Amidst expectant chattering the cooking fires were alight as the hunters came drifting in, throwing down their game at the fires. There were delighted acclamations as lucky ones came in carrying a big, fat kangaroo. Others had an emu slung across their shoulders, others brought wallaby, others massive jewfish and codfish. It had been a good hunt, and all would feast as they watched the dance.

Sunset came bringing a peaceful hush from the bush, except for her children chattering round the campfires. Dark night came and the trunks of the big old trees encircling the corroboree ground danced to leaping flames.

Just before moonrise the chief, Jerrabri, rose from his camp-fire and grandly walked to his place, followed by the council of the elders, then by the warriors, led by Burradella, all in their correct order of precedence.

Jerrabri squatted down, his council beside him, then the elder warriors down to the second degree. It was the first degree, the Kubara, the recently initiated warrior lads, who were to dance. Behind the men, in a semicircle, were the chattering women and children. Before them all lay the green sward, illumined by fire-glow that faded into the blackness of the trees.

Suddenly the tip of the silver moon rose far away out over the black country. Instantly boys ran to throw armfuls of kindling on the fires, which roared into leaping flame as a chanting arose with click of kylies and muffled drumming. From the darkness came leaping a tall young figure leading a line of comrades.

The leader’s body shone bronze-red as he came bounding into the fire-glow; no other knew how to mix red ochre with phosphorescent oil of fish as did Red Kangaroo. Vivid white of cockatoo feathers in his jet-black hair, tufts of brilliantly hued parrot feathers seemed alive on his prancing limbs and broad chest; a plumage of pink galah feathers showed rosy in the firelight as he leapt and whirled to the clash of nulla-nulla against hardwood shield. A rising shout of “Wah! Wah! Wah!” arose from the warriors; shrill calls from the women and girls and children greeted their favourite, Red Kangaroo. The lads dancing with him had their admirers, too. Though little Tuki, sitting beside Weetah, had big round eyes only for Red Kangaroo, his sister’s limpid brown eyes were all for Giluram, while to little Yulowirre the Rainbow the young warrior Keri was the only one in the dance. Brave the lads looked in their war-paint and feathers, their movements in perfect rhythm with the story actions of their leader, the sharp clicking of the kylies, chanting and drumming of the women, as scene after scene portrayed the life-story of the red kangaroo.

To a quickening of the drumming Giluram now came leaping into the dance. He turned on Red Kangaroo and they danced their parts as two old-man ’roos standing up to one another in snarling fight for possession of a demure young doe. The fire-gleam reddened the swaying, darting bodies as each leapt and bounded and kicked and clawed at his fiercely dancing antagonist. The people applauded in delight as the two kangaroos leapt in to attack with savage grunt and slash and parry of forepaws, instantly swaying to dodge the deadly ripping kick of the great clawed leg, only to fly aside and leap in again as if their toes had not touched the ground. Dancers, yes, and wrestlers too were these lads. Red Kangaroo was to remain unbeaten throughout a long life.