“Now, night comes. The guards light their little fires down there towards the mouth of the Trap—safely concealed, of course, from our enemy scouts, dim within these walls of trees. But the enemy scouts will be prowling close along the scrub edge soon after sundown. As night grows blacker one scout must sooner or later be made to see the faint glow of a fire somewhere down here within this blackness of trees.” The Red Chief paused, his eyes gleaming, a fierce, mirthless grin spreading from ear to ear as he faced his old warrior friend.

“We know, Burradella,” he said grimly, “that by sundown the enemy scouts will have scouted completely round this big scrub. They will report to their chief that no tracks lead away from the scrub, and that the only tracks leading into it are those made by our women and children and by ourselves. The chief will then know that we are still hiding within the scrub. He will know more—that we have not even forty grown men to defend all these women and children!” He paused, glaring into Burradella’s eyes.

“The enemy chief,” snarled the Red Chief, “will be eager to find us and wipe us out before we can be joined by what he thinks are numerous absent members of our tribe. If he can only wipe us forty out, then he can turn on the others as they arrive and ambush them party by party. He will feel certain he can thus wipe us all out, then round up the women and children at his leisure.”

Burradella nodded. “That is clear, Red Chief,” he murmured.

“Of course!” The Red Chief laughed harshly. “And what a victory for him—to wipe out all the Gunn-e-darr tribe and return to his own Cassilis tribe driving our women and children before him like a mob of kangaroos!” He was grinding his teeth in a mounting rage. He pulled himself together, knowing that rage blunts the wits.

“Oh, well!” he grinned. “We give the enemy chief what he will be eager to have when sundown comes—knowledge of our camp! His scouts will see the faint reflection of a fire deep within these trees. They will creep up closer, and now, Burradella, listen well! Our guards will sprawl round the fires, occasionally strolling from one fire to the other during the early hours of night, while away down at the end where the camp is, the women will build their little fire before each gunyah. The unmarried girls will stroll from fire to fire talking with the married women. Young boys and girls from nine to ten years old will run about the camp and play until the setting of Djurrabl the evening star, when the elder women will scold them to sleep. As the camp quietens two older women will stage a quarrel. Guards will come down and quieten them. All presently, except the guards will settle down to sleep.

“But a baby will start to cry and a young mother will bring it to the fire where she will warm it and croon it to sleep. Through the cold hours, just now and then, a baby will start to cry. The mother will come out of her gunyah to the fire, stir the fire up just a little, and soothe baby until it falls asleep again. We shall act just our daily camp life. But it must be well done. The campfires will die down to nothing, and the camp be in deep sleep three hours before dawn. And then the women and children will slip into the blackness of the scrub down at the camp end there and quietly start to make their way back to the Secret Camp.” He paused. Burradella nodded in grave understanding.