Red Kangaroo was wondering if he possessed this courage as he worked secretly while others slept. He was making twine of human hair and possum fur—thin, cord-like twine, such as was used for snaring the strongest of birds. Red Kangaroo was planning to snare something—but not birds.

He had prepared a number of long, supple strings of fur or hair, and they were spread out neatly to hand as he squatted on his possum rug, intently working by touch and the light from the dull glow of coals. Sitting cross-legged he took two strings of hair and one of fur and laid the ends together on his thigh. Then, pressing with the warm palm of his hand, he began rolling them along his thigh. With each expert roll of the palm he twirled the strings against his leg, twisting the three strands into one. The result was a thin twine, very strong, springy and elastic. As he tested it a smile of satisfaction made his face very boyish.

The next night the real work commenced. Very serious was he, very secretive as he bent over his task in his gunyah when all the camp slept. He took long white threads of kangaroo sinew, which, skilfully treated, were almost unbreakable and felt like finest silk. These he laid lengthways, side by side, across his possum-skin rug. Alternately between them he placed, in equal lengths, the twine of fur and hair. Then he laid all the ends upon his thigh and carefully began to twist them together into the one cord. He was very particular. A long job, but time did not matter, it was the finished work that would count. Slowly the white of the pliable sinews began to merge with the blue-grey of fur and the black of hair into one thin cord, an extremely strong, pliable, springy cord of an ominous finish and neatness. As one end began to form and grow longer it seemed to live and writhe under the warmth of his hand and thigh as slowly, very carefully now, with rolling pressure he twisted the strands.

The night came when this cord was completed, except for the two ends. With one end he now took especial care, making it into a tiny loop, as a sailor might splice an eyelet in the end of a rope. The other end he finished off into what a sailor would call a “Turk’s head”. Then he squeezed the Turk’s head through the loop.

He now had a running noose—and such an elastic, slinky, dangerous little noose! Smiling his delight, he began to splice the Turk’s head end of the cord round a grooved stick six inches long. This formed the handle; the other end was the running noose. He tested the finished work on the possum rug. With but a touch on the handle the noose seemed to run together.

With a half-smile he tried it round his own neck. The thin, pliant cord seemed to caress his strong young neck, until he gently pulled back on the handle. The noose bit viciously into his neck; if he pulled harder he knew he would feel it like a burning wire choking out his life. Now he could understand how, if this noose were slipped in earnest round his neck, a man could never escape.