And with one clash of the nulla to their little shields the boys were swiftly away.

“Guru,” said Burradella to a young warrior, “you with Keri and Duri take these fourteen lads quickly to the hoop-vine scrub on the tracks of the women. At the edge of the scrub face the lads, two together, seven spear-lengths apart, lining the edge of the scrub. You, Bigur, take the centre, just where the women enter the scrub on their way to the Secret Camp. Watch—and wait for me there.”

Swiftly they departed, leaving only Burradella and one young warrior in camp. It was the hour before sunset and now Giluram and his two mates came running into camp, saluting the second chief.

“It is a very strong war party,” reported Giluram between deep breaths. “From the warriors we have seen, and the tracks we crossed both coming and going, there are more enemy warriors than all the warriors of our tribe put together!”

He paused, breathing deeply while this startling news sank in. “They are camped at our old Burrell Lagoon camp,” he resumed. “We crept as close as we dared—they were eating, gorging on our game. From good cover we watched ten scouts being sent out at the run to follow the women’s hunting tracks of this morning and locate our camp—they’d got the news from the four who had found our tracks at the crossing—the four that Weetah saw. Those ten scouts will be here very soon—we ran on ahead of them!”

Burradella turned to the warrior lad beside him and ordered, “Run up to the Black Hill and tell them to signal this news out to the Red Chief. Then run down to the hoop-vine scrub and await me there. Giluram,” he said, “You and Kubado find a hiding place and spy on those ten scouts when they come into this camp. Find out all you can. The rest of us will go and wait by the edge of the big scrub. You know where to join us.”

Burradella and Burowa hurried back towards the scrub, but on rising ground overlooking the camp climbed up into forked trees with bushes in their hands. From behind these bushes they peered, and soon saw the first scout spies come creeping into the camp. One soon appeared at the crouching run, to duck behind a tree and peer towards the camp. Burradella signalled Burowa and they slid down from their trees.

“Those scouts will send back word to those following behind that all is clear,” he said. “They’ll all be in camp very soon now. But it will be too late for them to move further tonight. We climb up now to the hoop-vine scrub and join our boys. We have much to do tonight.”

The warrior Burradella had already done a very great deal during the last few hours. And he was soon to be sure of what he already dreaded—that the very existence of the tribe was at stake.

Softly fell the shades of sunset, a curlew called mournfully from away down on the flat. The long dark lines of the hoop-vine scrub already looked black and forbidding, but its tangled depths were a sanctuary to those now in desperate need.