by Chris Blake
“I see them,” said Zuma excitedly. Her sharp eyes had easily picked out the faint hoof marks in the ground.
Ben nodded. “These are fresh – it’s got to be Dusty. He’s heading east. Probably making for the coast so he can sell the jewels in the city.”
“Our horses are faster than his. He can’t be far ahead,” said Tom.
“And the police won’t be far behind,” Zuma added.
Ben nodded. “If we can keep ahead of the police, we’ll catch him before sundown. Then we’ll find somewhere to hide out overnight.” The outlaw swung himself on to his horse’s back.
The horses were tired, but Ben kept up a fast pace until they came to a river. The outlaw stopped his horse and looked round at Tom and Zuma. “It’s fast, but shallow,” he said. “The horses will get us across all right and we can pick up Dusty’s trail on the other side. You two go first. I’m going to brush away our tracks and make it harder for the police to follow us.”
As the bushranger started scuffing out their tracks in the dirt Tom and Zuma rode their snorting horses into the water. The horses were able to pick their way across easily. Even so, by the time they were halfway over, the river was up to their knees. Zuma leaned out. Cupping her hand, she drank the cool water. Tom drank some too and then kicked out with his foot, splashing her.
“Hey!” she said. “What was that for?”
“You said you wanted to stand underneath a waterfall,” Tom reminded her. “This is the next best thing.”
Zuma’s grin faded from her face. She twisted round in her saddle. “What was that?” she asked.
“What was what?” chuckled Tom.
“That!” shouted Zuma.
This time Tom heard the long rumble of thunder that echoed through the hills. Above them, black clouds suddenly swirled across the sky. As it grew darker, Tom felt cold raindrops on his face. A second later they were caught in a torrential rainstorm.
Rearing up in fright, the racehorses threw Tom and Zuma off their backs and into the river. At once Tom felt the strong current threatening to drag him downstream. He grabbed hold of Zuma’s sleeve, and together they struggled to their feet. Wiping the water from his eyes, Tom saw their horses frantically charging back to the bank. He and Zuma were alone in the river.
“It’s Tlaloc!” Zuma yelled. “We have to get out of here!”
Tom didn’t need telling twice. But before he could wade towards dry land, Tlaloc’s face loomed large in the sky above them, roaring with laughter. “Too late!” he boomed.
The gushing sound of the river became louder and louder. Zuma gasped. Eyes wide, Tom looked round. Tlaloc had conjured up a foaming wall of water and it was heading straight towards them.
“It’s a flash flood!” bellowed Ben Hall from the bank. “Move it! NOW!”
The water smashed into Tom like a hammer. He heard Zuma cry out, but there was nothing he could do to help. Tom managed to take one gulp of air before he was dragged under the surface and swept downstream. The rushing water rolled and tossed him about as if he were a twig.
Just when he thought his lungs were going to burst, Tom’s head bobbed to the surface. Gulping for air, he looked round desperately.
Luckily, he saw he was close to the riverbank. Tom summoned every ounce of strength he had and began to swim towards dry land. At last, exhausted, he grabbed hold of a dangling tree branch and pulled himself on to the bank.
The rain had stopped and the sky was clear blue again. But the river was still swollen with water, churning and rolling. Tom frantically scanned the surface for Zuma and Chilli, but there was no sign of either of them. His heart sank. Had they been swept away by the flash flood?
“Tom!” he heard a familiar voice cry out. “Over here!”
Turning round, Tom let out a huge sigh of relief. Zuma was sitting further up the bank, wringing water from her sodden clothes. Chilli was sitting in a puddle beside her. As Tom walked over, the Chihuahua stood up and shook himself dry, spraying the air with water droplets.
“That was close,” said Zuma.
“Too close,” said Tom, puffing out his cheeks. “Tlaloc nearly ended our quest once and for all.”
“Hey, kids!” a voice yelled.
They looked up to see Ben Hall waving from the opposite bank. He was still sitting on his horse, shielding his eyes against the sun as he looked over towards Tom and Zuma.
“Glad you’re OK!” Ben yelled. “I thought you two were goners for a moment there. I’ve never seen a flood like that!”
Tom cupped his hands round his mouth. “Can you get across?”
“Not a chance,” the outlaw shouted back. “The water’s too deep now. It’ll be hours before the river’s safe to cross.”
“So what shall we do?” said Zuma, shaking the water out of her hair.
“You two will have to go after Dusty and the loot on your own,” Ben called back. “I can’t stay here – the police are still on our trail. I’ll lead them off in another direction. Head east and keep your eyes peeled. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.” He held up his bushranger knife in a final salute, before turning his horse and galloping away.
“We’d better go before we’re spotted,” said Tom.
“Good idea,” said Zuma. “I’ve had enough of rivers for one adventure.”
Following Ben’s directions, they went east, scanning the ground for tracks of Dusty’s horse. It didn’t take long for their clothes to dry in the blazing sun. Soon they were sweltering in the heat again.
Tom’s hat had been washed away in the flood and his forehead was damp with sweat. Even so, he couldn’t help looking about in wonder. The Australian outback was hot and dry, but amazing. Among the craggy rocks were thick bushes and tall trees. Bright flowers grew in their shade.
“Why are you laughing?” Zuma asked suddenly.
Tom blinked. “What? I wasn’t laughing.”
“I heard you,” Zuma replied. “We’re on our own and there’s no one else for miles. There’s nothing funny about it.”
“I didn’t—” Tom started to say, only to be interrupted by the sound of loud laughter.
He and Zuma both looked up. In the branches above their heads was a brown bird with a sharp beak. “It must be a kookaburra,” said Tom.
“I saw a picture of one in a book about Australia.”
“Well, I wish it wouldn’t do that,” said Zuma. “It sounds like it’s making fun of us.”
“It’s just singing,” Tom told her. “It’s not really laughing.”
“Sorry,” said Zuma. “I don’t mean to be grumpy, but I’m so hot and thirsty. I’d almost be glad to see Tlaloc again. At least it would mean some rain.”
“Wait!” cried Tom. “Look!”
He pointed excitedly at the ground in front of them. As if by magic, a trail of hoofprints had suddenly appeared in the dirt, leading off into the distance.
“Do you think that’s Dusty’s horse?” asked Zuma.
“Who else’s could it be?” said Tom. “Come on!”
They carried on with new energy, following the trail of prints along the ground. As they walked, Tom wondered what would happen once they caught up with the bushranger. After all, they were alone and Dusty was armed. They would have to use their brains and their cunning if they were going to get Tlaloc’s coin and complete this latest quest.
The tracks continued through a narrow path between two large rocks. Tom and Zuma were grateful for the shade as they passed through the rocks, and Chilli yapped his approval. They came out on the other side to find sunshine glittering on the surface of a small lake surrounded by reeds. They searched round the lake, but the tracks seem to have disappeared. If they couldn’t pick up the trail again they would never find the coin.
“Oh, well,” said Zuma, forcing a smile. “At least we can have a drink at last!” Zuma turned and ran towards the water.
Tom quickly caught up with her, with Chilli nipping excitedly at his heels. A few seconds later, they were crouc
hed in the shallows beside a wooden sign. On it someone had scratched the words ‘The Thirsty Billabong’.
“We found it! This must be the billabong from the riddle,” cried Tom.
Cupping her hands, Zuma drank deeply. “Oh, that’s good,” she gasped between gulps. “My throat was starting to feel like a desert.”
Zuma didn’t get any further. Darting forward, Tom grabbed her arm. She squealed as he yanked her out of the water.
“What did you do that for?” she spluttered.
Tom said nothing. He just pointed. A V-shaped ripple was heading through the water towards them. Bubbling up out of the murky deep, a snake emerged. Six feet long and dark brown with lighter diamond patches along its back, it slithered up on to the grassy bank. Hissing angrily at them, it opened its mouth to show fangs dripping with venom.
Tom and Zuma froze. The snake reared its head, a long forked tongue flicking in and out between its sharp fangs.
“Let’s back away,” Tom said quietly to Zuma. “And don’t make a sound.”
Zuma glanced over her shoulder. “There’s a tree about a metre behind us,” she whispered. “When I say ‘go’, jump behind it.”
Tom nodded.
“Three … two … one … go!”
Both of them took a big step backwards and then jumped behind the tree. Tom peered round its wide trunk. The snake glared at him, hissing, then slithered beneath a rotten log.
“Is it safe to make a run for it?” Zuma whispered.
“I don’t know,” Tom replied. “It’s still there.”
“Just our luck,” Zuma groaned. “The only water for miles and it’s infested with killer snakes.”
“Hello,” said a cheerful voice behind them. “What are you two looking at?”
Tom almost jumped out of his skin. Turning quickly, he saw the voice belonged to a dark-skinned teenage boy. Round his waist he wore a simple white cloth. His body was covered with faded white paint. His mouth was open in a wide and friendly grin.
“I’m Monti,” said the boy. “What are you doing way out here?”
“Shh!” Zuma hissed. “There’s a huge, terrifying snake over by that log. It’s got long fangs dripping with poison.”
“Sounds pretty scary,” said Monti. “I’d better take a look.” He peered across at the rotten log. When he spotted the snake, Monti burst out laughing. “It’s just a Copperhead,” he said. “There’s enough venom in those fangs to kill you, all right, but it’s a really shy snake. It’s probably more scared of you than you are of it.”
Tom breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Monti. This is our first time in the outback, and we’re a long way from home. I’m Tom, and this is Zuma.”
“No problem,” said the teenager. “Nice to meet you. Hot, isn’t it? I’ve been wandering about out here for two months now.”
“Why?” asked Tom. “Don’t you have a home?”
“Sure,” Monti replied. “But I’m on Walkabout. My people have been living out here for thousands of years. When a boy reaches thirteen, he goes into the outback alone. He can be out there for months, proving that he can take care of himself. When he comes home, he’s a man.”
“But how do you survive?” Tom asked.
Monti laughed again. “There’s plenty of food if you know where to look for it,” he said. “And I have this for hunting.” He pulled out a bent piece of carved wood painted with strange symbols from the rope round his waist.
“A boomerang!” said Tom. “I’ve heard of them. Do they really return when you throw them?”
In answer, Monti pulled back his arm and hurled the boomerang. It whirled round in a giant circle. A couple of seconds later he caught it expertly. “Want to try?” he asked.
“Yes!” said Tom and Zuma at the same time.
Tom couldn’t get the hang of the boomerang. After a few tries, he was tired of searching through bushes trying to find it. Zuma, however, was a natural. Soon, she was hurling it into the sky and catching it easily when it returned to her.
“Hey, you’re good,” said Monti.
“Thanks, Monti,” beamed Zuma. She gave Tom a sideways look. “See? Told you I had loads of talents.”
“You still haven’t told me what the two of you are doing out here,” Monti said.
“We’re looking for an outlaw called Dusty Moore. He’s stolen something that belongs to Zuma,” said Tom. “We followed his tracks to the billabong, but now we don’t know which way he went.”
“Really?” said Monti. “I nearly got trampled by a fellow on a big black horse a couple of hours ago. The man riding it was wearing a straw hat and a red shirt.”
“That’s him!” gasped Tom. “That’s Dusty!”
“Can you show us which way he went?” asked Zuma.
“I can do better than that,” said Monti. “I’ll take you straight to him.”
After filling his billycan with water, Monti led Tom and Zuma east, along the path of a dried-up creek. After a couple of minutes the boy crouched down. He pointed out a trail of scuffed marks in the dirt. “There you go,” he said. “It shows a man on horseback passed by recently – and he was going fast too.”
“The tracks look quite faint,” Tom said dubiously. “Can you follow them?”
Monti grinned. “With my eyes closed,” he said.
Following Monti and Chilli, Tom and Zuma set off again. Their gloominess had disappeared. They were on the right path to finding Dusty and the golden coin.
“Oh, look at that,” said Zuma after a while. She was pointing up into a tree. A small fluffy creature with big ears and a black nose clung to a branch, slowly eating a pawful of leaves. “What a cute animal.”
“It’s a koala,” Monti told her. “There are loads of different animals out here. Can you see the wallaby over by that rock?”
Tom and Zuma’s eyes followed his pointing finger. “It’s like a tiny kangaroo,” said Tom.
Hearing his voice, the wallaby looked up and bounced away.
“Not all the creatures are harmless,” Monti said. “There are poisonous snakes, and spiders like this funnel web.” He stopped by a shaded rock and pointed at an ugly, ten-centimetre black spider that had built its web into a crack.
“Yikes,” said Zuma, backing away. “I was going to walk right past it.”
“You’ve already walked past a dozen of them,” grinned Monti.
Tom looked round nervously. Suddenly, the Australian outback seemed full of danger.
“And that’s an emu,” Monti continued, pointing out a two-metre tall bird that was running across the horizon. He pulled out his boomerang. “They taste really good, but it takes a while to cook them.”
“We’re in a bit of a hurry,” said Tom.
“I am hungry, though,” Zuma added. “We haven’t eaten all day.”
Monti looked up at a gnarled tree with silvery-grey bark. “Luckily, this is a River Red Gum tree,” he said. “So I can get you a snack right now.”
Picking up a rock, he dug down into the earth between the tree’s roots. A few moments later, he held out a handful of wriggling white worms.
Monti popped one in his mouth and began chewing. With his mouth full he said, “Witchetty grubs are delicious. Try one.”
“Ugh! No thanks,” said Tom.
But Zuma didn’t have to be asked twice. Taking a grub from Monti’s hand, she munched it quickly. “Mmm, tastes good,” she said.
Tom’s nose wrinkled. The grubs looked disgusting. Even so, he was starving and didn’t know when he’d next eat. And he didn’t want Monti to think he was squeamish – especially when Zuma had been so fast to eat one. He picked up a grub from Monti’s palm and popped it in his mouth. He tried not to think about it being a wriggling insect as he bit down. The grub burst, filling Tom’s mouth with warm goo. He forced himself to chew and swallow. Once the grub had stopped wriggling, it tasted surprisingly sweet.
Monti grinned. “You’re a real outback bushman now,” he said, holding out his hand. “Want anot
her?”
When they had eaten all the grubs they could stomach, Monti continued on down the trail.
An hour later they stood on a low hill looking across a vast stretch of blue. They had reached the wide Parramatta River. Tom and Zuma hurried down until they were standing on the grassy bank. Tom was grateful for the cool breeze coming off the water.
In the middle of the river was a large strip of land. “That’s Cockatoo Island,” Monti told them.
“The prison where they send bushrangers?” Tom said.
“That’s right—” Monti began.
He was interrupted by a cry and a tremendous splash.
“There’s a man out there!” Zuma shouted.
Sure enough, a large man was thrashing through the water. Tom’s jaw dropped. He had jumped off the island into the river. “He must be escaping from the prison!” he shouted.
“He’s mad,” Monti cried. “These waters are swarming with bull sharks. Look!” He pointed down the river.
Tom’s heart sank as he saw the black triangle of a shark’s fin poking out of the water. Picking up speed, the bull shark began streaking through the water towards the prisoner!
“He’ll be eaten alive!” yelled Tom. “We have to help.” Without stopping to think, he dashed down the bank and waded out into the river. He had to fight the strong current to stay upright.
“Stop, Tom!” shouted Zuma behind him. “The shark will get you too!”
Tom splashed to a halt. Zuma was right. If he swam out to help the prisoner, he’d be eaten as well. “What else can we do?” he yelled over his shoulder.
“Let me have a go,” said Zuma. She grabbed the boomerang from Monti’s rope belt. Running forward a few steps, she hurled it with all her strength.
Tom held his breath as it whirled across the water.
Thunk! the boomerang clipped the shark’s fin. Tom leaped up, punching the air. He whooped as the bull shark changed direction and swam away from the prisoner.
