‘There’ll be food down there. I can’t eat too much more of that black fella shit,’ the one called Tanner complained. No matter how good the hunt had been or the amount of food on offer, he would often study his meal with a disgusted look, push it away and eat some of the dried meat he carried in his saddlebags instead.

The other Djarriba, the big white man Chilbi’s people had named Warrigal, was better accustomed to the food offered by the land, though he never hunted for it himself. That task he left to the three Jannjirra warriors.

‘Chilbi?’

The white men had finished their discussion.

‘Yes, Warrigal?’

‘You heard the Djarriba thunder earlier?’ the big man said, speaking the language of the people.

Chilbi nodded. The noise had caused Warrigal and Tanner to reach for their weapons and they had waited nervously in the shadows until the echoes died away.

‘How far away?’

Chilbi pointed across the valley. ‘Long way that way.’

Warrigal considered this information. ‘Those shots were far enough apart to have come from the same gun.’

‘Just a little homestead,’ Tanner said. ‘A ma and pa outfit, I reckon. Even if the hunter gets home before we get there, I don’t think they’ll give us too much trouble. We’ve been three weeks in the bush. I need a good feed, Warrigal.’

‘Me too,’ Warrigal nodded his big, scraggly head. ‘Chilbi? Scout us a way down into the valley.’ He pointed at the homestead. ‘We will take our war to those below.’

‘Yes, Warrigal.’ Chilbi urged his mount forward, still feeling a little uncomfortable at the motion of the huge beast beneath him. His brothers, Yawong and Tarrat, fell in behind, their hands resting on their war clubs.

Standing on the verandah of the homestead, Sean O’Rourke looked at the dingo pelt at his feet, then his two sons, and then the pelt again.

‘So you got him, boys?’ He towered over both his lads, his greying head almost brushing the bush poles that were the homestead’s rafters.

‘Sure did, Pa.’ Paddy said, excited to tell the story of the hunt, the words gushing from his mouth. ‘We tracked him right into that gully up beyond the ridge.’

‘That so?’ their father said. He picked up the raw pelt and poked his finger through the hole made by the musket ball. ‘Only one hole in it. I heard two shots echo off the hills.’

‘Missed with the first one,’ Toby said quickly, before Paddy could respond. ‘He made a run for higher ground. Gave me time to reload and take him down when he reached the skyline.’