Free Eco Warrior by Philip Roy Page A

even certain they were looking for us.
    We saw more kangaroos in the early morning, and again in the twilight. Once again, they reminded me of deer, because they seemed very gentle. They were nocturnal, too, as were wombats, which we also saw, shuffling along the ground like miniature tanks, and pushing everything out of their way. Hollie growled at them ever so quietly, but they completely ignored him. The wildlife of Australia was so different from the wildlife of Canada it was hard to believe. This was especially true with the birds. As twilight settled in a valley we were passing through, we heard what sounded like a chorus of insane circus clowns laughing their heads off. The sound echoed all around us as if it were coming from speakers on every tree. I was completely bewildered at first, but then remembered having heard the sound before on TV, and knew what it was: the kookaburra—a small bird with an unbelievably big call. It was hauntingly funny. In Canada, we had the mournful song of the loon, the cry of the coyote, and the howl of the wolf, but I doubted there was any sound in Canada that could match the crazy hysterical wailing of the kookaburra.
    By the end of the second day, we had walked out of Walyunga National Park and into Avon National Park, and the Swan River had become the Avon River. Following the river like a shadow were train tracks, and I would have liked to walk on them, but they were too exposed to the air. So we stayed in the trees, but usually within sight of both the tracks and the river. The river was just a stream now, easy to step over, but also too exposed to travel on. It was a lot of work climbing up and down the hills, and by the time we crawled into the tent, we were exhausted. I slept without waking, and if kangaroos, or anything else, had come by, I never heard them. By the morning, just when I was starting to think that we were not being chased at all, we were discovered.
    We had slept in. Walking for a few days in the heat of Australia took more out of us than I would have guessed. I didn’t wake when I normally would have, nor did Hollie, and Seaweed didn’t care if we were up or not. I had pitched the tent on top of a hill in a group of trees. You couldn’t see it from the road, or the river, or train tracks, but you could see it from the air. The sun must have been up for two or three hours when I heard the buzz of a small airplane in the distance.
    “Hollie! Quick!” I jumped up, unzipped the front of the tent, and scooted Hollie out. Then I pulled down the poles, gathered the tent together as quickly as I could, and shoved it into the knapsack. But I think we were too late. To us, the plane looked far away, but I knew from experience that when you’re searching for something with binoculars, you’ll see it long before it will see you. Even so, I stood still against the trunk of the tree and held Hollie in my arms as the plane passed overhead. It made a few close passes before it went away. If there were jeeps in the area in communication with the plane, we were in trouble.
    I just didn’t want to get caught. In a way, things weren’t as bad as they might have been because I hadn’t actually done anything wrong. And I could sort of prove it. The fact that we had been walking for a few days, and could find witnesses in stores to verify that; and the fact that the sub was still on the harbour floor, ought to convince the police that we had nothing to do with the sabotage. But I didn’t want them to hold me against my will and separate me from my crew. And I didn’t want to get Jewels into trouble. What if they made me take a lie-detector test, and I failed it?
    But those weren’t the only reasons I didn’t want to get caught. Knowing that somebody was chasing me made me feverishly determined to get away. Maybe I was crazy, but I wanted to know that I could escape if I really had to. At sea, I always could. Maybe if I put my mind to it, I could here, too.
    And so, I