“There are seven of you,” said Red Kangaroo to the young fellows, “and none has a wife as yet. Here is a chance for two of you.” He held his clenched fist towards them. In it they saw the quill tips of seven emu feathers, all evenly spaced. He nodded towards Jerrabri’s younger wives.

“He who draws the longest feather of these seven,” he said, “will have first choice of these two young women as wife. He who draws the shortest feather will take the other. Now, who will have first draw?”

The seven young warriors stared at the quills, each reluctant to be the first to put his fortune to the test. All the men smiled broadly; the women began to giggle, then delightedly urged the young fellows on.

“Look at them,” said mother Vamai, “standing there like wet shags on a rock! They’ve been moaning for ages because they haven’t got wives, and now not one dare take his chance!”

“Look at Kulgoa,” shrilled a vixen, “gaping at those feathers as if they’d bite him! Howling for a wife these two summers past, and now he looks silly as a mopoke in a thunderstorm!”

“What warriors they are,” cried another, “afraid of two little women! Why not let the women draw the feathers? They wouldn’t be so slow!”

At last Barrum took the plunge, and there was a sudden hush as he picked a feather. Alas, it was a miss. Breathlessly the people watched as another feather was drawn—another miss. Then a delighted “Ah!” to the third feather, an extra long one. Then a howl of laughter at the next—a very short one. Thus they drew for the two younger widows to the bashful content of the winners and the disappointment of the losers.

The middle-aged wife of Jerrabri Red Kangaroo gave to a warrior whose wife had died not long before, leaving two young children. Jerrabri had no children. Red Kangaroo divided all Jerrabri’s household goods amongst the three new wives. He kept Jerrabri’s war weapons, but gave the hunting weapons to Jerrabri’s old father.

Three days later a big tribal council of all the older warriors was held. Gravely they debated, and the upshot was that nine picked warriors came from the council to ask Red Kangaroo to become the war chief of the Gunn-e-darr tribe.

He had been prepared for this and his reply was already thought out. Since he had learnt the value of thinking before he spoke, or acted, he was very different now to the impulsive lad of two summers ago.

He stood before the messengers and replied impressively, “The offer of the council is a great honour to me. No man could rise higher than to be the war chief of a fighting tribe. But I am not really a man, though in fair fight I have already killed five grown warriors. But my head is still that of a boy, whereas the tribe needs middle-aged heads to think and plan against enemies, to be quick-witted in a tight place where the enemy are many and we but few. The tribe needs experienced heads that also can think out the best ways to build up our tribe and hold our good country against the enemies that I now know are all around us. In two more years, if I am alive and in health and strength, then if the tribe still want me to be their war chief I shall accept. Meanwhile, give me leadership of a warrior party under your new chief.”