One Saturday morning, I rode out to Skippys' place for somethin' to do. Kevin was workin' on a piece of machinery when I arrived. As I pulled up in his yard, skidding the back wheel side-ways, he gave me his usual greeting,
"G'day Yorky, ya bastard! How ya goin' mate?"
"G'day Skippy. What ya up to?"
"Just fixin' up this bastard water pump mate. What you doin' out here?"
"Not much. I just rode out to see ya for somethin' to do."
I noticed an old single-shot 22 rifle lying on a work bench over in the corner.
"Who does that dusty 22 lying on the bench?"
"Fucked if I know. I think someone left it here, years ago."
"Can I have it?"
"What the hell would ya want that old thing for?
"I can make a pistol out of it. That way, I can carry it on mi bike and shoot one-handed."
"You'll end up shootin' ya bloody foot off mate!"
"No, I won't Skippy. Can I have it or not?"
"Yeh, I suppose so, but if ya blow a hole in ya foot it's not my fault, alright?"
"Good on ya mate. Can I borrow ya pipe-cutters?"
"Jesus Christ.", he said with a smile. "I suppose you'll be wantin' a box of 22s' to go with it?"
"No thanks mate but a saw would come in real handy."
"Have a look under that work-bench. All the tools are there."
Once I had the right tools, I took the stock off the old 22. I sawed off the stock just in front of the screw-hole that fastened the stock to the barrel. With a piece of sandpaper, I shaped the wood till it looked like an old flintlock pistols' butt. When this was done, I put the rifle barrel into the vice and marked it at 8 inches. Then I took the pipe-cutter and carefully twisted it around the steel barrel, tightening it as I went. When the barrel was cut all the way through, I took a file and knocked off the bit of burr around the bore. After screwing the stock back into place, the pistol was complete. It was not the fanciest pistol that was ever made but it would ride in mi belt, no problem at all.
Once it was finished, I said to Skippy,
"How d'ya like it mate?"
"Streuth! That's not bad Yorky. Don't let Sarg Montgomery catch ya with it or you'll be behind bars with those local abbos! There's a box of bullets in the glove box of that ute. Go grab 'em and we'll try it out."
The pistol was a bolt-action single shot. I set up a couple of tin cans, 30 feet away and Kevin loaded the pistol.
"Look out Yorky!", he said and let fly with the pistol.
CRACK! He missed the can by 10 feet.
"Bring the can closer Yorky 'cause it's not too accurate at that distance."
We messed around with the pistol for about half an hour before we found the most accurate range which was about 15 feet.
"Jesus! 15 feet's not much. If ya git that close to a roo, you'll be able to hit it on the head with the gun butt! You'll probably git more roos that way!"
After lunch, I left Skippys' place and rode back into the Lake. Gary Breaneys' house was on the left-hand side, so I swung into his driveway. He was on the back veranda when I pulled in, sat in a sun chair. His mother had just brought him out a cold drink.
"G'day Yorky.", he said. "How're ya goin' mate?"
"Not bad Gary. What ya' doin'?"
"Not too much mate. The Lake's a dead place on Saturday afternoons."
"D'ya want a cold drink Richard?, Garys' mother said to me.
"If ya don't mind, Mrs' Breaney."
She poured me a drink from the large jug that was packed with ice-cubes. Then she disappeared back inside the house.
"Are ya up for a bit a fun?", I asked him.
"Doin' what? There's bugger-all to do on Saturdays except play Aussie rules and it's too warm for that today."
"Let's go for a ride on the bike."
"Where to?"
"Just along the Condo road. We can try out mi new gun!"
"What gun? I don't see no rifle."
"It's under mi shirt."
"What d'ya mean?", he said, looking somewhat confused.
"It's here!", I said as I lifted the front of mi shirt.
When he saw the pistol butt, it brought him back to life!
"Where did ya git that from Yorky?"
"I just made it."
"Give us a look at it."
"Not here mate. If ya mother sees it, she won't be too happy about it."
"Alright mate, let's go!"
"Back soon!", he called out to his mother as I started the bike.
"Jump on mate. We're out-a here!"
Out of his driveway and left up the main street we rode. Off the bitumen and onto the main Condo dirt road, we flew in a cloud of red dust.
"There's a cockys' paddock up ahead.", screamed Gary, over my shoulder. "I know him. He won't mind us goin' in for a shot."
Once the large steel gate was opened and closed, I gave Gary the pistol.
"Shit Yorky! This is a real beauty. Ya did a pretty good job of cuttin' it down. Ya got any bullets?"
"Yeah, here. I bought a box off Skippy this morning?"
The Cockys' paddock was not too densely covered with mali. We would have to be careful 'cause there were lots' of dead trees, low hanging branches and sharp pointy stumps.
"Alright mate.", I said. "Load her up but don't cock it till we see something. Pull the pin back and hold the gun up in the air. That way, we won't have an accident."
I put mi Honda into first gear and we pulled away slowly from the gate.
"There should be a few roos out in the middle where those shade trees are!", I called to him. "We'll head out that way!"
The paddock was rougher than it looked so I had to be careful not to get a stick caught in the spokes or puncture a tire. We's been riding around for about 45 minutes when Gary called out,
"There's a mob of Emus' over near the fence."
"I can see 'em.", I said. "We'll ride across the paddock and down the fence. That way they'll run down parallel with it. If we chase 'em from here, they'll stick their heads down and crash through the fence."
"Let's go!", said Gary. "They've heard us talking."
Once we got level with the fence again, I called out to him,
"Hang on tight mate! Here we go!!"
I revved the Honda 90 through the gears into third. The speedo was touching 40 now. 'CLUNK', down into fourth it went and I opened the throttle full up. The fenceposts were whizzing past now as we rode like hell along the one-lane bush track. There were some large sharp rocks sticking out in places so I had to keep a good eye out. The Emus were now going flat out down the fence line as I expected. They were running, one after each other. Their massive strong legs pounded the dirt track as their huge scaly feet kicked up small stones behind them.
"We're gaining on 'em!", screamed Gary over my shoulder.
"Put your right arm over my shoulder mate.", I yelled, with mi head half-turned. "Keep the pistol well in front of me 'cause I don't want deafening!"
The old Honda was now flat as a strap and the needle was bouncing between 50 and 55.
"Don't shoot till I tell ya mate! Wait till they're off to the side!"
We were now only 50 feet behind them and gaining on them fast!
"All right mate.", I yelled, "Let 'em have it!"
'BOOM!!!', Gary let fly with the pistol. A flame about 12 inches long, shot out of the barrel.
'BOOM!!!', He'd reloaded from the bullets he was carrying in his mouth. The Emus pulled out all stops now.
A few seconds later and we were right up the arse of a big, cranky Emu.
"Not yet mate!", I yelled. "He's too close! If he falls over, we'll go right over the top of him!"
'BOOM!!!', Gary didn't listen to me. He hit the grizzly old Emu with the next shot. The Emu fell arse over head in front of us. There was no time to vere off so I slammed on the brakes in a cloud of dust. The next thing I knew, we were both flying over the handlebars!
"OHHH SHIT!!!!, I roared as we landed on top of the pissed-off Emu! All I remember was feathers and dust as we tried to scramble away from the Emu. One good kick from him and we would have been dead! The Emu had somewhat regained his feet. His head and neck were through the fence as he kicked like hell to get his huge, strong body on the other side.
Mi good bike was over on its' side and the motor was revving like hell. Gary was trying to regain his feet as I saw the Emus' legs kicking towards mi bike now!
"Get the bike out the way!", I screamed. "Or he'll kick the shit out of it!"
We scrambled over to the bike and pulled it out of range of his massive kicks, before he smashed it to pieces.
"Where's the pistol?", I yelled, as I limped back out of range miself.
"I dunno. It flew out of mi hand when we hit him."
"He's getting away!", I said, as the big, old Emu scrambled through the fence.
