."
"Fuck you Burt! You're gonna kill me with that axe!"
"I've cooled down now. I'm sorry about that."

     Now, I was close to tears again when Burt said he was sorry because I now knew he was a sick man and not in full control of his faculties.

"Come on Richard, let's forget all about it. Ya can even smoke while ya work, long as ya don't slack off."
'Ya promise ya won't kill me if I come out?", I yelled at him.
"Alright, I promise. I'll not hurt ya mate. Come on, hurry up or the missus will get worried about us being late."

     He sounded his normal, miserable self now so I decided to walk out of the scrub. When I got a few feet away from him he said,
"Ya wanna go to a tennis match with me on Sunday arvo?"
"Alright.", I said.
"There'll be some boys ya own age there. You'll have a good time with 'em."
     We walked off across the paddock together, back to his Ute. On the way home we never spoke a word to each other and when we got back to the house Kay came out and said,
"Where have you two been? Ya late! I was worried about ya. We're having rabbit stew for dinner tonight and after we'll have some homemade ice cream."

     The next time I went to town, I happened to tell someone about Burt chasing me with the axe and before long, the story was all over the town. To this day, it is well known around Lake Cargelligo that Yorky, the new Chumi from Yorkshire, was the only bloke ever to outrun old Burt Booth, off the football field.