“If only you can carry this shield as bravely as did your father,” Tulumi had said, “then you will be sung in corroboree as a warrior before all the tribe.” Prophetic words.

The lad hoped to carry that shield fearlessly, but never dreamed how famous it was to become. For his thoughts, “built into” this shield, were to give his people a new weapon, which would do its part in helping save the tribe from extinction.

This was the short shield, designed for easy handling on long travel and in squirming through thick vine scrubs during raids against surrounding tribes. Of toughened hardwood to withstand the heavy blows of clubs and the splintering impact of hardened spear-points, it was yet light to carry, easy to handle. The best shield-makers knew a great deal about Nature’s secrets, and were skilled in selecting woods of particularly suitable trees—expert, too, in the secret arts of seasoning, toughening, and shaping the wood. Probably they are the only people in the world’s history who have invented a weapon, both for hunting and fighting, that could be made to return to the thrower if it missed its mark, to be immediately used again.¹⁴ The “come-back” of the boomerang, the secret of its lifting power, intrigued our early experimenters working on the flying machine.

But on that sunny morning long ago when the warrior lad Red Kangaroo sat thoughtfully studying his shield high upon Booroobil Rock the white man had not yet come to this Great South Land. Only Baia-me could know of him, and of the time of his coming—Baia-me who sees, who knows all things.

The top and bottom ends of Red Kangaroo’s shield were smoothly rounded. But for some weeks past, as opportunity occurred, he, with stone axe, with stone rasp, water and sand had been carefully chipping and rubbing the rounded end to make it more wedge-shaped, and gradually sharpening it, particularly the lower edge, very carefully, lest he damage the prized shield. Only after long thought and study had he commenced the experiment. The idea in his mind had grown so definite that he was almost certain now it was good.

As he was carefully grinding yet a little more of the roundness off the lower end of the shield, sharpening it yet a little more, Giluram and four of his friends came up to the look-out carrying a half-roasted wallaby. Red Kangaroo welcomed them with an appreciative grin.

“And why is the Red Warrior carving the bottom of his shield?” asked Giluram.

“To make it a weapon of offence, as well as defence,” replied Red Kangaroo.

They looked puzzled, suspecting a joke.

“The only way to use a shield as a weapon,” said Giluram slowly, “is to bash your enemy’s face with it—if he lets you! That would not cripple him; it would only make him more savage.”

“Ah,” said Red Kangaroo, “but look! If I did this—” he held out the shield as if warding off an imaginary blow—“see—if he gave me the chance and instantly I—” and he jabbed downward but at an angle. “Don’t you see?” he appealed to their blank faces. “The edge! The narrow, pointed edge would jab him sharply in the throat, knock his wind out, jerk him to his knees—”