And the Red Chief with Burradella went again down both sides of the Trap with their thirty-five men—and the boys, too—to make sure each warrior and boy knew his exact stand, and exactly what he must do.

Satisfied at last, the Red Chief walked back along the darkening Trap to the mouth with Burradella. Far away out over the bushlands below, the screeching of cockatoos came up to them as they squabbled over their evening roosts.

“Everything is set!” said the Red Chief confidently. “It only remains for us to spring the Trap. But I do wish Boobuk and his twenty-nine would come.” He sighed. “How we’d cut our enemies to pieces then!”

Though he did not dream it, if Boobuk and his carefree hunters had come dawdling back towards camp it would have spoilt all.

XXXIII

THE DEATH TRAP

That very morning out on the Breeza Plains Boobuk with his twenty-nine warrior hunters, loaded with meat, had started on the return to Mullibah Lagoon camp. They dawdled along, blissfully unaware of all that had happened during the last forty-eight hours, little dreaming how desperately they were needed by their hard-pressed tribe.

A glorious morning, a lazy man’s day. At mid-sun they came across the largest mob of roos they had yet seen. Big fat roos that would hardly take the trouble to hop just out of spear-throw. The fun was too tempting to be missed. Boobuk’s men put down their emu meat and started on the hunt again.

Several hours later and they had speared so many that it would be impossible to carry the meat. The elder warriors, as was their right, cut off the best meat from the kills and made heaps of it here and there upon the tussocky grass of the plains. They would send out the women to bring it in after they arrived in camp. They enjoyed a gossipy spell, then each man loaded himself heavily with meat and marched again for camp. But they had dawdled long. It was well into the night when they struck the Mooki only about two miles from Mullibah Lagoon.

They could just see a twinkle of fires away ahead in Mullibah Lagoon camp. So all was well. Feeling tired and hungry, Boobuk ordered a spell while they cooked some of the meat, which all did justice to, then stretched out round the little cooking fires.

And one of them did remark, “Seems a bit unusual—seeing a twinkle of the fires this distance away.”

“Why not?” growled his mate lazily. “They’re all in camp and perhaps old Mullionkale has some of them practising for the Fire Dance. Or the piccaninnies are playing a Fire Dance on their own.” Which was a quite satisfactory explanation.

Boobuk yawned hugely, and decided to camp here the night on the Mooki. After all, there was no rush to get back to camp, anyway. They could sleep here, and be in camp at piccaninny daylight, just after dawn.

Setting guards, two at a time to be on duty one hour only through the night, Boobuk and his men settled themselves for a gossip on the recent hunt and the coming ceremonials, then, yawning, one by one began dropping off to sleep—the sleep of the innocent. Had Boobuk and his twenty-nine men come trudging into Mullibah camp loaded with meat they would have walked straight into the spears of eighty-one wide-awake Cassilis warriors.