The next step would be for urgent screeches to sound an alarm piercingly taken up by hundreds of disgusted birds below, as in a cloud of shuffling wings they would rise to the trees to clothe the branches in their thousands with white or rosy blossoms as their now deafening cries alarmed the whole swamp. And this would tell the warrior Burradella and his listening boys that Wanawah had failed.

Wanawah turned aside towards the timber, squirmed through the grass, then rose up behind a tree-trunk and made his way cautiously on from tree to tree. Presently, when again the grasses were tall enough to hide him from those feathered sentinels, he crawled stealthily back to the swamp shore. Peering from behind the grass he saw what he sought, a small mob of fat teal lazily swimming close beside the swamp edge. His job was now to drive those ducks away down along the swamp bank to the narrow outlet where Gilwan was waiting—a task requiring caution, skill, and patience.

The leading duck became aware of a “something” amongst the grasses at the swamp edge, a “something” that vaguely appeared to threaten. The duck could not distinguish a human form about to throw a weapon; it could not quite get a glimpse of what “it” was, but it sensed the urge to move along. With a soft “cluck-cluck!” to its flock it began to swim quietly down along the swamp edge. Obediently the flock followed. Again and again as that flock dawdled on the way a rustling, a hissing, or a shadowy “something” from the reeds at the swamp edge urged the leader on.

Taking their time in their own ducky way, now and again one or two sped out of line to chase an agitated frog or some darting water beetle, bobbing up to paddle back to line with a gobble of satisfaction or complaining “cluck-cluck” of disappointment. Ever and anon they went bobbing down, neck deep, tail up, webbed feet kicking skyward while a swift glance under water spied out possible prey.

The leader, piloting his flock down the narrow laneway of water, spied a floating patch of water-weed directly ahead. He speeded up a little, keen to bob down head and neck and investigate, for there would probably be a fat, juicy shrimp, a prawn or two feeding under and amongst that fresh green weed, a morsel for his ever-gluttonous beak. He came to the weed, bobbed down head and neck, tail to the sky. He must have spied something tasty, for he continued his dive straight down—and vanished! A lean black hand had been waiting, had instantly gripped the duck’s neck and pulled it straight under. Its neck was broken under water, limp head and neck were tucked under Gilwan’s belt as his hand crept out ready for the next. So swift the act that the duck merely appeared to have continued its dive; not the faintest flutter or unusual water movement had shown that anything was wrong.