There were other ways in which a woman was valuable. Take Bilar the spear-maker, for instance. He had slaved at making spears for old Kuluman for years past now. Some years ago Kuluman had sold him a wife, and not a young one either, though Gille the Moon was not hard to look upon, was good-tempered, a good worker, too, and noted for her diligence in collecting surprising quantities of grass-seed even in a poor season, husking and winnowing it, and patiently grinding it into flour. These good qualities, of course, had helped old Kuluman put such a cunning price upon her—so many first-class spears a year. A stiff price that Bilar had eagerly accepted, not looking well ahead on the bargain. He of all people, the best spear-maker in the tribe, should have known that it takes time to make a good spear—time to roam the bush and carefully select the best timber in out-of-the-way places, much time and labour for the dozen and one processes before the rough stick was the finished, straightened, hardened, shaped, hafted, headed, pointed, barbed, beautifully balanced weapon.

Besides, he had to find time to do his own hunting, for he had no time now to make spears to sell to others for foods from their hunt. Bilar must work long, long hours at spear-making for old Kuluman. When the others were yarning round the campfires or taking things easy Bilar was bent over his spear-making, working, working, working, working for old Kuluman, who sold those spears to eager buyers, demanding and securing especially big prices from other tribes. For the Stone Age men had their recognized trade routes, “spider-webbing” over the continent for surprising distances. Bilar would be working for old Kuluman for as long as the old wretch lived, working at buying off his wife Gille the Moon.

Red Kangaroo angrily clenched his fists. By ancient law of the tribe Bilar should have been allowed a wife after he had passed through the Bora and won the Bor, his belt of manhood. He should have four piccaninnies by now, so doing his share to help strengthen the tribe. Instead of that he had but one baby girl, and instead of the excess from his hunt going to the tribe to help feed the sick, the injured, the old, or those engaged on other duties, he never had anything over at all—all his time being taken up in working for old Kuluman.

Angrily Red Kangaroo thought of the young warriors, too frightened to stand up beside him and demand their rights of the chief and council upon the council grounds before all the tribe. In awed silence his boyhood friends had listened to him when he suggested it. Uneasy faces, downcast eyes, heavy silence had been their answer. Only Giluram had offered to stand by him. Then his uncle, Tulumi, had come secretly to him by night with whispered warning to say no more against the chief and elders and the laws. For the matter had come to the ears of the chief, and the elders had muttered angrily in their beards.