“And now,” he asked quietly, “do you still want to fill your guts with emu meat? Or are you content to remain behind and guard the women and children?”

“No, no, Red Chief!” they all seemed to murmur at once. “We stay behind and guard the women and children of our tribe. Say no more, for your words burn us like firesticks.”

Next day the Red Chief, with thirty-nine warriors, strode out for Breeza Plains, followed by the ringing cooees of encouragement and wishes of good luck from Burradella’s guards and the women and children. A beautiful day, with the trunks of the big old yellow-jackets reflecting the warm sunlight, faint hum of insects, booming call of a swamp pheasant. The forty warriors strode along in the wake of the Red Chief, gossiping cheerily in anticipation of the seven days’ hunt, the sun shining warmly upon the strong bodies of these primitive children of the wild.

For seven glorious suns they hunted the emu and feasted on the strength-giving meat away out over the Breeza Plains. At dawn of the eighth sun the Red Chief ordered the final drive, back towards camp, to secure a good quantity of the best meat to carry back to the hungry guards. He, with nine picked warriors, would hunt his way back to camp this day. Meanwhile he placed Boobuk, the seasoned warrior in charge of the remaining twenty-nine men. Their job was to hunt kangaroos diligently and return to camp loaded with the best meat by sunset the following day. To a waving of hunting weapons, a rousing chorus of cooees, the two parties went their separate ways.

Thus in a rosy dawn the Red Chief and his nine men moved leisurely back towards camp.

XXVII

THE LOST DILLY-BAG

On that morning of the eighth sun the warrior Burradella, with the guards, escorted the people from the camp for the day’s hunting. The women and children were eagerly chatting of the warriors’ impending return as they strolled along under the ironwoods and box with their dilly-bags and fishing nets and traps, their yam-sticks and grain containers. They knew the warriors had enjoyed great hunting, for the Black Hill look-out had been told so by smoke signals. Enthusiastically they debated their champions’ chances of having secured the most game. The Red Chief would be first, of course, but who after him?

Hungrily they looked forward to the warriors’ returning loaded with the rich red meats on which all whose totem, ceremonial, and mourning laws allowed it could feast as a change from fish and birds, small game and plant foods. And after the feastings would come the seven exciting days of the dance and totem ceremonies.

There was no dawdling, no young girl straying from her party or falling behind, no mischievous children running ahead to hide and not answer when called—all were too scared to play such tricks. For the warrior Burradella was painfully strict. His orders to the young warrior guards were that should a woman stray from her party the guard was to rap her on the head with his nulla hard enough to give her a ding-dong headache, while any child who played up was to receive a switching that would tan his hide so that he would not sit comfortably for seven suns. Should any guard prove lax in vigilance Burradella would attend to that man himself. Thus daily Burradella made certain that no woman or child would be stolen by prowlers while he had charge of the camp.