Fiercely the chief promised harsh punishment to Red Kangaroo when he did return for breaking the law of the tribe. But another day, another, other days continued to go by and Red Kangaroo did not return.

The whisperings now grew to almost outright accusations against Jerrabri and the elders, denied just as fiercely by their friends, until the whole camp was on the point of taking sides. Anything in a moment might start that sudden, uncontrollable rage that would set half the tribe at the throats of the other half. It was the very state of affairs that Burradella and his friends had feared Red Kangaroo might cause, and of which they had warned him. And now it had come to pass—how surprised he would have been had he known!

Burradella was as worried and bewildered as anyone else. He did not know what had been in the young man’s mind, nor did he know what had happened to him. And he saw himself on any day now suddenly taking part in a fight against the chief and the elders—the worst thing for the tribe that could happen. But he felt himself boiling with rage at the thought of what might have befallen Red Kangaroo. If only he knew whether the lad had really been put out of the way by the elders!

But Red Kangaroo had not been assassinated. When he had crept out from the sleeping camp he walked steadily west through the remainder of that night, laughing to himself when steady rain began to fall before dawn. That rain would wash out all tracks. Not a soul now could even guess that Red Kangaroo had travelled west towards Rocky Glen, bound for the Warrumbungle Ranges and the lands of their powerful Coonabarabran enemies. He simply would have vanished. He smiled to himself at the surprise, the questions, the puzzlement and doubt when day after day would pass and he did not return. He pressed on as the dark bush slowly lightened to a dull grey of rain-drenched trees and grasses and sodden earth. This cold, drenching rain would keep both friends and enemies under shelter while he travelled fast and far.

When he crossed the boundary of his tribal lands weapons and body were ready for instant use, a grim, pleased alertness to his face as he strode effortlessly on. He now trod the land of his enemies. To be seen would mean a fight for life, and should his tracks be picked up he would be hunted like a wild animal.

As he entered the foothills of the Warrumbungles he sought broken country. Not only is it easier for a man to “lose” his tracks in rough country; there also will be fewer enemies roaming there to spy them. For the aboriginal values his wonderful feet and does not hunt on rough country should game be plentiful elsewhere. Red Kangaroo was wary as he walked, for a badly cut or staked foot must slow him down and lead to his death if pursued. With the dawn of each morning he sought a cave in which to hide and sleep—“with one eye open”, waking every now and then to cautiously spy out over the land. There are caves throughout the Warrumbungles for those who have the bush sense to seek and find.