Free Man of Two Tribes by Arthur W. Upfield Page B

the north of his present camp, or short of his present camp—between it and some place out on the Plain. His position was not less than two hundred miles from the nearest known homestead, Mount Singular. Having recently been able to live off the country, the food in his bags would support him for seven or eight days, when supplies could be replenished at Bumblefoot Hole.
    Before sleeping, he decided to prospect the desert for four days, after which he would be compelled to turn back and travel south along that imagined line of flight of the aircraft.
    Having to cover as much country as possible in those four days, he was leading his camels off the Plain and high into thedunes before the sun was up, and luck favoured him, only to withdraw the gift within two hours.
    He was prompted to halt his camel train and look rearward over the great Plain, the sun not yet risen, and the morning air like crystal, the far edge of the Plain like the lip of a tall cliff one sees from a mere hundred yards back. Then his roving eyes abruptly stilled, to become a stare to annihilate distance.
    Crows, a dozen of them, so far away as to appear to be inkblots. A dead rabbit? A dead kangaroo? Neither. Oh! for a pair of binoculars! Something was surely moving out there, the opposite of the black crows. It was white. Like a white crow but couldn’t be. It was like a white handkerchief, being waved to attract his attention.
    Down again on the lower elevation of the Plain, he could no longer see even the crows. This mattered not at all. Lucy went ahead as usual, thrusting into the gentle south wind. The camels followed the walking man, happy to have their faces turned homeward.
    Yet the happiness continued not for long. They had proceeded for a mile, and now Bony could see the crows and the white object of their interest when Millie tugged back on her noseline, and he halted to see what was wrong. He could find nothing wrong. He could see nothing to excite them. The ground was firm. Impatiently he called to them and went on.
    Another half mile, and they did come to an area indicating subterranean cavities. He had to select a twisting passage to avoid the bare rock and to keep to the close growing saltbush.
    The white object fluttered above the ground. It wasn’t a handkerchief, but was certainly fabric of some kind. Not yet could he determine the agency keeping it in motion.
    Minutes later he knew what the white object was—a silk scarf, and it was poised by an uprush of air from a blowhole precisely like a ball on a water-jet in a shooting gallery.
    To be bothered with the whys at this time was to woolgather. To be bothered with fractious camels was equallywaste of time. He took the throwing ropes from his saddle and spent less than three minutes in roping both animals so that they couldn’t rise from their knees.
    With the rifle he caught the fluttering scarf and drew it from the air current. It was of fine quality silk. It bore no initials, but was certainly a woman’s scarf. When he peered into the blow-hole, the air beat upon his face. He sniffed, and the smell baffled him. He could detect only that the odour was not entirely composed of damp rock and water, bats, or the smell of any burrowing rodent. Coffee? No! Surely not coffee?
    Leaving the blow-hole, he prospected. Lucy began to bark. The warning chill at Bony’s neck made him turn about. The crows appeared to have lost their reason; there was nothing he could see. He circled the blow-hole, and so found the large hole five feet in diameter and about centre of flat bare limestone rock.
    Behind him Lucy barked furiously, and he turned quickly, the chill on the neck now of ice.
    He was confronted by four wild aborigines. Each was aiming a spear tipped with flint, the butt resting in the socket of a throwing stick. Their faces were impassive. Their eyes were wide and steady, like their bodies, their arms, their weapons.

Chapter Nine
Adversity is but a Spur
    LEAVES and