Eye of the Eagle

Gudup fell to his knees ... He saw the red of blood mixing with the black skin of his people and he knew fear. He flopped on his stomach as the scene hammered his mind. This couldn’t be happening. And yet it was. Who were these spirits ... The spirit again performed the ritual on the stick. It took only moments but it was powerful magic. Gudap watched, frozen with shock. And what did they want? What had his people done to deserve this? The people’s cries fled into the ground, washed there by the gush of their blood. The ghosts stopped hacking. They sat upright and looked around. Gudap melted into the rocks. What was he to do? Where could he go? What would happen ...?

Cover painting by Sue Wyatt.

Ron Bunney was born in Geraldton, Western Australia. He worked as a farmer, a salesman and a crayfisherman, and has travelled widely throughout Australia. He was a joint winner in a competition for a television script held during the Year of the Child (1979) by the Teacher’s Union of WA, and has worked on a number of series for children’s television, including Falcon Island

Photograph by Les Webb.

EYE OF THE

EAGLE RON BUNNEY

FREMANTLE ARTS CENTRE PRESS

First published 1995 by FREMANTLE ARTS CENTRE PRESS 193 South Terrace (PO Box 320), South Fremantle Western Australia 6162. Copyright © Ron Bunney, 1995. This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher. Consultant Editor Alwyn Evans. Designed by John Douglass. Production Coordinator Linda Martin. Typeset in Goudy Old Style by Fremantle Arts Centre Press and printed on 81gsm Domtone Antique by Mercury Press, Western Australia. National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-publication data Bunney, Ron, 1929 -. Eye of the eagle. ISBN 1 86368 126 4. I. Title. A823.3 Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the relevant copyright, designs and patents acts, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publisher. eBooks Corporation

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author gratefully acknowledges the detailed and extremely helpful advice of Lynda Ryder, of the Pilbara Intjibarndi people, and Bob Tonkinson, Professor of Anthropology at the University of Western Australia, in the preparation of Eye of the Eagle. Background information for Eye of the Eagle came from Bruce Elder, Blood on the Wattle: Massacres and Maltreatment of Australian Aborigines (Child & Associates, 1988). The State of Western Australia has made an investment in this project through the Department for the Arts. Australia

Council for the Arts

Publication of this title was assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.

CHAPTER 1

G

udap stirred. It wasn’t the cold, although that was penetrating enough. Hunger? Something had woken him. Something more sensed than heard. His thoughts came together. It had been the chirruping of birds. Why were they on the move so early? Disturbed perhaps? If so by what? Gudap’s extended family group had been forced by diminishing food resources to travel west. Prolonged dry weather had gradually shrunk the springs and waterholes in their traditional area. It had become harder and harder to find and hunt the animals and birds that normally made up a large part of their diet. Insects, grubs and edible roots were no longer plentiful. The group as a whole had come to know the pangs of an often empty belly. At first it had been a leisurely following of the traditional walk trails, maintaining a general westerly direction, then their movements became forced marches as conditions became more and more harsh. The drought was affecting a wider and wider area.

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Water had to be searched for. In the mornings the men, led by the Elders, sang the chants that told of landmarks, indicators to a seldom-visited native well, or a well-concealed reservoir of precious liquid. Gradually the bush had begun to improve. It had become more obvious that some rains had penetrated this far. Rains that had never reached their own country to the east. Finally, as night loomed, they had come to a long pool in an otherwise dry riverbed. The river snaked from the north-east to the south-west. Tracks indicated that animals and birds drank from the pool. The group’s spirits lifted. Their bellies would again know food. The group had settled for the night in a nearby curved ‘bight’ in a line of breakaway country. As soon as possible, contact would be made with local groups who traditionally belonged to the area and the usual courtesies would be observed. They would understand this intrusion on their territory. It was a two-way law. The time could come when those living here might need similar assistance. Gudap lifted his head. The birds — he was sure they had been cockatoos — had flown into the circular natural clearing and zoomed up onto the breakaway. He listened. Another soft chirrup floated on the moist air. The flock had roosted. Again the thought, why had they shifted so early? The grey of pre-dawn was materialising rocks and trees from the blackness of night. Gudap looked around him. The group’s fires had sunk to ash and coals. The three other boys within the meagre brush windbreak had wriggled closer to their small fires. Faint stirrings

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from the rest of the group indicated the restlessness that comes from cold, hunger and early morning. Gudap’s stomach knotted. For the past few days the group had pushed on. There had not been time to gather or hunt the sparse offerings. Now, having found the large pool, there would be time to hunt and gather. His hand groped for his throwing sticks. He had two. His uncle had shown him how to shape them. They were a little heavy for him but his arm was getting stronger and his aim was good. He was too young to be a real hunter but he had often followed the men. He observed and learned. He longed for the day when he would be initiated and take his place among them. He still spent days with the women and younger children when they went on their gathering forays, but more and more he had begun to follow his father. This morning felt different. He would hunt this f lock of birds on his own. His totem, the eagle, dreamed for him by his father at the time of his birth, had sent them and woken him with their passing. If he roused the group the flock might become alarmed and again take flight. No, it was to be his day. At last he would contribute something that the group badly needed. The summer-dead grass was damp beneath his feet. It bent and did not crackle. The bowed branches caressed his bare skin as he passed. He was a shadow among shadows. Gudap picked his way between the boulders that had cracked off the rock face in the past and tumbled

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down the slope. Each emerged from the lifting darkness like a silent sentinel. He wound his way through them and moved effortlessly upwards to the lip of the breakaway. He slid over the edge. A peeved chatter grated the air as one bird jostled another. Gudap’s ears told him where they were. The light continued to reveal things. A tree changed from grey to green. It was taller than those around it. Cockatoos lined its boughs like plump white fruit. He chose his favourite throwing stick. A shift in position, a little closer and he would hurl the stick along the bough. It would knock down several birds. His second stick would follow as swiftly, its twirling ends would scythe through the birds as they sprang to flight. His arm was poised. He froze. A noise hacked through the moist air. A noise such as he had never heard before. It chilled his blood. Despite its weirdness he instinctively knew it was an animal noise. It was followed by another that came from the throat of a man. Both were unintelligible. ‘Hit them!’ Gudap swung around and stared down into the clearing. The group also had heard. They were struggling to their feet, their movements unsteady and slowed by sleep. Soft cries of bewilderment rose to alarm as fearsome creatures thudded from the dawn. Man-shaped beings, as white of face as departed spirits, were on the backs of huge dogs. The men pointed sticks at the group. The sticks belched fire and thunder. People began screaming and crying. The smoking sticks were thrust into pouches on the shoulders of the dogs and strangely shaped shiny spears appeared in the ghost-men’s hands. The 10

monster dogs were then among the people and the spirits hacked and stabbed with the short spears. Grunts of effort mingled with thuds and the screams from his people. Gudap fell to his knees and crouched on the lip of the breakaway. He saw the red of blood mixing with the black skin of his people and he knew fear. He flopped on his stomach as the scene hammered his mind. This couldn’t be happening. And yet it was. Two men broke from the struggling mass and raced towards the breakaway. They headed towards the opposite side of the clearing. Gudap recognised them as his uncle, Tiwarra, and his cousin, Pungala. The leader of the ghosts also spotted them. It wheeled its massive dog and pounded after them. The rise, dotted as it was with chunks of capstone, was steep. The dog laboured. The spirit hauled it to a stop and leapt to the ground. It raised its thunder stick and pointed it at the climbing Tiwarra. The stick belched fire. Blood and flesh jumped from his back. He pitched forward on his face and slid feet first down the slope. Pungala saw his father fall beside him. He hesitated, then scrambled harder to reach the top of the breakaway. The spirit stood its thunder stick on end and began a swift ritual on it. It put medicine in it, pulled pieces off it and rammed them down the end. The ritual was done as though from long practice. Pungala reached the last vertical metre or so of orange capstone. He clawed with his fingers, dug in his toes and hauled himself over the edge. He lurched upright.

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The spirit finished its ritual on the thunder stick. It put it to its shoulder and pointed it at Pungala. The stick thundered and spat fire and smoke. Blood jumped from the small of Pungala’s back and flesh sprayed from the top of his chest. He screamed once and pitched forward on his face. One foot dangled over the edge of the capstone. It twitched, then hung still. The spirit again performed the ritual on the stick. It took only moments but it was powerful magic. Gudap watched, frozen with shock. The ritual completed, the spirit kept the stick in one hand and sprang back onto the huge dog. It pulled it around with thick strings in its mouth and urged it back towards the camp. Gudap saw his older sister, Imalla, dodge the mayhem in the camp and run towards the entrance of the clearing. The white spirit spotted her. It wheeled its dog and pounded after her. It guided the dog alongside and struck her on the back of the head with the butt end of its thunder stick. She sprawled to the ground. The spirit leapt off the dog. It pulled strings from off its back and tied Imalla’s hands behind her. The people’s cries fled into the ground, washed there by the gush of their blood. The ghosts stopped hacking. They sat upright and looked around. Gudap melted onto the rocks. The spirits got down from their huge dogs. The people’s spears, throwers and nulla-nullas had been stacked around the trunk of a tree. The white beings gathered them by the armful. One of the fires was rekindled and all the group’s

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hunting tools were thrown on it. Hours, days, weeks of patient toil were destroyed in minutes. When the last spear was in the hungry flames, the spirits climbed back onto their dogs and rode away. Imalla stumbled behind the leader’s dog. There was a worm of blood down the centre of her back. A thick string ran from her neck to the spirit’s hand. Gudap heard its voice but could not understand the strange sounds. ‘Well done, men. That’s another lot of vermin done away with.’ The boy lay still for long moments. His chest, stomach and limbs hugged the cold damp rock. He saw the beings disappear downstream along the river bank to the south-west. There were as many as the fingers on one hand. When the fear finally left his limbs, the boy released his limpet hold on the ground. He climbed down and walked back into the camp. The smell of death was strong. A wash of sunlight painted the scene with a brush dipped in red. Gudap had difficulty in accepting what his eyes were seeing. Of the group of twenty-five, no one moved. His foot hit something that rolled soggily. He looked down. It was the head of his younger brother, Coora. His father, mother, all were dead. His favourite uncle lay on his back, a massive hole in his chest. His aunt lay face down, a fearsome wound angled across the back of her neck and shoulder. Blood still oozed from the terrible cut. The smooth black of her skin was covered with fat worms of red that were already thickening, darkening.

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Gudap was about to turn away when he checked. His aunt’s body had moved slightly. He bent, seized her arm and pulled her over onto her back. She was not breathing. Her eyes were as blank as those of a speared kangaroo. Sorrow welled in Gudap’s chest. His eyes watered and he felt the urge to cry out his grief. He clamped his mouth shut. Who knew from how far away the spirits might hear? A movement, big enough for him to notice through his tears, caught his attention. The kangaroo skin cloak beneath his aunt’s body had moved. He jerked it aside. Yudang was spread-eagled beneath. She opened her mouth to scream. Gudap clapped his hand over her mouth and pressed. He put his face by her ear. His soft voice was edged with fear. ‘Cry not, Yudang. The spirits might hear and come back and kill us.’ The younger girl stiffened, finally nodded. Gudap took his hand away. The girl sat up. She looked about her. Tears flowed and she jammed the side of her hand in her mouth to stop her wails of grief. Gudap seized her arm and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come, we must get away from here. Before they come back.’ He started to pull her towards the open mouth of the clearing. He paused as they were about to pass the fire. The flames had fallen and the hafts of a few spears lay beyond the red-hot coals. He bent and picked up two. They were about the length of his arm but the ends had burnt to a point. ‘We will take these. For digging sticks.’ Yudang made no comment. It was almost as though she was deaf and speechless. Death in the camp had

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numbed her. It was beyond comprehension. Gudap bunched the spear ends with his throwing sticks and pulled Yudang forward again. He walked to the bank of the river and turned in the opposite direction to that taken by the spirits. Upstream led roughly to the north-east. The two children drank at the pool but stopped no longer. Terror prodded them. They fled. Better to be gnawed by hunger than slashed by the spirits of the dead.

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CHAPTER 2

A

high sun was beaming down on the children by the time they stopped at another pool. They had walked a long way. The sand in the riverbed was loose and deep, washed clean by previous flows. It was fortunate that these flows had gouged the occasional deep hole. Some would hold water right through the summer. Still numb from shock they huddled together beneath a tree on the bank and silently grieved for their families. It was almost too much to accept. Why were the spirits angry? Why had they turned against them? Hunger finally dragged them from despair. Or rather, the need to eat forced them into purposeful movement. The pool was ringed with bullrushes. Gudap and Yudang waded into the water and began searching among the rushes for fresh shoots. They didn’t find many. The rushes had already been extensively harvested and the majority of those left were old

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and tough. It was the young white-to-green shoots they wanted. They found a few and ate them. It eased their hunger pangs. Then Yudang flushed a tortoise. She hadn’t been thinking of them or she would have been watching for the telltale bubbles, or waiting patiently for a small round head to bob to the surface. Her mind was still numbed by what had happened to her people. The sudden movement in the mud by her foot jerked her back. She was again an instinctive gatherer. She ducked beneath the surface and spotted the reptile swimming off through the reed stems. She lunged after it and clamped her hand around its throat. She surfaced and broke its neck with a quick twist. It was small but it was food. The children waded from the water and quickly collected dry twigs for a fire. It was when he came to light it that Gudap realised how alone they were. Normally one of the women carried a firestick. If that went out the men usually started a fire by twirling one stick against another. Gudap had watched them do it often enough but had only done it a few times by himself. ‘Can you do it?’ Yudang asked. ‘Have to.’ ‘How will we start?’ Gudap looked around. ‘We’ll need two pieces of wood. One hard, one soft.’ ‘People have been here. Many. Or a few for a long time.’ ‘How can you tell?’ ‘There is little food left in the pool.’

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Gudap nodded. Yudang was right. He should have noticed. A thought intruded. ‘Then there must be a living place nearby.’ Once aware and knowing what to search for, the children soon tracked down the camp site. It looked as though it had been used for a lengthy period by a small group. It didn’t have the marks of a large gathering as for harvest or ceremonial activities. The fireplaces were cold but they did find a discarded stone knife and several pieces of soft wood. The knife was old and blunt but Gudap thought he might be able to chip it sharp again. He had seen his father do it many times. Yudang collected and teased some fibres of dry bark and grass. She lay them on the ground and Gudap placed one of the pieces of soft wood on them. The wood had a natural notch part way along its length. He placed the pointed end of one of their digging sticks in the hollow. The girl held the bottom piece of wood steady and Gudap began twirling the piece that had been a spear shaft between his palms. He kept at it until he thought his arms would melt. The wood became hot and began to smoke. Yudang pushed some grass against the hot spot and blew on it. Gudap kept twirling. His palms got sore and his arms ached. The smoke increased and a tiny flame suddenly speared through the haze. The girl pushed more teased bark and grass over the tiny flame. It grew. They had a fire. In minutes they had a cheery blaze. They fed it. The thicker twigs and branches would soon burn down to

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a bed of coals. Yudang lay the tortoise on its back in the flames. Gudap studied the knife. He selected two other bigger stones and, using one as a hammer and the other as an anvil, struck the edge of the knife with short glancing blows. Several chips flew off. It was very roughly done but it left an irregular sharp edge on one side. It made the knife even smaller. It was now more of a hand-held cutting edge than a knife. Yudang plucked the tortoise from the flames and Gudap made an incision under the neck. Yudang pulled out the intestines, and while she cleaned out the larger ones Gudap placed the tortoise belly down on the coals. As soon as the intestines were clean, Yudang tossed them back onto the coals. They quickly crisped into something like roasted chicken skin. The girl lifted them off with a green twig, roughly halved them and the children quickly ate them. They were delicious but only made them more hungry. As the tortoise was small, they knew it wouldn’t take long to cook. Even so the delay teased their hunger. Yudang turned the carcase onto its back to allow it to cook through. They managed to wait another ten minutes or so then Gudap lifted the tortoise from the coals. He lay it on its back and cut around the plastron where it joined onto the carapace. He lifted the plastron clear to leave all the meat in the natural bowl of the back. He then cut the meat loose from the shell and divided it in half. The children ate it while it was hot. It was delicious. They each drank half of the juices caught in the 19

carapace. Even the head was chopped and chewed. Their hunger stilled, the children lay in the mottled shade of the eucalyptus trees and slept. Or tried to. Visions of white-faced spirits hacked through their minds and twisted sleep into nightmares. Mid-afternoon they abandoned the attempt to rest and went back to the pool. They searched long and hard but could not find another tortoise. They did find a few edible rushes and dug some corms from their bases. They made a meagre meal. Gudap stoked the fire and they huddled by it as the sun went to sleep. It was a long night. The slightest noise made them start in fear. The fire should keep spirits away. Or so Gudap had been led to believe. The foundations of his beliefs trembled. The fires hadn’t done so at their previous camp.

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CHAPTER 3

A

t first light the children scoured the area for lizards or other small game. They found none. Many holes where lizards had lived had been dug out and were empty. Even bigger holes had been dug for yams. Gudap did manage to bring down two birds with his throwing sticks. They cooked them in the coals and ate them. As they sat over the fire Yudang voiced a troubling thought. ‘It is wrong to catch and gather so much from any one place.’ Gudap nodded. He knew what she meant. People moved progressively around their territory so as not to over-deplete any one area. Some plants and animals had to be left to build again for the next time. He pointed his chin and lips towards the pool. ‘There must be other pools along this river. It’s not because of drought that people have stayed in this place for so long.’ ‘What other reason could there be?’ Gudap shrugged. ‘Something strange is happening.’

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The children fell silent as thought pictures floated through their minds. Yudang finally broke the uneasy silence. ‘We’ll have to move. There’s nothing here.’ Gudap again nodded. ‘We’ll continue up the river. The spirits went the other way.’ Yudang shivered. ‘Let’s go now.’ Gudap gathered his throwing sticks and the two spear ends they used as digging sticks. He carried the small cutting stone in his other hand. Yudang selected a stick from the fire. It was nearly as thick as her wrist and it smouldered slowly on the end. She would periodically kindle a small fire from it before it died. As long as a tiny red coal remained it could be placed into a handful of tinder-dry grass or teased bark and blown back into life. She could replace it when it was exhausted. They set off. They travelled all day, mostly through the washed sand of the riverbed. They occasionally came to other pools but around each one the country had been stripped of game and edible plants. Yudang found a few old coarse plants and again caught a small tortoise. Gudap tried hard with his throwing sticks but the birds were wary and almost impossible to get near. The children were still hungry when they went to sleep that night. They clung to one another and huddled around the fire for warmth. In their imagination the spirits menaced them from the shadows beyond the reach of the light from the flames. Daylight found them moving again. They trudged up the dry riverbed, ever watchful for small game.

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Yudang carried a fresh firestick. Just before the high of the sun they heard people’s voices. They crept along the river bank and saw a small group of women and children gathering corms from the bullrushes around a long pool. Their black skins were shiny with water. Gudap and Yudang called and walked out into the open. The group were momentarily frightened then they smiled and welcomed the children. The women bubbled with questions. Where were the rest of their group? Why were they on their own? They knew each other’s words and kinship was soon established. Gudap and Yudang were of the same language group but belonged to a family group that normally lived much further to the east. When the children told the women of the terrible things that had happened to their families, they held them and wailed in grief. Gudap cried his anguish. ‘What did we do that made the spirits so angry with us?’ Murrawa, the oldest of the women, answered. ‘They are not spirits of the dead, they are men. Their skin is white. They have no women or children and they take our land.’ ‘The land is for all!’ ‘The white man has many strange animals. He brings them with him and says it’s his land and drives us off.’ ‘What about his fire and thunder sticks?’ ‘They call them guns. The white men kill and eat our kangaroos and possums and share nothing with us.’ ‘Is that why you’ve camped so long at the pools?’

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‘Yes. They’ve taken the grasslands where we used to hunt our kangaroos and emus.’ ‘He must share his animals then. It’s the law.’ ‘He thinks nothing of our laws. He breaks them. He has no shame.’ ‘Can’t the hunters just take our share of their animals?’ ‘We’ve heard stories of some who tried, further down the river. The white men killed them. Now they say he watches his animals by day. At night he puts a fence around them. He cuts bushes and piles them half-a-man high in a circle around them. He always keeps his gun close by.’ ‘The ones who killed our people rode on huge dogs.’ ‘They call them horses. You can’t outrun them.’ ‘D’you know their words?’ ‘We know a few of them. And they know a few of ours.’ ‘Have they eaten all the kangaroos?’ ‘Not all but many times many. The rest have moved away, just as we’ve had to move away to find food.’ ‘You’ve more territory?’ ‘That’s the trouble. We’re close to the end of it. Further up the river is Dapoori country. Big fierce men, the circumcised ones. They speak differently and it’s said they eat people.’ Gudap’s eyes flew wide in consternation. ‘Truly?’ ‘So they say. You can’t believe all you hear but who wants to go and find out?’ ‘Where will you go?’ ‘Ayeee, we don’t know.’

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Gudap and Yudang helped with the gathering. Like the others of the group they ate some corms and young bullrush shoots as they worked. Gudap saw some small fish in the water. The group, with Gudap and Yudang absorbed in their midst, returned to the camp. The men straggled in shortly afterwards. Their task was to catch the larger animals. The group feasted well when the hunt was good. The women supplied the vegetables and smaller game. Though less spectacular their gathering brought in the larger portion of the group’s food. Though they had ranged far, the men had again been unsuccessful. They had only a few dalgytes, lizards and birds. They were shared around but made a meagre meal for the group. The women’s gathering gave it substance. While the women cooked the day’s catch, the men sat in a line and worked on a fishing net they were making from woven plant fibre. As they worked the men quizzed Gudap. They wanted to know how far he had progressed towards his manhood, what initiation ceremonies he had passed. They wanted to know who his family were, his father, his grandmother and who her father was. Although distant, he was kin to them all. They were all Peenamurri, the overall grouping that spoke the same language. He told again of the massacre of his family group. ‘Someone must’ve speared some sheep. Or one of their shepherds.’ The one who spoke had the heavy muscled arms of a hunter. His name was Kuntaranta. ‘Our people had only just arrived.’ ‘It must’ve been someone from another group

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further down the river. It sounds as though your group was in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ ‘Why kill so many?’ Gudap understood the law of retribution. If another group killed one of your people, be it by spear or magic, it was right to kill that person or somebody closely related to even things up. In some cases a wounding was sufficient. But to kill everyone? Kuntaranta nodded. To kill a man for a man was necessary. ‘The white man is a savage. From the stories we hear, some of them ride their horses through the bush and kill whoever they can find.’ That night the two children felt more secure in the middle of their adopted family. They jerked and twitched a little less often in their sleep. In the morning the men and boys went to the long pool. The net was set across one end. Entering the pool at the opposite end, the men and boys worked the water as they went. They pushed and rolled leafy branches in front of them to drive the small fish towards the net. They were halfway along the pool when a white man rode up and paused on the bank. He shouted at the group in the water. ‘Get out! Get out of the water!’ The people stared at him. They couldn’t understand the words but they could see that he was angry. Why? They were simply fishing the pool as they had often done in the past. The white man waved his arms and shouted louder. ‘Get out! Get out of the water you black heathens!’

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Waist deep in the water the men fidgeted uneasily. What did the white man want? ‘Get out! I want to water my sheep!’ The man drew his gun from what looked like a long dillybag hanging from the shoulder of his horse. Kuntaranta, almost shoulder deep in the water and closest to the bank, spoke to the man on the horse above. ‘We’re hungry. We’re fishing.’ ‘Never mind yabbering back at me, get out of the way!’ The white man raised the musket to his shoulder and pointed it at the water in front of Kuntaranta. It belched fire and smoke as it bellowed. The people in the water were stunned by the sound. A spout of spray leapt from the surface. Gudap, who had seen the terrible power of the gun, lunged through the water to get away from the fearsome sight and sound. He splashed from the water on the far side of the pool and ran up the bank into the trees. The rest of the people edged in the same direction. Once hidden from sight, Gudap turned and looked back. The white man was performing the magic ritual on the gun. The boy called to the people in the water. ‘Quick! Run into the trees. The stick will speak again!’ The people began edging a little more quickly towards the far side of the pool. The white man finished the ritual and pointed the gun above the people’s heads. It thundered. Gudap heard something crash through the bushes to his right. The people fled. They lunged from the water and

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bolted up the bank. The scrub swallowed them. The white man yelled after them. ‘That’s right you useless black vermin, run and keep running.’ He again began the magic ritual on his gun. When he had finished he turned and rode away from the bank. The people hidden among the bushes watched. The sound of the white man’s animals filled the air. Within minutes they streamed over the bank and lined the water’s edge. The man on horseback and another on foot followed behind. The man on foot had several dogs that seemed to understand his strange yells and gestures. They made sure no animals strayed. The people in the bush waited but the men never left the pool. The strange animals drank their fill and then wandered along the bank, eating the grass. The white men lit a fire and showed every sign of staying. The people stole away and returned to their camp by a circuitous route. Night came. The group slept with empty bellies. Next morning several hunters crept to the area of the pool. The white men were still there. What’s more, they had begun to erect a shelter. The people had heard stories of how the white men did that and stayed on the land as though they were the bosses of it. Until now none had been this close. Until now they had been only stories. The hunters returned. The men gathered beneath a prominent tree. The oldest sat with his back to the trunk and in the deepest shade. The rest formed a rough circle facing him. The youngest were in the thinnest shade furthest from the trunk.

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The old man spoke first. ‘The white man has many animals. More than he can possibly eat. He should share them with the people.’ Pinti, a young man with freshly healed tribal scars on his shoulders, jabbed at the ground with a stick. ‘We should take what we need.’ Kuntaranta waved the flies from his face. ‘Although a share is rightfully ours, we should ask first.’ ‘When has the white man asked for our kangaroos and emus?’ ‘Because another does something, that doesn’t mean it is necessarily right.’ Pinti snapped the stick in his hands. ‘Is it right that we should have empty bellies?’ ‘No. But stories from the south speak of the anger of the white man when his possessions are taken.’ ‘Things of the land are for all.’ Kuntaranta nodded. ‘True, but from what I’ve heard the white man seizes and holds onto whatever he can.’ ‘Then he must learn. He’s on our land, he must learn our ways.’ Kuntaranta sat still. The argument was sound but he felt uneasy. The old man spoke again. ‘Our way is to follow the law. We will follow it.’ Pinti clamped his lips together and stared at the ground in front of his crossed legs.

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CHAPTER 4

T

he following morning the six men of the group walked towards the pool. They called to the white men when they were within sight. The whites were chopping straight saplings from a nearby thicket and dragging them back to a partly erected shelter. Although only just high enough for a man to stand upright in the middle, it was huge in comparison with the small temporary shelters their people made. The white men dropped the poles and axes and seized their guns. They levelled them at the hunters. Kuntaranta called to them. ‘We wish to talk with you. This is our land, we are the bosses for it. You can camp on it, that’s all right, but you can’t hunt us away from our main places. You can’t act cheeky to us because you are the visitors and we are the bosses. We sing and dance the corroborees that bring up the plants and animals here. Our law tells us we must look after our places and every year we must go to visit the spirits of the different plants and animals and talk to

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them, to tell them to come out and spread over the countryside and be plentiful for the people.’ The man who had been on the horse spoke to the man beside him. ‘What’s he yabbering about?’ ‘Don’t know.’ ‘Thought you understood their yabber.’ ‘A few words.’ ‘Then use them.’ The shepherd, for that’s what the second man was, called out the word for spears and made the motion of laying them down. The hunters hesitated. The white men still had their guns at the ready. The oldest man in the group spoke quietly, talking to those around him. ‘We only want to talk.’ Pinti rattled his spears. ‘Actions speak louder than words.’ ‘We’re here to explain the laws about the use of our land.’ ‘Then why does the white man point his guns at us?’ Kuntaranta bent and laid his spears in the grass. He straightened. ‘Someone must make the first move.’ One by one the men followed his example. Pinti finally laid down his spears but he did so with reluctance and bad grace. He straightened but surreptitiously moved his right foot so that the shaft of one spear lay between the big and second toe. They looked expectantly at the white men. The shepherd spoke to the man alongside him. ‘Think they expect us to put our guns aside, Mr McLister.’

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‘To hell with that. I wouldn’t trust these monkeys for one second.’ ‘I’m sure they just want to talk.’ ‘You’re sure are you? Well I’m not. Let’s shoot them and be done with it.’ ‘The Governor said they should not be unnecessarily killed.’ ‘What would he know? He doesn’t have to live out here amongst these black savages.’ ‘No. I’m the one who will be here on my own after you go back!’ ‘Hmmmph. Well, keep your gun close to hand.’ McLister put up his musket and leaned it against a nearby tree. He stood but a pace away. The shepherd, Daniel Bossin, did the same with his. Two of the hunters moved closer. They explained their position in detail and demanded what they would have demanded from any other group coming to live off their land. Bossin concentrated on their ever y word and gesture. He understood only one word in twenty but from their gestures and expressions he got the drift of what they were saying. ‘They’re hungry and want something from us.’ ‘Hungry are they? That’s probably because they sit around on their behinds all day. Tell ’em to go off and catch kangaroos like they always have.’ Bossin made the suggestion slowly and carefully. The people understood not a word. They did, however, understand from the gestures that they should go away, far away to the east. They became angry and again explained even more strongly that it

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was their land. The white men were using it and they should honour the sharing obligation. Bossin was perplexed. The people repeated their argument with even more signs and gestures. The emphatic gestures to the land and to themselves finally sank in. ‘They claim it’s their land.’ ‘Oh do they? Well they’ve got another think coming. Lazy, useless lot. They’ve done nothing with it in all the lifetimes they’ve lived on it. It’s now my land!’ McLister pointed to the ground and then thumped his own chest. ‘Mine. Savvy?’ Kuntaranta again explained that if the white men used their land, took their food, they should give them food as part of the obligated arrangement. Bossin understood enough of it. He explained it to McLister. McLister exploded. ‘Give them food! Not a chance. Let them get off their black butts and catch their own! We work for ours, let them work for theirs.’ ‘They claim we’ve killed and driven their game away.’ McLister snatched up his gun. ‘Like I’m going to drive them away.’ ‘Wait! You can’t kill them in cold blood. Only in self-defence.’ ‘Well, they’re threatening me!’ McLister levelled his gun at Kuntaranta’s chest and made a for ward stabbing movement. ‘Clear out! Get the hell out of here. While you can.’ Kuntaranta got the message. He backed away. The group of hunters went with him. When they reached

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their spears they bent and picked them up. McLister snapped at Bossin. ‘Pick up your gun you fool!’ Bossin did so and levelled it at the group of men. The hunters muttered amongst themselves but continued to move away. They reached the trees and disappeared. McLister lowered his musket. ‘Should’ve shot the lot as soon as they showed.’ ‘Can’t do that. They must be treated the same under British justice.’ ‘You’ve been listening to too much of that rubbish they talk in town. All right for them to talk like that now. There’re not enough savages left around there to worry anyone. Ever wonder how it got like that?’ ‘If the blacks are troublesome they should be dispersed.’ McLister laughed harshly. ‘You need to talk to Belton down south a bit. He knows how to disperse them!’ Bossin knew what he meant. It was common knowledge in frontier areas. Unscrupulous land grabbers did the job and kept their mouths shut. What the Governor didn’t get to hear about wouldn’t hurt him. When they were convinced the Aboriginal people had gone, the two white men continued building. They kept their muskets handy. At the end of another day, McLister and Bossin had completed a basic shelter. It had two long sides that leaned towards one another and came together at the top. Its sapling-framed walls were sheathed with bark. One end was filled in with the same material. Bossin 34

would have to make any refinements he wanted when the opportunity came. The men moved their meagre supply of stores inside. McLister untied a small calico bag of flour from his saddle. ‘Better have this, too. Keep you going until I get back.’ ‘How long will you be?’ ‘Four, five days at the most. Have to work my way through the bush with the dray.’ Bossin nodded. He had lived off the land before. He would do it again if need be. The following morning McLister rode off. He was pleased with the new outstation for his fledgling sheep run. The pools in the river should last through the summer and there was plenty of grass. Bossin would need to keep an eye on the sheep. Providing he yarded them at night he shouldn’t have much trouble. If trouble came, it would probably be from the blacks. McLister brooded on the confrontation of a few days earlier. After the confrontation, Kuntaranta and his fellow hunters had returned to the camp. They were angry but mindful of what they had heard of the whites further south. Very well, if they would not share for what they were doing to the land and its people, then the people must take that share. It was the law. That same day they speared their first sheep. They chose one from a small group that had wandered further from the river bank than usual, and while the shepherd was checking for stragglers at the other end

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of the scattered flock. Pinti threw the first spear. It was a strange animal but they quickly seized it and carried it to their camp. The pungent smell from the wool was something previously unknown. After much discussion, they decided to cook it the same way they would a kangaroo. A pit large enough to hold the sheep was dug. A fire was set balancing over it. Stones and lumps of clay were placed on top of the fire. As the fire burned, it and the stones and clay fell into the hole. The sheep was thrown onto the flames of another fire to singe off the wool, as they would have done to remove the fur from a kangaroo. More strange smells filled the air. The aroma of singed wool was commented on and added to the people’s store of memories. The fire in the pit by then having burnt down, the ash and coals were quickly swept out. It left a hot bed of stones and pieces of hard clay. The sheep was dropped into the pit and covered with paperbark. Earth was put over the paperbark and watched to make sure that no steam escaped. If a hole was revealed it was quickly blocked with soil. By comparing the size of the sheep to that of a large kangaroo, the cooking time was right. The cooked sheep was cut up and distributed to all members of the group. Gudap and Yudang each received their appropriate share. Lively discussion followed as the eaters exclaimed at the feel, smell and taste of the new type of meat. Those who received some of the internal organs like the heart, liver and kidneys were voluble in their praise. Hunger increased their enjoyment. Their stomachs full, the people all slept well that night.

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CHAPTER 5

O

ver the following few days the people went back to hunting and gathering their usual foods. They learnt again that it was becoming increasingly difficult to find enough. The country to the north belonged to the Dapoori, and those kangaroos that had not been killed indicated by their tracks that they had moved in that direction. Possums were also scarce. Bossin had found them an easy target for his musket and they made a tolerable meal. The hunters read the signs and knew what was going on. Hunger again drove the hunters to kill another sheep. They were so easy to kill and there were so many of them. They cooked it as before and the people knew full bellies for a while. Over the next few days, not knowing how many sheep they could take before the shepherd noticed and objected, the men returned to the pool. The net was still in the water. In fear and desperation they went and drew it out. A few small fish were caught by the gills but they had spoiled. They had been dead too long.

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Bossin watched from the doorway of his rudimentary hut. His musket was propped nearby. He was edgy but the blacks seemed interested only in their fishing. They, in turn, were uneasy. They surreptitiously watched Bossin. When he made no move to challenge them, they reset their net and began a sweep through the water from the furthest end of the pool. Bossin gradually relaxed as the blacks paid him little more heed than to watch him. Not openly, but he noticed. He decided to make a damper from his dwindling supply of flour. Unbeknown to him the women watched his every move. He saw nothing but bushes. The Aboriginal men completed the sweep through the water and hauled the net onto the bank. Many small fish were trapped in the net. Several of the women appeared from the bushes and came to the bank with woven dillybags. They helped put the fish into them. Several of the men carried the emptied net away and Kuntaranta and an older man walked hesitantly towards the white man’s fire. Bossin saw them coming. He could see no weapons. He steeled himself to remain calm. As the men approached he lifted the just-cooked damper from the coals and dusted off the ash. He set it aside to cool. He had nothing to put on it but intended to eat it with the meat from his next cooked possum. Kuntaranta exclaimed at the sight and smell of the damper. The Aboriginal women cooked something similar. They gathered seeds from some of the grasses

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in season and ground them into a coarse flour. When mixed with water and cooked in the ashes, the small flat cakes looked not unlike the white man’s bread, but they certainly didn’t have that tantalising smell. Bossin noticed their obvious interest. On impulse he cut off a slice, broke it and handed one of the pieces to Kuntaranta. Bossin bit into his own piece and chewed it with obvious enjoyment. Kuntaranta bit off a small piece of the portion given to him. He chewed it. His surprise showed on his face. He handed the remainder to the older man beside him. ‘Good. Try it.’ The older man bit off a piece and chewed it. Never having tasted salt in their cooking, they liked the unusual taste. It gave the food a lift. Excitement was in their voices as they examined the texture and feel of the damper. They smelt it, put some in their mouths and rolled it slowly around. And ate it. The smoothness and taste were something entirely new. Bossin was caught up in their obvious enjoyment. He cut the damper in half and gave one piece to Kuntaranta. He gestured to the men and women hovering in the background. ‘Share it with them.’ The words meant nothing to Kuntaranta but the meaning of the actions was plain. He called to one of the women with a dillybag of fish. She came hesitantly to his side. Kuntaranta plucked a double handful of small fish from the bag and placed them in front of Bossin. He straightened, backed away a little and smiled. He gave

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a brief mimed acknowledgement of the receipt of the damper. It could have almost been described as a bow. He turned and walked to the small group of his people waiting nearby. He showed them the damper and broke pieces off to give them. The group moved away, chattering and exclaiming at the new taste. Bossin watched them go. A smile creased his bearded face. He looked down at the fish. He could already taste them. They would be a welcome change from possum and damper. Back in the camp, Gudap and Yudang turned their faces from the small pieces of damper offered to them. Sheep were different, they were animals. Strange ones to be sure, but they ate and drank and were part of the natural world. This white stuff was something from the hands of one of the white spirits that had killed their families. They considered it taboo. They could not touch it let alone eat it. Midway through the next day, McLister arrived driving a horse-drawn dray. It was loaded with supplies. Bossin helped unload them. ‘Had no trouble getting through then?’ ‘Ground’s hard when it’s dry. Be a different story when it rains, if it ever does. Any trouble from the blacks?’ ‘No. They’re getting used to me.’ ‘Don’t get soft on them. They’re a treacherous lot. Keep your gun handy at all times or you’ll sprout one of their spears from your bellybutton.’ ‘They seem to want to be friendly.’ ‘Tell that to the shepherds on Belton’s “Craeside”. Billy Bladsoe was skewered to his bed like a beetle to a

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pincushion. The other one copped three spears when he was in the sheep yard. When Belton found him he could hardly recognise him. Crows had been at him for two days.’ ‘Gave them half of one of my dampers. They gave me some fish in return. Nice change from possum I can tell you.’ ‘Fool! You hang onto your flour. I could get held up and not get back for a month or two. How are the sheep going?’ ‘Putting on condition. Down a couple. Noticed a few dingoes slinking around.’ ‘Why didn’t you shoot them?’ ‘Got one. They’re pretty cagey.’ ‘Hmm, I’ll bring some more strychnine on my next trip. You’ll have to lay baits for them.’ Late that afternoon as the two white men sat around their fire drinking some freshly brewed tea, Kuntaranta and one of the Elders approached them. They leaned their spears against a tree some distance away. Gudap and some of the younger men watched from the shelter of the bushes. They blended with the foliage. Until they wanted to show themselves they would remain invisible. McLister grabbed his gun as soon as Kuntaranta appeared in the open. Kuntaranta spoke to Bossin. ‘Our people are hungry. You’ve chased most of the large game animals away. You, and others like you, have pushed us off our land. You’ve many animals that eat our grass. You should share with us.’ He shrugged. ‘We will accept some of the white stuff you cook.’

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‘What’s he yabbering about?’ Bossin took time to answer. He had understood little of what Kuntaranta had said but somehow he sensed what was meant. ‘They’re hungry. They want some of our food. Flour maybe, to make dampers.’ ‘The hell they do! Tell the lazy layabouts to go and get it like they always have.’ ‘Surely we could spare some flour.’ ‘You gone soft in the head or something? D’you know how much a bag of flour costs? Or how hard it is to get? Tell ’em we’ve only got so much and it’s got to last a long time.’ ‘Don’t think I could make them understand all that.’ ‘Can’t you? Well I can.’ McLister lurched to his feet and jabbed the muzzle of his musket into Kuntaranta’s chest. His face was hard, his voice loud. He gestured off towards the bush with his left hand. ‘Clear off! Lazy, useless vermin, go and catch your own food!’ He jabbed again with the musket. Kuntaranta retreated a pace. The jab from the muzzle had broken the skin on his chest. ‘We want only what is rightfully ours.’ ‘Shut your yabber and get out!’ McLister advanced a pace and again jabbed his musket at Kuntaranta. ‘Go on, get off my land!’ Kuntaranta backed another pace. He stood up straight and glared at the angry white man. ‘This is our land.’ McLister put the musket to his shoulder. ‘Getting cocky are we?’ 42

Gudap had watched the exchange from the shelter of the bush. His concern had mounted. Re-awakened fears exploded within and he shouted a warning. ‘Come away! The stick will thunder!’ Kuntaranta heard. He hesitated, then swung away. Side by side the two men walked off into the bush. Gudap and the other men joined them and they returned to the camp. McLister lowered the musket as the men walked away. ‘Next time I will shoot that one. He’s getting too pushy. Seen it happen elsewhere.’ ‘They only want to get on with their own way of living.’ ‘Way of living? That’s a laugh. They’re not much better than animals. They just move around like the kangaroos. They go where the whim takes them.’ ‘They’re people. They just think differently from us.’ ‘If they think, how come they’ve never done anything with this country?’ Bossin remained silent. There were too many unknowns about the Aborigines but he didn’t believe they were as simple as McLister thought. Not that he’d ever say so. McLister was the boss and who was he to argue with him? The boss had already dismissed the natives from his mind. He was worried by the report of dingoes in the area. They would have to start a systematic poisoning program. ‘Think I’ll have a ride around this morning. Might find out where the dogs are coming from.’

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‘Plenty of untouched country to the north-east. Rough stuff as well as grassed areas. Saw a few bunches of roos.’ ‘That could be handy. A fresh roo now and again will stretch our stores.’ McLister saddled one of the horses from the dray and rode off later in the morning. He ranged in a wide semicircle around Bossin’s hut. The sheep were staying relatively close to the river where the grass was thick. They appeared to be feeding contentedly. He saw some evidence of dingoes and made a mental note to bring strychnine on his next trip. Strychnine would be more effective than the arsenic used to dip the sheep. His track back to the hut led him to the Aborigines’ camp. He approached with caution but found it empty. The men were out hunting and the women and children foraging along the river banks. McLister took his time and examined the camp. His lip curled at the sight of the simple shelters. Savages. They possessed nothing and had learned nothing. They didn’t even know how to grow a crop of any sort. He paused as he came to a hollow in the ground. It was one of the ‘ovens’ the group used to cook large animals in. A few bones were scattered around. He was about to turn away when his attention was drawn to what he had thought was a well-chewed kangaroo skull. Animals, they’d eat anything. Shock sharpened his interest. It wasn’t from a kangaroo, it was the skull of a sheep! McLister looked more closely at the other bones. He spotted sheep hooves. He glared around the area. He’d found his dingoes, two-legged black ones. If one had shown at

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that moment he would unhesitatingly have shot it. His mind was active as he rode back towards Bossin’s hut. The shepherd was out checking the sheep when he reached it. McLister preferred it that way. Bossin was too soft. He busied himself amongst the stores. It didn’t take long. Later that afternoon when the shepherd herded the sheep back to their pen for the night, McLister was checking the dray. He wanted to start his return trip at first light the next morning. He walked over and helped yard the sheep in the brush enclosure. He studied the animals as they milled inside. ‘Look in pretty good nick.’ Bossin nodded. ‘Plenty of good grass around. Some of ’em are starting to show signs of scab though.’ ‘Was afraid of that. Brought some arsenic with this load. Better get organised to dip them. I’ll bring a couple of men with me and we’ll stop it before it gets bad.’ ‘Good idea. Already picked out a spot on the river bank. Natural hollow. Save us a lot of work.’ Bossin closed the yard gate, dragged a large bush across the opening and the two men walked towards the hut. McLister casually raised the subject. ‘Been thinking about the blacks. You could be right. Keep them friendly. I picked out a small bag of flour you can give to them. Second grade but good enough. It’s just inside the door on the right.’ Bossin raised his eyebrows but kept his voice matterof-fact. ‘Okay I’ll give it to them next time they come in.’

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CHAPTER 6

G

udap and Yudang had been apart most of the day. Gudap had gone with the men and the girl had gone with the women. The men had ranged far and wide but had been unsuccessful in the hunt. The few kangaroos that were still in the area were wary and impossible to get near. Gudap and the rest of the boys had spent a lot of time digging out lizards. They had caught and killed quite a few but they were mostly small. They dangled limply from the boys’ string belts. As the hunting group approached their camp they immediately saw the tracks left by the white man’s horse. The tracks were so different that they practically screamed from the ground at them. They approached cautiously, found the camp empty but had no difficulty in reading the story of the white man’s visit. Gudap was settling in with this new group but he missed his own family. Every time he used his digging stick, the one salvaged after the burning of the spears, he was again reminded of the smells, sights and

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sounds of the massacre. The two white men by the river were never far from his thoughts. The knowledge that one had been to the camp was doubly unsettling. Yudang felt as Gudap did. She always felt uneasy when she was apart from him. He was all she had to link her to what she had known until then. The new group gave her a degree of security but it wasn’t enough. She worked hard with the women. The scarcity of food in the area meant they had to work much longer than usual. They could normally gather all they needed long before the sun reached high in the sky. This day they had worked double that length of time and still didn’t have much to show for it. They had eaten as they worked but had kept most for the camp. If the men were empty-handed, they would rely on the women to feed them. It was a two-way arrangement. When the men were successful everyone ate well. The men’s hunting was more strenuous and dramatic than the women’s gathering. They had to be unencumbered and able to run or stalk. The women usually had babies and young children to carry and look after. Each group contributed in its own way. All the signs told the group that it was time to move to another part of their territory. Past time in fact, but they had nowhere to go. In the hot dry weather of summer they had to stay close to the river pools. Downriver were more white men. Upriver were the reportedly fierce Dapoori. The gathered food was shared that evening but it did little to ease everyone’s hunger. Gudap and Yudang ate theirs together and mourned for their

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parents. The knowledge that they had not even been buried properly worried them. Nothing had been done to send their spirits happily on their way. Were their spirits even now angry with them for not having carried out the proper rituals? The children clung together. The night was long and made longer by the knowledge of the two white men close by. Might they, too, suddenly spring up and gallop into the people’s camp with thunder sticks blazing? The sun finally kissed the land awake. The people woke with hunger a part of their bellies. The men wondered about killing another sheep but were worried that the white man who had visited the camp must have seen the evidence of bones. It was decided that no evidence would be left in the future. What wasn’t eaten would be buried. Gudap walked off among the trees with his throwing sticks. His aim had to be true. Yudang walked with him. She was afraid to be parted from him. She saw the fresh tracks of a goanna and as the couple followed them, Gudap saw a flock of galahs heading for the river pool. The children found the fresh hole where the goanna had gone underground to escape the cool night air. They quickly dug it out and killed it. Yudang carried it as they continued towards the sounds from the galahs. Remembered noises shook them with fear. They shrank into a thick patch of bush. Two horses clomped by. The empty dray lumbered behind, its ironclad wheels crushing grass and small bushes. McLister drove the animals and shouted strange sounds to them.

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The children crouched for long moments after the sounds had finally died. Memories trembled their muscles and chilled their skin. Suddenly afraid of the area they returned to the camp. The news of McLister’s departure created a stir. The men discussed it at length. It was decided that Kuntaranta should speak to the other white man and repeat their belief that he should share with them in return for the use of their land. Bossin was not as angry as McLister and might listen. The men and boys followed Kuntaranta but stayed hidden in the bushes. Kuntaranta met Bossin as he was leaving his hut to go and check the sheep he had let out at first light. He reached in and brought out his musket. He propped it against the wall and stood close by. The Aborigine carried no spears but McLister had warned him not to relax his guard. Bossin listened as Kuntaranta again explained the hunger being experienced by his people. The words were impossible to understand but the meaning was clear. The white man felt relief that he had the means to help. He nodded and dragged out the small bag of flour left by McLister. Trust him to pick a bag of second grade, probably full of weevils, but at least it was an indication that he was beginning to listen. Kuntaranta accepted the bag of flour with dignity. It was his people’s due. He hefted it onto his shoulder, as he would a kangaroo, and walked off into the bush. The men and boys joined him and excitedly discussed the event as they walked back to camp. Gudap trailed the group. He felt no excitement,

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only fear of the bag on the hunter’s shoulder. It was from the hated white man. As far as he was concerned it was taboo! Did anything good come from them? The women mirrored the men’s excitement. They knew all about grinding flour from grass seeds. Mixed with water and cooked in ashes it made a tolerable feed. Here they suddenly had a much finer flour and they hadn’t had to laboriously grind it with their hand-held stone grinders. Young girls fetched water from the pool in wooden dishes. The women made and shaped the dough. Hot patches of coals were prepared and a dozen round dampers were soon crisping in the heat. Muran began composing a chant and dance in his mind. He would perform it at the next corroboree. It would tell of the coming of the white man’s flour. Gudap and Yudang could not bring themselves to share in the merriment. True it was food, enough for a feast, but it came from the monsters who had killed their families. The thought of eating it made them gag. They stayed on the fringe of the excited group and lit their own small fire. Yudang prepared to cook the goanna. The smell of it roasting was almost drowned by the aroma coming from the cooking dampers. As soon as the loaves were cooked they were lifted from the ashes and brushed clean. The people exclaimed when the dampers were broken. Never had they seen such soft white bread. The feast began. The people’s hunger made them eat more rapidly than usual. The dampers quickly disappeared. Gudap and Yudang quietly ate their goanna. Their bellies full, the Aborigines lay around the

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fires. They talked lazily or slept, until some of the children began crying. Their stomachs hurt. Several of the women left to gather medicinal plants from the bush. They returned quickly, one clutching her stomach and being supported by the other. More of the people began moaning and clutching their stomachs. Gudap and Yudang sat wide-eyed. Were the spirits of their murdered people angry for not being sent to the Dreaming with the proper rituals? Or was it another of the white man’s ways to hurt and starve the people? The two children held each other, expecting the tear and stab of pain at any moment. Strong hunters were writhing on the ground. Angry spirits could do terrible things. The sun climbed the sky. People screamed and writhed and lay still. Children, women, hunters, none were spared. Except Gudap and Yudang. Time passed and the spirits did not tear at their bellies. Gudap crawled to Kuntaranta’s side. The hunter lay on his stomach. He had stopped crying out and writhing. The boy looked at the face of the man who could have been a father or an uncle to him. He was no longer breathing. His eyes no longer saw. Sad and suddenly afraid, Gudap got to his feet and gathered his throwing sticks and their two digging sticks. He pulled Yudang to her feet. ‘Come. The spirits are here. We must go away. Before it is too late.’ The girl was almost too afraid to move but she answered the urgency in her cousin’s voice. She

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paused only long enough to pluck a firestick from the remnants of their fire. She stumbled as Gudap pulled her into a run. The children ran until they were exhausted then crawled into the shade of a tree and cringed against the ground. If they could make themselves small enough and insignificant enough, perhaps the spirits would pass them by.

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CHAPTER 7

T

he sun slid down the western sky. Gudap roused. He was thirsty but afraid to venture into the open. Yudang felt him move. She pulled herself onto her hands and knees then sat back on her heels. She too was thirsty. She licked her lips. They felt hot and dry. Licking only made them worse. ‘Where shall we go?’ ‘Up the river.’ ‘The group said that’s Dapoori country.’ ‘White men come from downriver.’ Yudang shuddered. ‘We can find water away from the river.’ Gudap looked unsure. ‘Maybe. I know songs of our own country that tell of the waterholes hidden in the bush. We do not know the songs of this country.’ ‘The Dapoori will eat us.’ ‘The Dapoori are people. That might not be true. Anyway, just in case, we will hide from them.’ Yudang nodded. She did not feel as confident as

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Gudap sounded. Getting to their feet the two children crept through the bushes to the edge of the river bank. In this locality the bed was dry. Turning to the north-east they followed the river as closely as they could, using every available bit of bush cover. When crossing open country, they did so as quickly as possible. As the day lengthened their mouths got drier. Their throats tightened. Both knew there must be water beneath the sun-baked sand of the riverbed but they were afraid to stop and dig. Swallowing to ease the hurt in their throats didn’t help. There was no saliva to swallow. Night found them hungry as well as thirsty, and dreading the coming of darkness. Yudang’s firestick had gone out. Normally she would have stopped and kindled a fire from the glowing end while it still had a flicker of life. Such a fire would have renewed the smouldering end. Or she could have started a new firestick but the children had been afraid of the smoke being seen. Now the day had disappeared. In the last of the light they found shelter in a hollow on the bank. Both huddled close to the ground, the only thing that cared for them. They belonged to the land and it belonged to them. Everything belonged to the land. All were the Dreaming. Their sleep was fidgety and unrestful. A fire would have warmed them and helped keep the angry spirits away. Their tongues and mouths were dry and their bellies felt the gnaw of hunger. The night got colder and would have engulfed them but for the watchful eyes of the Dreamtime heroes and heroines who

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twinkled as stars from the sky. Morning found them cramped and stiff. Gudap crawled to the riverbed and found where kangaroos had dug in the sand. The animals had favoured a low spot on an inside river curve. The boy stood and looked and listened for long moments before he slid into the hollow and dug in the damp sand. He was soon rewarded with a seep of water. He allowed a pool to collect then drank his fill. He walked back and led Yudang to the spot. The sun warmed their naked bodies. His muscles now loosened, Gudap crept through the trees and hurled his throwing stick at some cockatoos. His aim was true. Two birds f lapped screaming to the ground. Many of the flock circled their stricken companions and Gudap again hurled his sticks. Yudang collected the fallen birds, a total of six. The children chose a sandy spot on the riverbed. Thickly leafed eucalypt branches arched overhead and dipped low to the ground. The curved boughs formed a natural tunnel of greenery that would hide them from all but the closest scrutiny. Using the pointed end of one of their digging sticks Gudap twirled embers from a softer piece of dry wood. The girl blew the embers onto some teased fibres and kindled a small fire. They placed only the driest of wood on it in an effort to keep the smoke to a minimum. As soon as the birds were cooked sand was heaped over the fire to put it out. The smoke had been filtered by the branches and leaves above. Even so, the

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children did not want any keen Dapoori eyes to see the slightest trace. Yudang retained a firestick. The children ate everything but the feathers. Even the heads were chewed. As soon as they had eaten they set off again. They continued upriver and used whatever cover was available. While walking they saw more and more evidence of game and less and less evidence of gathering and foraging. It was obvious that the people from the south had not been this far upriver. Towards evening the children came to a long, deep pool. They drank their fill and studied the surroundings. A thick stand of bullrushes flourished at one end of the pool. From their thickness it seemed unlikely that the area had been harvested for some time. The children hastened towards them. Wading in amongst them it soon became obvious that their guess had been accurate. Young shoots abounded. Gudap and Yudang had full bellies by the time increasing darkness drove them from the water. There was barely sufficient light to gather enough dry wood to start a small fire. They set it in a hollow shielded by tree trunks. Smoke could not be seen by night and the light from the flames enabled them to gather more fuel for the night. They kept the fire small and lay close to absorb its warmth. Dreams still haunted them and they huddled together for reassurance. The knowledge that the other was still there came from the warm pressure of skin. In the morning both children entered the water and quietly moved around in search of tortoise. Their movements were slow and their pauses lengthy. Yudang was the first to spot the bob of a small round head. That breath of air was that tortoise’s last. Gudap 56

caught another shortly after. Their bellies full, the two children began to wonder what to do next. Yudang put aside a firestick as Gudap covered the fire with sand. ‘Smoke can be seen from a long way,’ he said. ‘The Dapoori people’ll come sooner or later.’ Gudap nodded. ‘This must be a place kept for lean times.’ The girl checked that her firestick was glowing well. The thin line of smoke curling upwards gave a pleasant smell. It rekindled warm memories of camp fires and happy, caring people. It also revived thoughts of lost family and friends. ‘This hot dry weather must soon bring a time when they’ll need it.’ ‘We need it.’ ‘Yes, but we cannot stay. They will find us.’ Gudap remained silent for long moments. He finally rose to his feet and moved to a nearby tree. Its tall strong branches rose high in the air. He climbed it. Once in the topmost branches he gazed long and hard at the surrounding country. He studied one area in particular before climbing down. He rejoined Yudang by the dead fire. ‘I can see breakaway country on the other side of the river.’ ‘Is it far?’ ‘I think we could reach it before dark.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I’m sure I could see caves.’ ‘We’d have to come back here for water.’ Gudap nodded. ‘The Dapoori’d see our tracks,’ Yudang persisted.

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‘We’ll hide them.’ Yudang thought about it. ‘Can you do that?’ ‘I’ve seen my father and uncles do it.’ The children fell silent as pictures of their families filled their minds. Sadness heavied their hearts. Yudang finally stirred. ‘Let’s do it.’ It wasn’t only the Dapoori she feared. Gudap again rose to his feet. He moved to the nearby bushes and chose a long, whippy branch. Its end was covered in tough green leaves. The children walked through the water at the lower end of the pool. As they started across the bare sand, Gudap walked behind Yudang and brushed out both their footprints. It left an obviously swept strip, to one whose eyes were used to looking for tracks, but the boy hoped the animals visiting the pool at night would cover it with their own footprints and tail marks. Once they were in the bush his brushstrokes restored the ground litter almost to what it had been before they passed. It would need someone deliberately looking to spot the difference. The ground became stony as they approached the breakaway. Wherever possible the children walked on the rocks. Where they couldn’t they went in single file and Gudap brushed out their tracks. After looking at several eroded holes beneath the rocky cap, Gudap found a deep one that promised shelter and seclusion. Animals had been its only occupants. The children moved aside some small boulders and swept it clear of animal dung. They immediately felt at home, safe in the knowledge that wind or rain would seldom bother them.

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Both realised they would have to be careful how and when they used fire. In daytime smoke could betray them. A study of the interior of the cave, and a standoff look at it from the outside showed them where a small fire could be lit at night. A fallen chunk of capstone would hide the flames from all but someone close. When someone was in the neighbourhood they would light no fires at all. Smoke could be smelt over long distances. Gudap spent a lot of time working out a path that would lead them mostly over stone. The hard rock would carry few stories of their passing. It was a devious route and there were only occasional small sections where he would have to wipe away their tracks. It was used whenever they left or returned to the cave. Even in the bushland below they took great care to leave as few tracks as possible. Food could have been gathered easily in such a plentiful area if they had been accompanied by a family group. The firestick would have been used to control-burn patches of grass and scrub. Small game would have been driven out and killed. Many lizards would have been killed in their holes. As it was, the children had to search for the holes amongst low bushes and dead sticks. Holes with debris in the entrance were ignored as being unlikely to contain resident lizards. Freshly used holes were quickly dug out and the occupant dispatched. They took great care to refill each hole and cover the disturbed earth with ground litter. A freshly opened out goanna hole would shout a message to a passing hunter or gatherer.

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Yudang and Gudap also dug for yams. The tubers weren’t always easy to find in summer conditions. The withered vines blended with the straw-coloured grass, and often it was only the children’s keen eyesight and experience that enabled them to locate them. Once spotted, the vine was traced until it disappeared into the grass. It was then followed down by hand to where it emerged from the ground. The tall grass was carefully pushed aside and a narrow hole dug with the digging sticks. After lifting the tuber, they broke it off so as to leave a small piece attached to the vine. As much of the earth as possible was put back into the hole to make their digging less noticeable. The small piece of yam still on the vine was then put back in the ground and covered with earth to ensure that it would grow more yams. Both children had watched their people doing that and knew it was part of the cycle of living with the land. Finally, Gudap rearranged the grass as best he could. Some of the children’s fears faded as they settled into an easy rhythm. The pool in the riverbed and surrounding country provided them with most of their needs. Many ducks landed and fed in the water but Gudap could not work out how to catch them. They always spotted him long before he could get close enough to throw his sticks. The children even worked out a method of entering and leaving the pool via a fallen trunk so as not to leave tracks in the mud at the water’s edge. The extra trouble was worth it if it kept them hidden from both the Dapoori and the white men. The cave was cool in the day and their small fire

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kept it warm at night. Gudap began fashioning a spear. He had often watched the men of his family make them. So far his catch had been limited to very small game. Not that he despised them, they were all part of his world, but he longed to spear a kangaroo. You were not a man until you had killed one all on your own. Yudang made a woven grass basket. It would help in carrying the corms collected from the bottoms of the bullrushes. Next she would make a bark dish and perhaps later a wooden one to carry water back to the cave.

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CHAPTER 8

E

xcept for being on their own, life became easier as the days passed. The gathering of food took only half the morning. The rest of the day was theirs, to cook and eat the food and work at their particular tasks. They even found time gradually to remember and sing the songs of their people. The stories told them much about their ways. The nights became less fearsome as the memories of the massacres gradually faded. The warm darkness began to take on the restful renewing feeling it should — until an early morning sound blew it apart. Nightmares leapt back in brilliant colour. Hideous pictures flashed through their minds as they were jerked awake. The sound had hacked through their sleeping senses. A thunder stick again bellowed in the bushland below them. The children clung to one another in fright. Relived scenes crowded their minds. For a moment both thought they could hear the screams of their people. Then with full wakefulness came the real-

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isation that the sounds were of excitement, not fear and pain. Gudap crawled to the cave entrance and peered around the edge of the fallen slab. Movement drew his gaze. Two white men on horseback were pounding after a fleeing group of kangaroos. As Yudang joined her cousin another thunder stick belched fire and smoke. A kangaroo crashed and rolled on the ground. Seconds later the thunder reached the children. The white men pulled their horses to a stop, then turned and rode slowly back to the fallen kangaroo. They dismounted and lifted the dead animal onto the back of one of the horses. The men remounted and rode further back to another dead kangaroo. Dismounting, they lifted it onto the back of the other horse. The two men then rode towards the river pool. Gudap and Yudang watched with fear in their eyes. Other eyes also watched but with an entirely different expression. McLister and Bossin dismounted by the pool and after watering their horses tied them to a low branch. McLister studied the pool. ‘That amount of water must have lasted through the summer.’ ‘Good grass around,’ Bossin agreed. McLister turned slowly around and examined the location. He seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then he came to a decision. ‘Right. Now we’ve got the sheep dipped for scab, you’ll bring half of them up here.’ ‘Stretching things a bit isn’t it?’ ‘Perhaps. The point is if I don’t grab this water,

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someone will beat me to it.’ ‘What about the half I leave behind?’ ‘Hampstead will shepherd them. I’ll take Wilton back with me to bring up more stores for you.’ ‘Take me a while to set up here.’ ‘Before we go Wilton and I’ll set to for a few days and build you a new shelter. Be finished by the time you get here with the sheep.’ Bossin nodded. He looked around at the scrub. No sign of blacks but he guessed they wouldn’t be too far away. Probing out into new country always made him uneasy but McLister seemed to know what he was doing. He must do, and he was getting rich doing it. Perhaps it was time he, Bossin, asked for a share in the sheep. He was the one taking all the risks. McLister gathered his horse’s reins. ‘Let’s get these roos back to the Old Camp.’ He was already thinking of this pool as his New Camp. The way the sheep were breeding he would soon be the biggest flock owner in the area. The two men set off. If they kept moving they would be at Bossin’s hut before nightfall. McLister smiled to himself. The two-day trip had been well worthwhile. Gudap watched them go. He had seen men ride off on horses before. He hoped they would never return, but even as he hoped he knew in his heart that it was a vain hope. The reawakened memories kept the children in the cave longer than usual. When they did emerge extra care was taken in covering their tracks. They gathered the food they needed as quickly as possible, had a

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drink at the pool and trekked back to the cave. Yudang felt a sudden urgency to complete the bark dish she was making. Perhaps several. She felt the time could come when they would need water in the cave. When he woke the next morning, Gudap surveyed the country from the shelter of the cave entrance. He took great care not to be seen. There was no sign of the white men. Satisfied that all was quiet, the children worked their way down to the pool. They gathered more bullrush corms than usual, enough to fill one of Yudang’s baskets. Gudap managed to spear a few fish with his new spear. He still needed to work on it to make it better. It needed a harder, sharper tip if it was to pierce the skin of a kangaroo. He would also need a spear thrower to increase the power of his throw. The trip back to the cave took a long time. Yudang had filled her other bark dish with water and she was taking extra care not to spill its contents. Gudap knew the effort was necessary. The fewer trips made to the pool, the less chance there was of being discovered. When the pair finally swung into the cave it was with a feeling of accomplishment. They were making themselves that much safer. The deepest recess of the cave was dimly lit and the children’s eyes took time to adjust from the bright sunlight. Before they had done so completely, they both saw the strong hunter seated with his back to the wall. His spears lay on the ground at his feet. Dapoori! Gudap and Yudang spun to bolt from the cave. Two hunters came from nowhere to block the entrance. They were trapped!

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The children clutched one another and sank to the floor, staring up at the two huge men who loomed over them. One of the hunters flicked the boy’s spear aside. The men squatted and the one who had taken Gudap’s spear gestured to the children to turn around. Almost numb with fear, they did so. The man with his back against the wall looked at them for a long time before he spoke. There was an air of confidence and fierceness about him that put a tremble in the children’s limbs. ‘I am Kura. We are Dapoori. Who are you?’ The words sounded a little strange but near enough to the Peenamurri language for them to understand. Gudap found his voice and squeaked an answer. ‘We are Peenamurri.’ Kura nodded. He was silent for long moments as his piercing gaze swept the children’s meagre belongings. Each small item told its own story. His toes absently caressed the shafts of his bundle of spears on the floor by his feet, automatically reassuring him of their whereabouts and handiness. His voice again growled from his throat. ‘What are you doing here? Why are you alone?’ ‘Our families were killed by the white men.’ Gudap went on to explain what had happened both to their own families and to the group who had taken them in. ‘We have heard of such things. The Peenamurri men must be all the time anxious fellows to let the white man take their lands.’ ‘They have terrible weapons that kill without being thrown.’ ‘We saw them. They killed our kangaroos.

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Nevertheless, Dapoori men are fighting men. We will not allow our land to be taken.’ Kura spoke with authority. He sounded sure of himself. He made a sign to the men at the children’s backs. The hunters stood up and pulled Gudap and Yudang to their feet. ‘We go.’ The small party left the cave and walked swiftly through the bush. Kura led. The children followed with the other two men close behind. The three men carried spears with terrible barbed points. There was no way the children could escape. The small group crossed the dry riverbed upstream from the long pool then continued along the northern bank. The pace was fast and the children were exhausted by the time they reached another pool. Back in the scrub, a little way from the pool, was a Dapoori camp site. It looked as though it had been used for some time. Kura stopped before an older woman. ‘Beela, these are the children we spoke about. They are Peenamurri.’ The woman nodded. She grabbed the children’s hands and pulled them to the ground in front of her. Gudap and Yudang were too exhausted to resist. Beela gave them water to drink from a long well-shaped wooden bowl. The drink revived them a little although both still sat with slumped shoulders. Gudap found his voice. ‘When are we to die?’ Beela laughed. ‘When are any of us to die? Only the great spirits know that.’ ‘Aren’t you going to kill us?’ ‘Why would we do that?’

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‘Dapoori kill and eat people.’ A small smile played around the corners of Beela’s mouth. ‘Our hunters are very fierce, but eat children? Only when they are naughty.’ ‘What will you do with us then?’ ‘Tell me about your people. What was your father’s name? Your mother’s. To what place do you belong?’ Gudap related the story of their life. Beela nodded from time to time or asked another question. Finally Beela said, ‘You will be brought up as Dapoori. With the proper initiation you will be a hunter one day.’ ‘What about Yudang?’ ‘When her time is right she will marry one of our men.’ The children sat as though made from clay. They had believed they were to be killed. It took time for the truth to push that belief aside. It finally sank in. In a distant way they were kin. They were being accepted into the group. Beela told them she was a ‘grandmother’ to them. As Gudap thought about it, it didn’t seem so strange. Weren’t all people and all things as one? Didn’t they all belong to the Dreamtime? Beela gave them some cooked yams and talked with them as they ate. Some small language difficulties cropped up but by and large they understood each other quite well. Even as they listened the children found less and less difficulty. The woman finally said, ‘Come, Yudang, we will go and join the women and girls. It is time to gather food. You, Gudap, go with the men. We’ll gather and hunt here one more time. It’s the time and season for

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us to move to the country of the long pool.’ Gudap joined the men. They numbered more than twice the fingers on both of Gudap’s hands. The boy noticed that each hunter had many spears. Most were hunting spears but some were fearsome fighting spears. The latter had pieces of sharp stone set in hard gum along the sides of the tip. Such a spear would make a big wound that would bleed profusely. Gudap was told that they were sometimes used in tribal fights. The men led off on the hunt. Gudap and several boys around his own age followed a short distance behind. They were to watch and learn. On this hunt a handful of men hid near a patch of grassland. The rest of the men and boys circled wide to form a big semicircle. They then began a noisy drive through a section of bush. The semicircle gradually closed, driving any game within the arc towards the open area. When a bunch of kangaroos broke from the scrub, the waiting men sprang from their cover and hurled their spears at them. Four kangaroos were felled immediately. Two others with spears hanging from their sides had to be followed and brought down. Gudap ran behind Kura and was not far behind when the hunter made the kill. The tall man ran up behind the faltering animal and seized its tail. With a sudden heave he threw it off balance. Before it could struggle up again, Kura crushed its neck with a tremendous blow from his nulla-nulla. The hunter immediately cut open the kangaroo’s abdomen with a sharp stone knife. The incision was

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small but Kura quickly disembowelled the animal. He skewered the cut closed with a small sharpened stick. To ensure that the stick did not fall out he wrapped a length of the emptied small intestine in a figure of eight around it. He then dislocated the kangaroo’s legs to make it into a compact bundle. Gudap helped him lift it onto his head. Kura’s back was straight as he carried the animal back to camp. He was proud of his prowess as a supplier of food for the people. A short corroboree was organised and danced while the meat cooked in ground ovens. The old camp was to be left and a new one started at the long pool. This area had been good to them. There had been an abundance of food, no doubt because they had performed the correct rituals. When the ovens were opened everyone ate well, and they slept with full bellies. Two days later the camp was broken up. Aborigines travel light. The women carried the baskets, other utensils and children too young to walk far. The men carried only their weapons. Hunting opportunities were acted upon the moment they occurred. A man couldn’t hurl a spear or leap into action if he was encumbered with a small child. The main body of people had barely left the camp area when two young men ran towards them from the direction of the long pool. White men were camped at the water’s edge! The Elders talked. It was decided that the group would stay at the old camp until things could be checked out. Kura and three other men were to go and

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observe the white men. They were to remain hidden for a while and then report back. Gudap wanted to go with Kura but the hunter would not let him. This was men’s work. Yudang fitted easily into the gathering pattern with the women. Gudap was filled with a new-found restlessness. He had been forced by circumstance to adopt a more advanced masculine role. He was in mid-stage. He was no longer a child nor yet a man. He made a point of spending more and more time near the men. Next day Kura and his companions returned. Gudap hovered nearby when the men reported. Two white men had built a relatively large shelter by the long pool. Another had arrived with a flock of strange animals that were drinking from the pool and eating Dapoori grass. Gudap could not hold his tongue. ‘That’s how it started with the Peenamurri.’ The Elders ignored him. The Dapoori were fierce men. Peenamurri were anxious people. Men did not listen to Peenamurri boys.

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CHAPTER 9

B

ossin settled in at the new outstation. He was uneasy from the outset, in fact he had been since the poisoning of the Aborigines at his previous camp. Although it had been McLister who had doctored the flour with arsenic, he had been the one to unknowingly give it to them. He had protested to McLister about it but had been shouted down. McLister was a hard man. And he was the boss. The law in the bush was survival and that was the only law McLister listened to. Bossin had to admit that the long pool was the ideal place to set up an outstation. Indeed, it was the perfect place to build a homestead and make it the centre of the sheep station that McLister was building. There was plenty of water and grass and the sheep had already settled in. His unease came from the fact that so far he hadn’t seen any natives. His accumulated knowledge told him that such a place was bound to be used. Sooner or later a confrontation must occur. He was further into the bush than any white man had

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ever been before, and who knew how the local blacks would react? Bossin saw to it that he was always within an arm’s reach of his musket. The Dapoori were beginning to find it harder to gather and hunt food around their existing camp. They knew it was past the time when they should move. The hunters were already pushing into the area around the long pool. So far they had kept away from the water and sought kangaroos and emus only from the grasslands. McLister and his men twice returned and hunted animals on horseback. Some they left with Bossin, some they took away with them. The Dapoori hunters observed and read the tracks. Nothing escaped their notice. Why were the white men so greedy? If shared, the earth gave enough for all. The Aborigines had seen how the sticks killed without being thrown. The weapons frightened them but also angered them. With them the white men were killing their game animals and those that were left were becoming wary and harder to approach. The tracks told them that many had already moved away to quieter areas. Smelly strange animals were taking their place. The men talked long over the evening fires. The hunters’ half-empty bellies increased their anger. Janna brought it to a head. ‘It is our country. The white men are taking our food without giving us something in return.’ Mulla’s grey beard and hair added weight to his words. ‘We must watch even more so. Find out his ways. As we learn the ways of the animals in order to

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better catch them, so must we observe this new creature.’ ‘The one living by the pool is only a man. We have watched enough. He has taken our water. He has taken our animals. He has given us nothing in return.’ Kura nodded. ‘He’s taken our animals, we’ll take his animals.’ The murmur of agreement was strong. Mulla also voiced his agreement. ‘It is right. It is our due. Besides, if we take the white man’s animals perhaps he will go away.’ The decision made, the Dapoori hunters moved towards the long pool under the cover of darkness. Bossin was again on his own. The men on horseback had gone back down the river. The hunters emerged from the trees at the first hint of light. Gudap took no part but watched from the bushes. He had become Kura’s second shadow. He hung back as the men strung out in an arc. The band advanced on the bush enclosure. Twenty spears were launched from as many throwers and their hardened tips easily pierced the soft skin of the sheep. Some of the animals fell but the remainder crashed through the thin barrier of stacked bushes and exploded out. Their bleating tore the new day apart. Bossin heard the clamour and scrambled from his bed. His hand closed on his loaded musket at the same time as his feet hit the earth floor. He erupted from the doorway and immediately sized up the situation. A dreaded nightmare had blasted into reality. The musket butt thumped against his shoulder the

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moment that he spotted the first Aborigine. Flame and smoke belched from the muzzle. The report hacked through the dawn. The lead ball sped on its way. The moment the ball left, Bossin grounded the musket and commenced reloading. He was in danger. Speed was essential. Urgency gave life to his hands. The cartridge slipped home. The ball dropped in. Ngantan, a mature hunter, had been in the forefront of the charge towards the sheep. His spear had transfixed a ewe with a lamb at foot. The frightened lamb had bleated. Ngantan had leapt into the enclosure and crashed his nulla-nulla on the back of its neck. It dropped. Ngantan straightened with a cry of triumph. The inflight musket ball tore through his throat. The cry died with him. The rest of the hunters had been momentarily stunned by the explosion from the musket. Thus far they had only seen them belch from afar. This was immediate. The noise, the flash, the smell bludgeoned their senses. Ngantan’s hacked cry blew the remnants apart. The men were numbed. The thud of Ngantan’s falling body jolted Janna into action. He knew death when he saw it. Rage blasted through him. He hafted a fresh spear to his thrower in the moment that he leapt towards the white man. His yell was the anger of his people. Bossin finished reloading and swept the butt to his shoulder. The sight of the screaming charging Aborigine churned his stomach but he held his aim and fired. Janna leapt the brush fence. The ball smashed into 75

his chest and crashed him back among the dying branches. He died quickly. This blast, so close after the first, demoralised the hunters. They fled. Bossin was reloading even before he saw the full effect of his second shot. By the time he had finished the Aborigines had all but disappeared into the scrub. The musket hurled another ball in their wake. It crashed through the leaves only a hand’s breadth from Kura’s head. He felt and heard the breath of it passing. Bossin again reloaded. He was shaking with fright and relief when he had finished. It was long moments before he moved from his watchful stance. His heart was thudding as he walked slowly towards the holding yard. His skin crawled as he crossed the open ground. His eyes tried to look everywhere at once. Fortunately the increasing light was melting the shadows. Dead and dying sheep were strewn across the yard. The fence on one side was blasted out as though from an explosion. Bossin dreaded the thought of rounding them up. To do so he would have to walk the bush on his own. Previously he had done that without fear. From now on it would be his constant companion. Gudap joined the men when they finally stopped and regrouped. They were still shaking with fright. Such a terrible weapon was beyond their comprehension. Who could fight against such a thing? The return journey was the opposite of their confident march through the early morning dark. Dejected and demoralised they straggled around the newly kindled fires. Empty of hand and empty of heart

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they told of the white man’s power. The men finally joined the Elders. They sat in a circle beneath a sturdy gum tree. Gudap hovered on the outskirts. Meekanoora’s shoulders were slumped as he spoke. ‘No one can withstand the magic hurled from their thunder sticks.’ Kura was slow in answering. ‘Its magic can sometimes miss.’ ‘It did not miss Ngantan or Janna.’ ‘True. But it missed me.’ Mulla was quick to seize on the tiny crack in the apparent total magic of the white men. ‘How so?’ ‘As we ...’ Kura was reluctant to say the word. The Dapoori had no history of fleeing. ‘... ran, the stick thundered behind me. Its magic blasted by not this far from my head.’ He indicated the distance with his hand. The men were silent for a few moments. Meekanoora was next to speak. ‘Our spears sometimes miss when the kangaroo is not close.’ ‘Then we must strike from beyond the power of the stick’s magic,’ Wandawarra suggested. ‘That would also be beyond the power of our spears.’ The men were again silent as the truth of Meekanoora’s words sank in. Mulla called on past experience. ‘The war y kangaroo can be trapped.’ The men mulled over the thought. A pit dug and

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lightly covered on a track leading to water was sometimes used to trap an unwary kangaroo. It could then be dispatched with nulla-nullas. Once trapped in a narrow pit it was helpless. ‘Where could we dig such a pit?’ Kura asked. ‘We would be seen if we dug it near the water.’ Meekanoora nodded. ‘Away from the water the white man doesn’t use any single trail. He goes where his animals go.’ Wandawarra further killed the idea. ‘If we did catch the white man in such a trap, no one could approach it if he had his thunder stick with him. After today he will not move without it.’ ‘He might,’ said Mulla. ‘Would you travel without your spears?’ Mulla had no answer. Kura finally voiced their central problem. ‘We can do nothing against his thunder stick. It can kill us before we get close enough to throw our spears.’ Gudap moved two steps nearer and spoke. His voice shook with fear as he did so. ‘The thunder stick cannot speak all the time.’ The disapproval of the group hit him almost with physical force. Meekanoora swung around. ‘Children have no voice in the business of adults. Sit quietly and listen and you might learn.’ The sharpness of the hunter’s tone filled Gudap with shame and he shrank back. He backed away. Meekanoora turned back to the circle. ‘If he were older a leg spearing might be in order.’ Kura came to his defence. He liked the boy. ‘He is

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Peenamurri. Perhaps their laws are different.’ ‘Not that different,’ Meekanoora growled. Mulla dismissed the subject of Gudap with his next suggestion. It caused minds to jump to more urgent thoughts. ‘All men must sleep ...’ Two nights later six hunters crept towards the white man’s hut in the middle of the night. Each had a spear notched to a thrower. The sheep enclosure had been repaired with freshly cut bushes. Their smell was almost as strong as the strange smell from the sheep. Bossin had re-mustered his charges and yarded them for the night. The men stealthily skirted the yard so as not to disturb the animals. A sudden increase in bleating would alert the white man. Wandawarra was slightly in the lead. His feet slid quietly through the damp grass. Fifty metres ahead he could see the outline of the hut. A fire had been built outside the doorway but it had burnt down to coals and the occasional small flickering flame. The hunter moved a step closer. He felt something pull across his shin. He quickly drew back his leg and hissed a warning to his companions. He felt with his hand and found a string stretched across in front of him. He stepped over it. The others did the same. In the hut, Bossin jerked into wakefulness. The end of the string was attached to an empty tin mug that dangled by his head. It had bumped lightly against the bush frame of his bed. The sound had been slight but it had been enough. He was instantly alert. As he rolled from the bed his hand closed around his

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bedside companion. The musket felt cold to his touch. He pointed the muzzle towards the doorway. Crouching low, Bossin felt with his other hand. It closed on a tinder-dry bunch of leafy twigs and teased bark fibres. He had collected and loosely bound them two afternoons earlier. They lay just inside the doorway. He leaned forward and threw the bundle on the fire, then as quickly pulled back through the doorway. The hunters heard the tiny sounds and paused. Wisps of teased bark among the leaves caught and flared. Flames leapt. Leaves caught and crackled. Light splayed across the ground. Wandawarra realised what was happening. He leapt ahead with a shout of anger. His spear arm swept back. Bossin aimed. The musket thundered. He was reloading almost as soon as the ball left the muzzle. The ball tore across the circle of light and hacked into Wandawarra’s chest. It sprayed blood and flesh from his back as it hammered through. The hunter’s spear left the thrower but sailed wildly over the top of the hut. He was slammed upright by the force of the musket ball. He stood poised for a moment before slumping loosely to the ground. The other five hunters stood frozen. The flash from the musket was even more stunning in the darkness. They were like black statues in the flickering light. Then just as they could be seen, so they saw Bossin. He was again levelling the musket. The Aborigines exploded outwards. The musket belched. A hunter on Kura’s left cried out but did not stop. The darkness swallowed them.

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Dawn found the men back in camp. One hunter had a flesh wound in his upper arm. The women bound it with healing plants from the bush. Wandawarra was mourned. Another man’s body lay unrecovered. His spirit would add to the others already wandering and angry. The circle of men was shrinking. Heated discussion was mixed with fear for the future. Meekanoora was worried. ‘The white man has powerful spirits on his side. He must know how to use them.’ ‘The spirits cannot be used. Calmed, appealed to but never used.’ Mulla and the older men were the well of the group’s knowledge. ‘His thunder stick cannot be beaten.’ Kura hesitantly disagreed. ‘It does not kill every time.’ ‘Its thunder killed another of our people.’ ‘True. But I say, let’s talk with the Peenamurri boy. He’s seen more of them than any of us.’ ‘A boy!’ Meekanoora was outraged. ‘He has the eye of the eagle. He has seen much, misses nothing.’ The following argument was long. It wore itself out when no satisfactory method of killing the white man could be suggested. Mulla finally pulled the gathering together. ‘Times are bad. Strange things are happening. Strange remedies might help.’ The old man turned to Kura. ‘Fetch the boy.’ Gudap came with fear in his limbs. He had the twist of a willy-willy in his belly. Kura held his wrist like a

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python strangling its prey. Mulla questioned him. ‘Why does the white man’s thunder stick hesitate?’ Gudap’s voice sounded unlike his own when it finally crept out. ‘The white man must do magic to it after it has thundered.’ ‘Before it thunders again?’ Gudap nodded. Kura asked a question. ‘It can’t take long?’ ‘No. But it must be done. The stick will not thunder until it has been done.’ The group thought on this truth. Now that it had been brought to their notice it fitted what they also had seen. At the time they had been too stunned by events to evaluate it. The boy was instructed to sit close by. Mulla prodded the knowledge. ‘How can this help us?’ Meekanoora was for immediate action. ‘We will go back and again fight the white man. He must be killed. Half of the men will throw their spears. As soon as the stick thunders, those still standing must throw theirs.’ ‘Another of our people will die,’ said Kura. ‘Dapooris fight. They think not of death when they fight. Only old people think of death.’ ‘Too many of our people have died already.’ ‘Are you an old timid fellow?’ Kura flushed with anger. He half rose to his feet. He was stopped by a sharp word from Mulla. ‘Stop! Our enemy is the white man.’ Kura sank back. Meekanoora turned triumphantly

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to the old man. ‘We will go now.’ Mulla held up his hand. ‘The emu can be tricked.’ The men stared at him for long moments as their minds digested the implication of Mulla’s words. Then they nodded and smiled. Kura got to his feet and motioned to Gudap to follow. ‘We have work to do.’ In the early hours of the next morning, when the land was still swathed in blackness, the men again crept towards the white man’s hut. This time they were expecting the string by the ground. It was as well that they were. They came to it sooner than expected. One touched it gently then indicated its position to the others. The men fanned out along the string and lay close to the ground. Their spears were notched on their throwers. Gudap lay on the ground in the centre. His nerves were taut. Sleepy bird mutterings told Kura when all was ready. He reached out and tweaked the string. Stealthy sounds from the hut told them the story. The time of a held breath passed and the flames flared. Kura was the nearest to Gudap. He yelled like a charging hunter. Gudap swung up the decoy. Made of sticks and leaves it looked like a man in the flickering light. The thunder stick roared. Its magic thrashed through Gudap’s decoy and knocked it from his hands. Kura and the other men sprang up like demons from the earth. Their arms flashed. Six spears tore into Bossin’s chest and he pitched back through the doorway. The hunters fitted new spears to their throwers as

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they raced towards the hut. They were not needed. The f laring f lames painted the scene red. The darkness made the blood black. Gudap joined the hunters. He felt their elation. The white man could be killed. Kura said it all. ‘We are this country.’ Gudap felt something else. Perhaps the spirits of his family would now find peace. Even if only in a small way, he had helped avenge their death. Meekanoora seized a burning twig from the fire and thrust it against the wall of the hut. The dry bark caught. The flames ate it. Light flooded the clearing. The men moved to the nearby sheep yard and hurled their spears into the milling throng. Four animals fell. The rest rushed the far side of the pen. The brush gave and the sheep disappeared into the darkness. The men were pleased. The group would eat well. The sheep that had run off into the bush could be easily tracked and killed when needed. They were silly animals that could be approached with ease. They would be fair recompense for the game animals the white men had killed and driven away. The entire Aboriginal group moved to the long pool. They set up camp near but not at the pool. The animals that came in to drink were a food source to the people. If they camped right alongside the water as the white men had, the game would be afraid to come in. The killed sheep were cooked and the rest of the day spent in feasting. That night, impromptu dancing and singing told of the events of the previous few weeks.

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During the euphoria of the next day, Gudap spoke to Kura. ‘Sooner or later the white man who brought things to the one by the pool will come again.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘It was the pattern at the other pool when Yudang and I lived with the Peenamurri group.’ Kura looked thoughtful. He finally touched Gudap’s shoulder, then rose and walked away to talk with the Elders. It was decided that two young men would go to the edge of Dapoori country and watch for McLister’s return. Narntoo and Tarrapin were chosen. They left the following day. Gudap and Yudang settled into the life of the group. Beneath their apparent fierceness the Dapoori seemed little different from their own people. Beela took both the children into her own close group, and in particular began pointing out to Yudang the various medicinal plants and explaining their use. Much was already known to the girl but the knowledge was reinforced, and some plants were different from those in her own place. Gudap learned much about hunting by following and watching Kura and the men. The boy longed for the day when he would single-handedly kill his first kangaroo. He knew that such a skill was an important stage in manhood training. Tracks at the poolside told of emus coming to drink. They were targeted as one of the first hunting forays in the new area. The tastiness and quantity of meat on their large bodies made such hunting a priority. A common way to catch emus was to put narcotic 85

leaves in the waterhole from which they drank. As the drunken birds staggered away hidden hunters could easily spear them. Such a method could not be used in this case as the people also needed to drink. And besides, the amount of water in the big pool made the method impractical. The hunters used the bird’s own curiosity. Sometimes a hunter merely lay on his back and waved his legs in the air. This time Gudap was dressed to look like an emu and shown how to mimic their actions. When Kura demonstrated with upraised arm and fingers held like a beak, Gudap wondered how anyone could copy their actions so perfectly. He was put to the test later that day. A small group of emus was tracked to a patch of grassland. The hunters silently occupied a patch of dense scrub and waited with poised spears. Gudap adopted the stance of an emu: arm in the air, bent over with back curved he stalked out into the open. He thought of every emu he had ever seen. Their way of walking, the way they held their heads, the way they pecked seeds from trees or gobbled them from the ground. He let thoughts of their movements flow into his muscles and he was an emu. He stayed close to the patch of thick scrub. The emus stopped eating and looked at him. They turned their heads from side to side to bring each beady eye to bear in turn. They observed him, curiosity etched in every movement of their heads and necks. Finally they walked slowly towards him. The hunters’ spears brought down two birds. The rest swung away in a lurching arc and ran away. The

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speared birds had their heads and legs tied together and were carried back to camp on the men’s shoulders. The emus were laid on green leaves and branches and plucked, then carefully skinned. Starting along the legs, a small cut was made and the entire skin pulled off like a jumper. It was then turned right side out and stuffed with feathers and grass. The openings were closed with pointed sticks and it was placed in the flames to stiffen and brown. The body of the bird had its insides removed. The head was pushed inside through a hole in the neck and the whole bird, together with the stuffed skin, was cooked in a ground oven. The stuffing and feathers were removed and the feasting began. Gudap couldn’t remember when he had enjoyed a meal so much.

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CHAPTER 10

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our days later McLister and Wilton rode back into Dapoori country. They each led a packhorse with provisions for Bossin. Night was close when the waiting Narntoo and Tarrapin heard the sounds of horses. The two hunters had no trouble keeping level with the walking horses and there was ample cover to ensure they were not seen. The white men soon camped for the night. They built a fire and cooked their evening meal. They talked as they ate. Wilton spoke as he chewed on corned mutton. ‘Reckon we’d now be in Dapoori country. Heard they’re a pretty savage lot.’ ‘Who told you that?’ ‘Understand a bit of Peenamurri. Talked with some “tame” blacks down south a bit.’ ‘So, what are you saying?’ ‘Think we’d better sleep light.’ ‘Tell your grandma how to suck eggs. I didn’t come down in the last shower.’

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The men spread their bedrolls on the fringe of the fire glow while they made other arrangements as the quiet of night blanketed the earth. Narntoo and Tarrapin watched the distant fire and the two white men from the vantage point of a hilltop a kilometre or so away. The darkness made it difficult to see exactly what they were doing. They waited until the sliver of moon had passed through a handspan of sky then silently padded towards the small beacon. All was quiet as the two hunters crept near the white men’s overnight camp. They approached upwind. With eyes attuned to the darkness they picked out the two blanket-draped forms on the ground. Narntoo touched Tarrapin’s arm and gestured. Words were not needed. He would spear the one on the left. Both moved as silently as the night owl. Fighting spears were fitted to their spear throwers. Arms were poised. Eyes were trained on their respective targets. A final step and trained muscles uncoiled and launched the deadly weapons. Narntoo screamed. As his foot came to earth he knew in that split second that he had stepped on something different. A demon leapt from the ground with savage teeth. The teeth tore through his leg muscles and gnashed on bone. A short distance away, semi-asleep and with their backs against two tree trunks, McLister and Wilton were jerked awake by Narntoo’s scream. The muskets cradled in their laps flew to their shoulders. The Aborigines were silhouetted against the fireglow. McLister spat an order.

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‘Right one’s mine!’ The muskets bellowed as one. Both the Aborigines were hurled sideways as the lead balls crashed into their bodies. Tarrapin fell and lay still. Narntoo crashed awkwardly, his fall held back by the savage jaws of the mantrap. The iron teeth tore his leg open. He twisted in the double agony of his injured leg and chest. The white men quickly reloaded. McLister sensed Wilton’s rise. His voice was barely loud enough for the other to hear. ‘Where’re you going?’ ‘To finish the poor bastard off.’ ‘He’s going nowhere, we’ll do it in the morning.’ ‘Must be in agony.’ ‘So might you be if you get outlined by the fire. Want to end up like our bedrolls?’ Wilton glanced towards the fire. Spear shafts still quivered in each dummy bedroll, their points embedded in the ground beneath. McLister’s whisper grated on. ‘We’ll move, but not towards the fire. We’ll pick two more trees to guard our backs. Who knows how many more are out there.’ The men shadowed to a different position and took turns to watch as the other dozed. Narntoo’s groans gradually faded. It was a long night. Both the Aborigines were dead when the white men examined them in the morning. Wilton shuddered when he pulled the spear from his bedroll. Sharp stone chips were gummed to one side of the point. Stealth and watchfulness marked their future

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movements. Bossin’s camp site was approached with caution. The burnt hut told its story. The charred body in the ashes told another. The sheep were gone. ‘Thieving, murdering vermin!’ McLister swung down from his horse and studied the ground. He never relaxed his grip on his musket. Wilton stayed on his horse. His gaze continually swept the surrounding scrub. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ ‘Not ’til I track down these murdering scum.’ ‘Shouldn’t we get help?’ ‘Don’t need help with this lot. I’ll do now what I should have done when we first came here.’ ‘These Dapoori have a reputation for being fierce.’ ‘Fierce! I’ll show ’em what fierce is.’ McLister swung back onto his horse. Wilton was still uneasy. ‘We don’t know how many there are. There might be scores of them.’ ‘They’re just animals with no more brains than kangaroos. A few shots and they’ll run. Come on, let’s tether the packhorses. There must be a camp nearby. We’ll hit them before they know what’s happening.’

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CHAPTER 11

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little tracking and scouting located the Aboriginal camp. Observing it from a distance, McLister briefly planned his attack. ‘Shock tactics. We’ll charge in and each shoot a buck.’ ‘And they’ll fill us with spears while we reload.’ ‘The noise from our guns’ll devastate ’em. They’ll run like rats from a sinking ship.’ ‘What if they don’t?’ ‘Charge the horses into ’em. Trample ’em. Hack at ’em with our tomahawks. They’ll panic. Then they’ll be ours. We can reload and run ’em down one by one.’ Wilton shut his mouth. He was far from happy. McLister was a hard man to argue with at the best of times and impossible when he was fired up. Anyway, he wasn’t asking Wilton to go with him, he was ordering him. The two white men slid back from their cover and walked the short distance to their horses. They

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rechecked their muskets and swung up into their saddles. ‘Murdering savages. This’ll be one lesson they’ll never forget.’ McLister gestured towards a winding gully on their left, a small tributary to the river when the rains came. ‘We’ll walk the horses along that until we’re right below them, then charge.’ He wheeled his mount and nudged it forward. Wilton eased forward in his saddle and checked that his tomahawk was handy and free. He gently touched the spurs to his horse. A fleeting thought skittered through his mind. It was a tough world. If you wanted to make a living you had to fight something. If it wasn’t the weather it was whoever was getting in the way. Who was in the right? Who cared? Not the hard man riding in front — that was certain. Wilton spat at a dead branch lying on the ground to his left and tightened his grip on his musket. Gudap and Kura were sitting beside a small fire and working at making a spear. It was to be the boy’s first proper hunting spear. Kura was straightening the shaft by heating it over a fire to make it pliable. Bit by bit he made it true by bending it across his knee or by placing it beneath his foot and pulling upwards. It was a slow thorough process but time was of little importance. The group’s hunting and gathering for the day had already been completed. It was a time for living and learning. McLister and Wilton erupted into the camp. Wilton charged his horse straight at Meekanoora and two other hunters. He levelled his musket and shot the man on Meekanoora’s left. Then things went

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wrong for the white men. The Aborigines did not run like frightened kangaroos. They grabbed their spears and fitted them to their throwers as they straightened. Wilton saw the danger. If he stopped to reload he would be skewered. He jammed his musket into the saddle scabbard and pulled his tomahawk from his belt. Meekanoora was drawing back his arm. Wilton dug in his spurs. The horse jumped at the hunter, struck Meekanoora a glancing blow and hurled him aside. Wilton hauled his horse around to charge it at the next man, his tomahawk held high for a downward blow. He saw the levelled spear, its barbed end pointed at his chest, the arm back and poised for the throw. Everything was happening almost at the speed of light but Wilton could see it unfolding as though in slow motion. The spear started forward. It seemed to cruise with leisurely speed. Its point held him like the eye of a snake, but at the last millisecond he jerked aside in the saddle. The hungry spear bit into his shoulder, tore its way out of his back and dragged the shaft behind it. It grew tired and stopped with a metre of shaft still protuding forward from his shoulder. Wilton dropped his tomahawk. His eyes took in the drawn-back arm of another hunter at the moment that he kneed his horse and raked its flanks with his spurs. The horse sprang ahead and Wilton again drove in the spurs. Direction was unimportant. The horse was stung to a wild gallop. A spear hissed over Wilton’s hunched shoulders and bowed head. The trees swallowed him.

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Meanwhile McLister headed straight for Kura. Kura dropped the spear he was working on and snatched up his killing spear. Gudap saw what was going to happen. The white man had his thunder stick levelled at his mentor. Kura was still straightening. He would be too late. Gudap reached up, seized his arm and pulled. Off balance, Kura lurched towards him. The thunder stick bellowed. Its magic rushed by. The horse pounded by. McLister hauled it around. He pulled his tomahawk free and held it high as he jumped the horse back at Kura. The hunter’s ref lexes were finely honed. He regained his balance and fitted his spear to his thrower in the second that he sprang upright. His arm swung back and sped forward. Balance, weight and timing were perfect. The spear was loosed. McLister was upright in the saddle. The spear hit him at the base of his throat and sawed its way through. Astonishment rode his face as it ploughed into the earth. The engagement had lasted mere seconds. There had been time only for action. Reaction now came. The camp erupted into bedlam. Wails of grief for the dead hunter rent the air. Excited yelling and calling sorted order from the chaos. Two men were sent to track Wilton. The deep marks left by the fleeing horse’s hooves were as easy to read as the tracks of a horde. Calm finally returned to the camp. The Dapoori rejoiced. They had fought for their land and won. If more white men came, they would do the same again.

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They would never give up their land. The men were astonished at the sharpness and hardness of the tomahawks. Here were things that would benefit the group. McLister’s thunder stick was examined with awe. However, try as they might, no one could make it thunder. The hunters concluded that it needed the white man’s magic to make it work. Late in the afternoon the two hunters returned. The horse and rider had been tracked to the edge of Dapoori country. The man was still on the horse and it was still travelling.

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CHAPTER 12

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ife returned to normal at the long pool. Memories faded for Gudap and Yudang and they were as happy as they had been for a long while. Plans were made by the group to catch some of the ducks that often settled on the pool. The land provided a rich variety of food and the people had evolved the means to procure it. Piece by piece a large net had been made from plant fibre. When the time was right it was strung up between trees near the top end of the pool. Gudap was among the men hidden in the bushes on both sides of the river. Yudang was with the women in the bush at the lower end of the pool. Choosing a time when there were many ducks on the water, the women rushed into the pool. They beat the water and made a lot of noise. The ducks kicked into flight and flew along the river. As they started to rise towards the treetops, the men imitated the angry calls of hawks and threw their boomerangs in the air above them. Tricked into thinking they were real hawks, the ducks kept low. Many flew into the waiting

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net. The men and boys pounced on those that fell. The days drifted by in the plenty around the long pool. Gudap wished they could stay there forever but he knew the time would come when they would have to move to fresh country. Indeed the men were already talking about the coming of the rainy season. The river would run and water would be available in many places throughout Dapoori territory. The people would be able to harvest country normally too dry for summer use. More sleeping fires were now needed for warmth. The air was damp at night. Gudap fidgeted in his sleep. He dreamt of the dampness in the clearing of the massacre. On talking to Yudang he found that she too was remembering. The boy wondered if it was the spirits warning them. Gudap was haunted by visions of his elder sister being led away. He made Yudang promise that if white men did come, like they had when their families were killed, she was to immediately run and hide in the rushes at the upstream end of the pool. Two days later the white men struck. Already made edgy by his dreams, the boy was the first to open his eyes. In the second of being jerked awake, Gudap thought he was living a nightmare. A man’s face was etched in his memory. It was the face of the man who had led the attack on his people so long ago. Here he was again, leaning forward in his saddle, hatred burning from the eyes that glared from beneath the jammed-on hat. The mass of black and grey hair that covered the lower half of his face was streamed back by the rush of wind.

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Gudap shrilled a warning. Warriors jumped up with spears in their hands. Five men and horses were galloping towards them. In the first fear-slashed seconds the boy thought their thunder sticks appeared to be shorter and thicker, but the people were ready. They knew to dodge the first thunder blast then rise and hurl their spears. The white men would again feel the strength of the Dapoori. From his place in the young men’s windbreak, Gudap saw Kura crouched in his. His spear was ready. Belton, the leader of the white men, was bearing down on him. A man in the windbreak to the left of Kura sprang to his feet. He was fitting a spear to his thrower as he rose. Belton swung his gun to his shoulder and pointed it at him. His orders to his men had been to shoot the men first. Resistance had to be crushed in the first few seconds. Gudap saw two holes in the gun’s end. It thundered. The sound was different. Flame leapt from one hole and the hunter screamed briefly. His face flew to pieces. Other guns made similar noises all over the camp. Kura sprang to his feet. His spear arm swept back. Belton pointed the gun at him. The second hole belched fire and noise. Kura was hurled backwards. A huge hole had appeared in his chest. His spear fell harmlessly to the ground. Belton broke the gun in the middle and rammed fresh cartridges into the breech. He made the gun whole again and it thundered twice more. Two more hunters were hurled aside like struck birds.

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Gudap ran. The screams of his family and the screams of the Dapoori became one in his mind. He looked back once before he hurled himself into the water. The white men had their short shiny spears out and they were hacking at the women and children. Gudap had lived it before. He gulped a deep breath and dived beneath the surface. Diving and swimming, Gudap reached the bullrushes at the northern end of the pool. He slid in among them. A slight noise to his right made him freeze, then a thought bludgeoned through his shocked mind. He called softly. Yudang answered as softly. Gudap felt a glimmer of hope. He slid through the reeds towards her. Yudang clung to him. He tried to free himself and pull her towards the end of the pool. She wrapped herself around him. He could feel the fear trembling her body. It matched his own. ‘Quick. We must go.’ ‘No. We must hide. They will see us if we leave the rushes.’ ‘They kill everyone. They will find us if we stay here.’ Gudap again tried to prise Yudang’s arms and legs from around him. She clung tighter. The boy became desperate. The cries from the Dapoori were dwindling. It would soon be over. Slumping down in the water he tried to slide through the reeds towards the bank. The water was often deeper near the bank. There may be an overhang. As he moved Yudang began helping. They were going deeper into the reeds. The children found what they were looking for, an

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eroded overhang of bank. Barely the length of a forearm deep, its roof was little more than a hand’s breadth above the surface of the water. It must have been gouged out by the rush of water some time in the past. Bullrushes half choked the entrance. Water lapped into it. The children squirmed in, heads tilted back to keep their noses clear. Cries and loud splashes indicated that other people were trying to hide in the bullrushes. A thudding through the earth told the children of horses galloping towards the pool. One lot of thudding jarred to a stop above them. The bank trembled and small clumps of earth fell on them. Horses stamped and milled. Shouts hacked through the air. The words were unintelligible but the children understood the hatred and malice in the voices. ‘Don’t let any get away. Whelps or women. They’ll only breed again.’ Thunder bellowed and people thrashed and screamed in the reeds. Again the guns bellowed. More people screamed. Then they were quiet. Again that hated voice. ‘Get down there. Make sure none are still hiding.’ Booted feet clumped to the ground, thudded down the bank to the children’s right. They shrank to the back of the hollow as the urgent footsteps splashed through the reeds and water at the edge of the pool. Horses’ hooves trembled the earth above. The hated voice gloated to the animal. ‘Get around you eager brute. You’ll put us both in the water. With a bit of luck, one might run. Then you’ll get your chance.’

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A chunk of bank crumbled away and cascaded down the front of the hollow. More earth fell on the children. They shielded their noses and mouths and found room to breathe. The earth caked them and muddied the water where they lay. The horse stamped back. A gun bellowed among the reeds. A woman’s cry was cut short. Booted feet splashed among the shallows. A tomahawk thudded. The swish of a sword-spear. What sounded like a kangaroo being dismembered. Shouts echoed through the reeds. Streaks of red crept through the muddy water around the children. They clung together and wept silently for the people. Smoke seeped into the air around the pool. The children felt the clump of hooves through the damp ground. The sounds and vibrations gradually faded away. Stillness returned to the pool. Time dragged and night finally began to end the day. When the children finally oozed from what was left of the overhang, they were almost too cold to move. They slithered through the water and bullrushes to the northern end of the pool. Once they ran into a log that wasn’t a log. The smell of blood was strong. Crawling from the last of the bullrushes they continued to creep along the dry riverbed, staying close to the steep bank. Warmth gradually returned to their limbs. They straightened and walked more quickly. No sound was heard. The bush was hushed by the savagery. Hours later the children crawled beneath a bush and clung to one another. Sleep did not come. Their

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voices came as whispers. Yudang’s lips were close to Gudap’s ear. ‘Where can we go?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘What will become of us?’ Gudap was silent for a long while. Then he said, ‘We will go on and do as we always have. Only by killing the land can they kill the people.’ Exhaustion finally drew a blanket over their minds and they fell into patches of sleep.

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CHAPTER 13

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he children shivered into wakefulness with the first streaks of dawn. They crawled from beneath the trees and walked quickly up the riverbed, both hungry and thirsty but afraid to stop. It was easier walking in the dry sand than having to pick their way through the bushes and trees on either bank. The aim was to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the white men. Even so, Gudap felt uneasy about the river’s openness. It was the country’s artery. Life pulsed along it. It was the giver of water, the magnet to the animals and birds, the only place to survive at this time of summer. It was also the road that was bringing the white men into the people’s country. The children reached another pool in the late afternoon. They drank and gathered bullrush corms and young shoots. A tortoise was caught. Their total aloneness again hit them when they came to cook it. Their flight from the Dapoori camp had been so desperate that there had been no time to think about

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or gather the essentials. They were empty-handed. Yudang was the first to realise. ‘I have no firestick.’ ‘We’ve made a fire before, we’ll do it again.’ ‘You’ve no digging stick, or throwing stick.’ ‘Then I’ll make some. Everything we need is around us.’ ‘We’ve nothing to cut a stick with. It has to be a hard strong one.’ Gudap was faced with the reality. His confidence faltered. He looked around. The bank where they sat was covered with long dry grass. The thought suddenly occurred to him that the white men always came to such a place as this. Grass and water were what his large number of animals needed. When he found it he took it. He might not come immediately but Gudap suddenly knew with certainty that come he would. He pulled Yudang to her feet. ‘We must move away. Before more white men come.’ Yudang rose. The tortoise dangled from her hand. ‘I’m hungry.’ ‘So am I but these places are no longer safe for us. We’ll cross and seek shelter in the bush away from the river.’ ‘Can’t we cook the tortoise?’ ‘Bring it. We’ll see what we can do once we have found a hiding place.’ As they crossed the dry riverbed at the upstream end of the pool, Gudap stooped and picked up several water-worn stones. The bank on the south-east side of the river was less

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open. There were fewer large areas of grass. The children walked away from the river until darkness made them halt. They cleared the sticks and debris from the sheltered side of a thick bush. The bush’s leafy branches grew to the ground making it an effective windbreak. The wind was only light but it was already cold and there would be no fire to fight the night-time chill. Before he lay down and while there was still enough light, Gudap looked for a sturdy piece of branch. The strong branches of the eucalypts defied his efforts to break one off. In desperation he picked up a dead one that lay on the ground. It was badly shaped but there was now insufficient light to look for a better piece. It felt unwieldy and he was uncertain as to its strength. It would have to suffice. He lay down beside his cousin and they snuggled together for warmth. The night dragged on. The cold penetrated. The children dozed but the cold and exploding nightmares left them huddled and afraid. A modest crescent of moon climbed the sky and forced back some of the overwhelming shadows. All but one. It was a persistent one. Smaller than that of a bush but as big or perhaps bigger than Gudap when he crouched, it drifted closer. Its snuffling jerked Yudang from her semi-sleep. She looked into the hungry eyes and mouth of a large dog. Her immediate thought was dingo but it looked somehow different. Its jaws snapped shut only centimetres from her throat as she rolled aside. Her scream pulled Gudap from one nightmare into another. It took a few seconds for him to realise that this one was real. He grabbed his makeshift waddy as the dog sprang 106

forward. He was sweeping it forward as he rose to his feet. It connected with the animal’s shoulder. It was an ineffectual blow and the dog quickly recovered. It jumped aside only to leap forward again. This time Gudap was ready. He sprang aside, and as the animal lashed by he crashed the waddy down on the back of its neck. The stick shattered. The dog stumbled but again recovered and swung around with a snarl. Gudap saw its teeth gleam in the thin moonlight as it leapt for his throat. In a desperate defensive reflex action he jabbed at it with the remnants of stick in his hands. The dog saw the movement and averted its face. The stick flew to pieces against its throat. The dog’s shoulder struck Gudap in his belly and knocked him over backwards. The dog spun on hitting the ground and charged back. The boy put out his arms to break his fall. His hand crashed down on the rounded stones he had picked up in the riverbed. His fingers closed on one as he rolled to one side. He tumbled back onto his knees and swept his arm back. He threw the stone with all his might as the blurred figure leapt towards him. As the stone left his hand he let the force of his throw swing him aside. The stone struck the dog on the foreleg and Gudap heard the crack of bone. The dog yelped yet slashed at Gudap’s face as it went by. The boy smelt its fetid breath as it flashed past. If he had not swayed aside the dog would have torn his face open. The dog yelped as it landed, its front leg folded and it rolled. Gudap snatched up another of his stones and hurled it. He heard it thud home. The dog yelped again and began

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to limp off into the darkness. As it went Yudang saw it snatch its snout at the ground. Something dangled below its jaws. It crossed a patch of moonlight and the girl saw that it was carrying off their tortoise. She also realised that it was a longer, leaner animal than a dingo. The children clung to each other during the remainder of the night. Gudap had only one stone left and it never left his hand.

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CHAPTER 14

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aylight found them shivering, hungry, thirsty and alone. As soon as it was light enough to see, Gudap searched in the grass for his stones. He found them but he also read the story of the previous night’s attack. The dog’s tracks were larger than those of a dingo. They reminded him of the tracks he had seen left by some of the white man’s dogs, particularly the long lean ones the white man sometimes used when hunting kangaroos. Perhaps it had been one of those that had gone bush and reverted to its natural instincts. The boy returned to their tiny patch of cleared ground. He sat cross-legged and, using one of the stones as an anvil and one as a hammer, he chipped at the third one. It didn’t take Gudap long to chip a rough cutting edge to the stone. Starting as he had with a waterrounded stone, he ended up with a rounded part that fitted into the palm of his hand and left the cutting edge standing free. He and Yudang then looked

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around for a tough tree from which to cut digging sticks. The girl made the choice. She chose the sort of wood her mother would have chosen. Gudap used his chopping stone to hack off two arm-length pieces of the right thickness. He also cut off a longer piece from which he hoped to make a spear. Although his hand was sore from the continual chopping, Gudap went to a lot of trouble to make the end of one digging stick into a neat symmetrical point. He felt its hardness. He finally nodded. ‘Now we’ll see if we can make a fire.’ Yudang, in anticipation, had collected tinder dry grass and bark fibres. She had also selected a notched piece of softer wood. Between them they lit their fire. The first tiny flame lifted their spirits. Minutes after the first flame a cheerful fire blazed in the middle of their cleared space. The children then went to find lizards. Their digging sticks worked well and it didn’t take them long to catch enough for a feed. The fire was rekindled from its coals and the lizards were cooked and eaten. When they lay down for the night it was with full bellies. Gudap made sure he had plenty of wood on hand. The heat from the fire would help to keep them warm and the flames might deter further attacks. The following day the children returned to the river. Despite their thirst they paused in a patch of thick scrub and carefully surveyed the area before venturing into the open. When they were sure it was safe they drank at the pool and spent some time gathering bullrush corms 110

and shoots. Yudang again caught a tortoise. The pool was a good food source but the children were uneasy all the time they were there. Too many memories haunted the river. They carried the food back to their more secure base in the scrub and cooked and ate the tortoise. Over the next few days the corms and shoots augmented the food gathered from the surrounding bush. The children sucked nectar from those bushes still flowering, caught small animals and ate of the many edible plants. Roots, inner bark, seeds and the small native fruits of various bushes were all important food resources. Water was the biggest problem and they were forced to visit the river pool each day. Yudang again fashioned a bark bowl in which to carry water. It reduced the number of trips to the pool. Gudap cut, shaped and smoothed another two throwing sticks. He had watched his father and uncles and learned well. The throwing sticks worked, and he added small animals and birds to their food supply. As an area became depleted, or the animals wary, the children simply moved further into the bush. Gudap felt drawn to the south-east but was always held back by the need to go often to the river for water. Then a day arrived when the wind whispered of rain. It held a dampness that caressed the skin. The wind direction changed and it blew with more persistence. The following morning the children were woken by rain. Slow and steady, it washed the dust of months from the leaves, leaving them miraculously greener and brighter. The bush smells intensified. The tracks

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of small animals were easier to see on the damp ground, providing they were found before the falling rain washed them away. The rain increased. It extended into a second day. It was never really heavy but it put out the children’s fire. They gathered their few belongings and moved to a small hill some distance to the south-east. Gudap had wanted to go there for some time but it was too far from the water in the river. With pools beginning to collect on rocks and in small hollows, this would no longer be a problem. The hill was rocky. The children found shelter beneath two leaning slabs of rock. It took a while to find dry tinder to start another fire but Yudang was now adept at finding and teasing dry fragments of bark. It took a lot of twirling to create that first spark. The first flame was reluctant to grow but persistence won. Once the fire was alive, wet wood could be dried. The rain petered out during the night of the second day. The wind got colder and the children were glad of the warmth from their fire. Gudap began fashioning a spear thrower. He had made one spear that flighted reasonably well but he had been unable to kill any game with it. He had hit a small wallaby but the spear had failed to penetrate the animal’s tough skin. A thrower would give him more force. On the fourth day the clouds were completely gone and the sun bathed the renewed landscape. Gudap and Yudang climbed to the top of the small hill and studied the surrounding country. The boy again felt the pull of the area to the south-east. ‘We will go in that direction.’

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Yudang also felt the pull but the need for water made her cautious. ‘The pools might dry up.’ ‘The rainy season has started. There will be more rain.’ ‘It’s sometimes a long time between rains.’ ‘We are still too close to the river. The white man has not yet come, but I fear he will.’ Yudang shuddered. ‘He might go that way too.’ Gudap pointed to the area with his chin and lips. ‘There is less grass that way.’ It was decided. The children collected their few belongings and left. It began as a relaxed move. They walked for a couple of hours in the early morning then hunted and gathered until they had sufficient food for the day. Home was a sheltering bush and a shady tree. Yudang carried a firestick to kindle a fire at each stop. Water was not a problem at first but as the weeks crawled by and no further rain came, pools became harder to find. The promise of winter rain had been a mockery. It had been only a temporary respite from the drought. The thirsty country had drunk the water and was looking for more. The children had to walk further each day to find a creek bed and then follow it to find a pool of trapped water. No more rain came and even these pools soon dried. Water could still be got by digging in the damp spots in the creek beds and Yudang’s bark bowl became increasingly important. It stretched their travel time between watering places to two and sometimes three days. Most of their travelling was done in the early morning or late afternoon. Night would have 113

been better but they needed the daylight to spot likely places to find water. After the third week the children emptied their water bowl on the third day and they still had not found water. On the following morning dew sucked from leaves gave them enough to start the day. They walked longer than usual before stopping to hunt and gather. Food was easy to find but their thirst grew. Moisture from the plants and animals they ate helped but they still needed water. The children lay in the shade of a tree during most of the heat. Dew again eased their thirst at the beginning of the new day. They set off but lasted barely an hour before they sought the shelter of a grey-leaved mulga. The children were distressed. The dryness of their mouths and throats made it difficult to talk. Yudang’s voice sounded like a flap of dead bark rubbing against a tree trunk. ‘Can you see anything?’ Gudap looked over the expanse of country before them. The air was beginning to undulate in its heatinduced dance. Bushes shrank and rolled and elongated. Reality dissolved into shimmering mirages. The boy was not fooled by the play on his senses. He waited, and plucked the real from the unreal. ‘A gully. With larger trees.’ ‘How many of those have we visited?’ ‘Should we turn back?’ Yudang thought of the dry hills, plains and creek beds over which they had walked since last they found water. She had lost count of the days. Even if they did manage to walk back that far, there was no guarantee

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there would still be water. It, too, might have been swallowed by the sun. She slowly shook her head. ‘Kill us as surely as the white man.’ ‘So will staying here.’ ‘Then there’s only one way to go.’ Gudap nodded. The action hurt his dry throat. He tried to swallow. It took his voice a moment or two to rasp out. ‘If we go that way,’ he pointed with his cracked lips, ‘the gully is closer.’ Yudang nodded. The larger trees would at least give them greater shade. They might find a pool or a damp spot in which to dig.

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CHAPTER 15

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he children got up and walked. The ground danced more than it should have from the heat haze. It was as though their eyes were playing tricks, or their feet were not going where they should. Reality was fuzzing around the edges. The bark bowl slipped from Yudang’s fingers. Gudap almost missed the slight thud. He stopped, swaying on his feet. His gaze was still rigidly fixed ahead. The winding line of trees danced. They loomed. They receded. A crow aarked and it sounded as though its cry was coming from within a deep cavern. Or was the emptiness inside his own head? Gudap looked down at the bowl. Leave it. It was too heavy, too much trouble. Yudang had staggered on. He would be left behind. He was about to continue when a last instinctive prompting made him bend and pick up the bowl. He was almost too tired to hold it. He followed Yudang. The two tiny black figures gradually crossed the plain and fell into the gully. It was a creek bed. Another of

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the scratches in the ground that ran when it rained but looked like earth wounds when they were dry. The creek bed was a promise unkept. Gudap scratched at the coarse sand. He felt its hotness on his fingers. His nails clawed on worn rock. The layer of sand barely covered the sheets of bedrock. In places the sand was thick. In places it was thin but beneath it all lay the hardness of rock. Gudap and Yudang struggled up the creek bed hoping to find a break in the bedrock where a gouged out hole held water. The sand gave way to boulders and shoulders of water-worn rock but no water. The heat drove them to the bank. A gnarled tree whose roots had sought and found some cracks and crevices sheltered them with its thin umbrella of leaves. The children lay as though dead. They had not drunk for days and were now too weak to seek food. The sun blazed its way across the sky. All on earth endured. Some survived, some didn’t. Night crept across the land. Some moisture was squeezed from the starlit darkness. It coated the parched earth. Gudap found it on his skin in the morning. He licked his forearms and struggled to his knees. He sucked leaves and found the strength to stand. Yudang lay still. Gudap’s heart lurched. He sank to his knees beside her. He put his hand on her and felt the movement of her chest. She was cold but had not the still coldness of death. He fought the waves of weakness and again got to his feet. He gathered dew-wet leaves and carried them to Yudang’s side. He knelt beside her and opened her mouth. One by

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one he dragged the leaves across her tongue and lips. She stirred. Her eyes opened. She looked at him. There was recognition but little else. Tears pricked Gudap’s eyes. In his sorrow and pain he wondered about that. He had thought there was no moisture in him. He sat back on his heels and knew defeat. The tiny bit of dew had revived them slightly but he knew it was not enough to see them through another day. He might be able to walk a little further himself but he could never carry Yudang. The earth had forsaken them but he would never leave his cousin. They had been through too much together. He would sit beside her, his leg touching her side. Touch was all they had left. He looked around at the hard hills. The gully had crawled its mark on their rocky skin but at the moment there was nothing to drain but hot air and promises. He studied his horizon. It was harsh but he had come from it and he would go back to it. His sadness was tinged with a feeling of belonging. The closest hill on Gudap’s right had a tilted cap of rock at its highest point. It reminded him of a tufted mopoke’s beak. The smaller, straggly hill further away to his left looked like the back of a starved goanna. The eroded earth had fallen away from the rocks like the sagging skin from a backbone. A chant droned at the back of the boy’s mind. He recognised it as a song sung by his father. The memory hurt. He tried to still the chant. Why had it come to taunt him? It refused to go away. He sang it in his mind. Even if he had wanted to say them, his lips and tongue could never have formed the 118

words. They were swollen and cracked beyond speech. Suddenly his eyes focused on the tilt of rock. The chant said it. He swung his head, it sang of the lizard’s backbone, the crack of gully snaking to its right. Gudap staggered to his feet. The chant drew him. His stumbling feet followed. They led him to a shoulder of rock that extended across the creek bed and onto each bank. He moved up the right-hand bank and sank to his knees in a hollow. A flat rock lay at a low point near the middle. He struggled to move it aside to reveal a bottle-shaped hole in the otherwise extensive hard sheet of rock. The small relatively flat piece had been its cork. Water gleamed at the bottom of the hole. Gudap had to lie down to reach it. He cupped his hand, pushed a couple of bees aside and lifted some water to his lips. His mouth was like a desert. It sucked the water from his hand. He drank some more and felt reality flow back into his being. His people lived in him. He scooped another handful to take to Yudang. As he rose to his feet he saw and heard the trickles falling back into the reservoir. Their slap onto the surface of the tiny pool below was warning enough of waste. He realised he would lose it before he reached Yudang. He lifted his palm to his lips. He sucked the water into his mouth and held it. As much as his dehydrated system cried to him to swallow, he did not do so. When he reached Yudang he knelt over her and put his lips to her open mouth. Not one drop was spilt. The girl swallowed. Her eyes flickered. Gudap picked up their bark bowl and returned to the rock hole. He was careful to see that no bees 119

slipped into the bowl. He half filled it and, after taking a small drink himself, slowly trekked back to the creek bed. Not once did the water slop over the sides of the bowl. Rejoining Yudang, he gently placed the bowl against her lips. He urged her to take small sips. At first it was a long time between sips but the girl gradually increased her intake. Finally she was fully conscious but was very listless and weak and could do little but lie still. Gudap realised she needed food. They both did for he also was tired and listless. He lay down in the shade beside his cousin and tiredness claimed him. He wondered if he had reached the point of no return. Exhaustion cottonwoolled them and the earth cradled them both. The mini-death of sleep took them. After what could have been hours or minutes, Gudap’s thoughts emerged from the non-being. His mind began creating pictures. They drifted through like bees hovering over water. Bees! Gudap rolled onto his knees and slowly got to his feet. His path to the rock hole was like that of a snake that had just risen from its winter sleep. He knelt over the tiny pool and drank from a cupped hand. He then deliberately flicked at the few bees and sank back on his heels. Two of the insects rose from the rock hole and flew away. Gudap watched. He did not take his eyes from them even as he hastily slid the flat rock cover over the top of the hole. It fitted roughly, leaving gaps to allow the running in of water when it rained, or the crawling in of bees, but solid enough to stop the sun sucking up the precious liquid.

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He lurched to his feet and followed the bees as quickly as he could. They led him to a small hive in a cleft of rock near the top of the hill. Gudap broke off a large handful of the honey-laden comb and backed quickly away. Several bees stung him but he considered that a small price to pay for the sweetness that oozed through his fingers. None escaped him, he licked it off as he walked back to Yudang. He roused her and showed her his find. Careful not to waste a drop, the children bit off pieces of comb and chewed the honey from the wax. When all was gone, including the sweetness from their fingers, they lay back and dozed. After a while Gudap spoke his thoughts. ‘The chant I sang ... it was a Peenamurri song.’ Yudang’s returning senses picked up on it. ‘Then this is country that our families sometimes hunted in.’ Gudap nodded. ‘There is not enough grass and water to attract the white men. We will be safe here.’ The girl did not look as confident as her cousin sounded. The boy continued. ‘Now we have water we can gather food.’ He lay still for a few minutes longer then rolled to his feet. He circled the area where Yudang lay and soon picked up some small tracks that led to a hole in a patch of sandy ground. It did not take him long to dig out the lizard. He looked for others. He also looked for sandalwood trees. He spotted several along the banks of the creek. The ground beneath was littered with nuts. That night they slept with full bellies.

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CHAPTER 16

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week later the skies darkened and rain again swept the parched earth. Water trickled from the rocks, joined more trickles, cascaded. The creek ran. The trees drank and the rock hole filled. The children stayed another week, then Gudap led the way further to the south-east. Water had been caught in clay hollows, rock holes, and lay in creek beds. It would be some weeks before water again became scarce and, with luck, it might rain again soon. Even if it didn’t, Gudap would search his memory, sing the songs of his people and find another secret well. As there were only two of them, if need be they could stay in the area of a small well for some time. They travelled slowly. Home was where they chose to stop. If food was plentiful they stopped until they felt they had hunted the area long enough. With only the two of them their needs were small. Even so, in such sparse country the need to move on was ever present. The stages were short and done leisurely. Life was lived one day at a time. They took sufficient for their 122

day’s needs from the bounties of the earth and thought little of the coming day. Why should they? Life was all around them. Each day was new and every yesterday belonged to the past. One day when they were again moving in a general south-easterly direction, they spotted a wisp of smoke away to their right. The children studied it for long moments. Fear was their first reaction. Could the white men be so far into their country? They talked about it, trying to decide what they should do. Then they sat for long periods in silence, watching, occasional words confirming their thoughts. Conviction gradually replaced their fears. The smoke was the travelling smoke of people. They lit a fire of their own and put green leaves on it to make smoke. A lazy column eased skywards. The children felt their hearts float with it. They spoke through it. The following day they again saw a thin column of smoke. It stood straight in the still air before feathering and disappearing from the top. It looked like a pencil-thin charcoal stroke against the blue sky. The children answered with smoke of their own. Gudap estimated that their paths were converging. Over the next few days that became more evident. Within a week they met. The other party was a family group of two brothers and their wives, a boy and two girls. They were Peenamurri and their kin and relationship were quickly and easily established. The many questions as to where their family were and why they were travelling alone were eventually sorted out. The children joined them and again felt secure. The

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earth yielded all they needed. But for the lack of their families, life was as it had been. The loss faded but never disappeared. It was a wisp of unease that refused to die.

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