Dan’s horse snorted and, came back on his haunches, remaining so for an appreciable space of time, sitting up, glaring at the curious monster with dilated eyes and inflated nostrils, and Dan clung to the nag’s neck and glared too, even more astonished than his horse.

Never had Dan Reynolds beheld such an animal, never had he heard of its like, the horror of it out did all the fabled bunyips and Tantanoola tigers he had ever dreamed of.  It was loathsome in its ugliness, capering there in the dust, brandishing a whisky bottle in the air, and uttering quaint, half-human yells and strangest feature of all, Reynolds noticed that it wore high, piratical hoots, coming well above the knee.

Dan uttered a yell of mortal fear, Dan’s horse gave a snort of terror, and bounding forward bolted at top speed down the track, rattled over the bridge, and dashed into Peter’s yard, tearing down a gate and upsetting a water-butt in his rash flight, and Dan clung to his neck all the way, to be brushed off when the terrified steed climbed into the stable over half the door.

The racket brought rush of men from Peter’s bar.  They gathered Dan Reynolds out of the garbage, and carried him into the kitchen.  After a long beer Dan was able to describe the bunyip he had seen in the moonlight on the One Tree Road.

Costello said it was a true jim-jam; he knew the breed well.  He asked to be put on to the brand of whisky Reynolds had been drinking.

“Jim-jam, be jiggered!” cried Reynolds.  “By ripes, I ought t’ kno a jim-jam when I see one, I’ve met plenty.  Tell yeh, I’m ez sober ez a turtle, an’ I seen bin with me own naked eyes, not three yards off, jumpin’ round on th’ road, howlin’ somthin’ awful an’ shakin’ a bottle in the air.”

Peters thought it might be a bunyip.  He had heard of a bunyip in Pig Creek.

Then Watkins had an inspiration “By gum,” he cried, “I know what!” He turned eagerly to Reynolds. “’Bout my height was it?” he said, “with reddish hair all ever him, an’ long arms reachin’ to his feet almost?”

Reynolds nodded, “Yes, yes,” he said, “it’s Perfessor Thunder’s Missin’ Link from the show up back o’ the school.  I was in there—­I seen him.  He’s a terrible-lookin’ big monkey, next to a man.  The show’s closed, an’ the Perfessor’s’ bin huntin’ all over th’ place after some-thin’.  That’s what—­it’s his Missini’ Link fer a quid.”

Reynolds gave further explanations, there was more excited talk, and then Watkins suggested an expedition to capture the monster.

“You can bet the showman ‘ll be glad to pay a bit t’ have him back.  He mus’ be scared about losin’ him, else he wouldn’t have kep’ it dark.  It’ll be a lark, an’ it means drinks round at least.”

So it came about that a party, armed with guns and club and carrying strong ropes, started out from the Bridge Inn, under the guidance of Dan Reynolds, to capture the Missing Link, supposed to be at large in the vicinity of McCarthy’s paddock.