Rollie Tyler looked about at the arid country all around him, stretching as far as the eye could see. He knew that he had wandered away from town much further than he was supposed to. In fact, his mum would be very mad if she found out that he was out of town at all. She’d remind him that he was only five years old, and it was too dangerous to be out wandering alone. But while playing at the edge of town with some other children, Rollie had looked out at the huge outback spread out before him and just couldn’t stay in town. Coming from Melbourne, he’d never seen so much open territory before. Rollie wished that they lived here. Then he could go exploring every day. But they were only here to visit Grandmum Linette, his father’s mother.
Thinking about his father dimmed Rollie’s excitement about exploring. Papa hadn’t come with them on the trip. Instead, he was off on one of his own trips, one of the ones he took a lot. He always just told Rollie that it was to make money, but Rollie had overheard some people talking. They said that his papa was something they called a shicer, a con man. Rollie didn’t know what that meant, but the way the people said it made it sound like it wasn’t a good thing. He’d wanted to tell them that his papa was a good person, but then they’d have known that he was listening in and told Mumma. He didn’t want Mumma to be upset with him. He always wanted to be a good boy for her. But he knew that he wasn’t being a good boy now. He should just go back.
“Bluey? Blue! Here, boy!” Rollie called, looking around for his dog. He spied the red-furred mongrel off in the distance. When his repeated calls failed to bring the dog to him, Rollie went to get him. The boy was still a ways from his pet when he caught sight of half a dozen golden brown shapes approaching, heading straight toward where Bluey was. Dingoes! He’d never seen one in the wild before, but he had seen them in the zoo back home, and he knew that they could be dangerous. They often killed people’s pets, dragging them off to be eaten.
“Bluey! Bluey, come here, quick!” Rollie cried urgently. The dog turned to him and started forward. That’s when he spied the dingoes. Though a small dog, Blue had never quite gotten that into his head and often tried going up against dogs much bigger than he was. With a sinking heart, Rollie realized that this time was going to be no different. Bluey started growling and yapping like crazy, trying to make himself appear big and fierce. But he wasn’t big, and he wasn’t fierce, and he didn’t stand a chance against one dingo, let alone six.
“Bluey!” Rollie screamed. “Bluey, run!” But it was too late. The dingoes, sensing an easy kill, leapt forward. They were upon the dog in seconds.
Rollie stood froze, watching as his pet fought the best he could, his cries and yips of pain and fear bringing tears to the boy’s eyes. Bluey was going to be killed! He had to do something! He had to!
All at once, fear for his pet outweighing his fear of the dingoes, Rollie ran forward, yelling at the top of his lungs, scooping up and throwing stones at the animals attacking his pet. Startled, the dingoes bolted, running off a few meters. But then, they stopped and turned around to stare at the boy. A cold chill ran down Rollie’s spine as it suddenly hit him that he was in grave danger. His eyes desperately looked for something to help him, but there was no weapon nearby and no one in sight. Then he saw the only thing that might save him and his pet.
Grabbing Bluey up into his arms, Rollie ran for a lone mulga tree several meters away. He sensed rather than saw the dingoes begin chasing after them.
Faster than he’d ever moved in his life, Rollie ran up to the tree and started climbing it. He felt something touch his leg, then there was a sharp jerk that nearly ripped him from the limb he was holding onto. He heard the sound of cloth tearing, then his leg was free. He quickly scrambled higher up the tree. Going as high as he could, Rollie found a perch in a spot where a larger limb came out from the trunk. Clinging to it, he looked down at the dingoes. They were milling about the base of the tree, snarling and growling up at him. Every now and then, one of them would leap up, trying to reach him.
Rollie looked down at the leg of his trousers and saw a gapping tear in the cloth. It made him even more scared to think about how close the dingo’s teeth had come to his leg. His eyes went back to the dingoes. He was trapped. As long as they were there, he couldn’t escape, and there was no way to know how long it would be before the dingoes got tired and left.
Rollie looked down at Blue, who was shivering against him. There was blood all over him, and Rollie was afraid that his pet might be seriously hurt. He began stroking the dog.
“It’s okay, Bluey. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”
Rollie scanned the horizon, hoping to see somebody, anybody, who could help them, but there was not a sign of anyone. How long would it be before his mum realized that something was wrong and started looking for him? Would she be able to find him? It could take hours, perhaps longer. He was already thirsty, and he was so scared he wanted to cry. He just wanted to go home. He was never going to do anything like this ever again.
“Mumma, please find us,” he begged in a whisper, feeling tears streak through the grime on his face. “Somebody please find us. Please help us, please help us.”
Over and over again, Rollie whispered the words, repeating them like a mantra. With his whole mind and body, he wished for it to happen, concentrating on it so hard that his head started to hurt. His eyes squeezed tightly shut, Rollie began to rock slightly back and forth, continuing to say the words. Soon, he stopped saying them aloud, speaking them only in his mind, praying that, somehow, somebody would hear him.
The old Aborigine stalked the lizard on silent feet, slowly preparing his boomerang for throwing. It would be a difficult shot, the lizard being nestled against the rocks as it was, but Tjapaltjarri was confident that he wouldn’t miss. His hunting skills had been honed over the many years of his life, and his eye was still sharp and clear, despite his age.
Just as Tjapaltjarri was about to throw his weapon, something made him freeze, every muscle stilling. Something was wrong; there was trouble. He straightened and turned around, his eyes searching the distance. He could see nothing, but that did not change the feeling inside him.
Choosing to forget about the lizard, the man sat on the ground and closed his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of wrongness. After only a few moments, he began to hear a voice in his mind, the voice of a child repeating the same words over and over again. “Please help us,” the voice was saying, a voice full of fear. It was the voice of a white child.
The old Aborigine stood, his eyes focusing on an unseen spot to the west. Without hesitation, he broke into a fast lope, heading for the place where he knew that this child with the strong mind voice was. He did not stop to wonder how a white child could have this ability. He only knew that the boy needed help. That’s all that mattered now.
‘I am coming,’ he said in his mind back to the boy, not knowing if the child would hear him.
They had been trapped in the tree for two hours, and, so far, the dingoes were showing no sign of leaving. After the first hour, the animals had stopped actively trying to get at them and had settled down to wait. Every time Rollie shifted in the tree, one or more of them would spring to their feet and again try to reach him and Bluey. The pack must be very hungry to be this determined.
Rollie’s gaze went past the tree that had become his prison, hoping to see someone coming to rescue them. He didn’t know why, but he had this feeling that somebody was coming. In fact, he could have sworn that he had heard someone call to him and tell him that they were coming to help. But he couldn’t have heard anyone. There was nobody within sight. Yet the feeling remained that help was on the way.
The boy looked down at his pet. Blue had stopped shivering quite some time ago, his little body now pressed tightly up against Rollie. The bleeding had finally stopped. Rollie pulled his pet even closer to him.
“Help will come, Bluey. We’ll be safe,” he murmured, trying to ignore the growling from the dingoes below. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the dog’s fur. That’s when he felt something, a feeling that he was no longer alone. Rollie lifted his head and frantically looked about. At first, he didn’t see anyone, then his eyes caught movement in the distance. The movement soon became recognizable as that of a human being. It was an Aborigine.
“Help!” Rollie cried, afraid that the man wouldn’t see him. He cried for help again, desperately waving his free arm. Excited by the sudden activity, the dingoes all leapt to their feet and resumed their attempts to get at him, snarling and jumping up toward him.
Bluey, suddenly terrified, began squirming in Rollie’s grasp. Afraid that he would drop his pet, Rollie tried to hold onto him. The sudden shift in his position made him lose his balance. With a scream of terror, Rollie felt himself start to fall. With his free hand, he reached out and somehow caught a limb. Screaming again, Rollie held onto the limb, his one leg still draped partially around his former perch, the other one dangling in the air. Bluey struggled against his chest, held there by his other arm. Screaming and crying, Rollie held onto both the limb and his pet with all his strength, but he could feel his hand slipping. If he didn’t hold onto the limb with both hands, he was going to fall. But if he let go of Bluey, the dog would fall to his death. Even if the dog wasn’t killed in the fall, the dingoes would rip him to pieces. Rollie couldn’t let that happen. But if he didn’t release Blue, they would both die.
Rollie met his beloved pet’s eyes, and the dog stopped struggling. He saw the fear there but also trust. Bluey trusted him to protect him. Rollie couldn’t fail him, he just couldn’t. Holding on to the dog even more tightly, Rollie screamed for help again.
The Aborigine could see a tree in the distance and knew that was where the child was. As he drew closer to it, he saw movement at the foot of the tree and recognized it as a pack of dingoes. He increased his pace, now knowing what the danger to the boy was.
Suddenly, he heard a scream, both with his ears and in his mind. The boy’s terror filled his brain, flashing through it like lightning. Gasping, the Aborigine increased his speed again until he was running with all his might toward the tree, knowing that, if he did not hurry, he would be too late.
He was around fifty meters from the tree when the dingoes became aware of him. Yelling loudly, the Aborigine continued his charge. When he was close enough, he stopped and threw his boomerang. It struck one of the dingoes in the shoulder. The animal yelped in pain and ran off. Again running forward, Tjapaltjarri covered a few more meters. Taking careful aim at the largest dingo, the one he recognized as the pack leader, he threw his spear. The weapon flew straight and true, piecing through the animal’s chest. The dingo gave a single sharp cry, then collapsed to the ground. Its packmates scattered. Ignoring them, the man ran up to the tree. There, clinging precariously to a limb, was a boy of about five or six years old. In the boy’s arm was a small, red-furred dog. It took only a moment to see that the boy was not going to be able to hold on much longer.
“Let go of the dog!” Tjapaltjarri called in heavily-accented English.
“No! He’ll fall! I can’t let him fall!” the boy cried, his voice shaking in fear.
“Then you will both fall!”
“No! I can’t let him go! I can’t, I can’t!” The child was crying now, holding onto the dog so tightly that the man wondered if the animal’s ribs would crack. How the boy was holding onto the dog and still keeping hold of the limb was beyond understanding.
Amazed at the child’s strength and determination, the Aborigine started climbing the tree. “Hold on. I am coming,” he said.
“Please hurry,” the boy said in a small voice.
Careful not to step on limbs that would not support his weight, the man scaled the tree. He was soon just below the child. He reached up and grabbed hold of him.
“Let go of the limb,” he instructed.
The boy hesitated for a moment, then released his hold. Tjapaltjarri got a stronger grip on him, then lowered him down to the limb he was standing on.
“Can you climb down on your own?” he asked.
The boy nodded.
“Give me the dog.”
The child looked up at him with enormous brown eyes. For a moment, the Aborigine felt himself being examined and judged. As their eyes locked upon each other, the man sensed something within the boy, something unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Then their gaze broke and the feeling passed. The boy nodded and handed the dog over to him. After a brief struggle, the animal grew quiet. The child then began climbing down, followed closely by Tjapaltjarri.
Once they reached the ground, the boy held his arms out for the dog. The man handed it back to him. There was silence for a moment.
“Thank you,” the boy finally said.
The Aborigine nodded, staring at the child. “What is your name?”
“Rollie.”
“Do you live nearby?”
Rollie shook his head. “We live in Melbourne. We’re on vacation, visiting my grandmum.”
“Are you staying in town?”
The boy nodded.
“I will take you there.”
Tjapaltjarri pulled his spear from the body of the dingo he’d killed. He then slung the dead animal over his shoulder.
“Are you going to eat it?” Rollie asked curiously.
“Yes. To kill an animal and not eat it would be wrong. Whitefellas do that, but it is not the way of my people.”
Rollie fell silent and started walking toward town, the Aborigine keeping pace beside him. As they walked, Rollie kept glancing up at the man. He’d seen a few Aborigines in the city, those who lived like white people, going to white schools and working regular jobs, but this was the first time he’d seen an Aborigine of the outback, one who lived much like their people did before the white man colonized Australia. The man was wearing nothing more than a loincloth. Strange-looking scars ran the length of his upper arms, down his thighs, and across his stomach. They didn’t look like scars that a person would get from being hurt. They almost looked like they were put there on purpose. Rollie wanted to ask the Aborigine about them and lots of other questions, but he was afraid to. He didn’t know if the man would like it.
Soon, they were approaching town. The people out on the street stared at them as they went by. It made Rollie feel uncomfortable, but the man just held his head high, saying nothing. Rollie saw his grandmother’s house up ahead and pointed to it.
“That’s Grandmum’s house,” he said.
The Aborigine stopped. “I will go, then.”
“But don’t you want to see my mumma?”
The man shook his head. “There is no need.” He looked down at the child. “Keep yourself safe, Boy. Stay away from dingoes.”
“I will.”
The man gazed at him a moment longer, then turned and headed back out of town. As he reached the edge of the habitation, he heard a soft cry. Startled, he looked up to see a large eagle perched on the top of a tree. He recognized the bird as a wedge-tailed eagle, Australia’s largest raptor. Surprised to see the bird so close to human habitation, the man stared at it. Wedge-tailed eagles were known to be intolerant of human activities, tending to stay away from towns and cities. Yet, here was an adult male not a stone’s throw from town.
The bird gave another cry, its eyes fixed upon him. It then looked over its shoulder in the direction of town. Tjapaltjarri followed its gaze to see the little boy he’d saved from the dingoes watching him from behind a fence. Once again, he got that strange feeling about the child. He turned back to the eagle in time to see it launch itself into the sky and fly away. When he looked back at the fence, the boy was gone.
Though he was not one of the clever men of his tribe, one who had gone through the higher initiations, Tjapaltjarri did have the same perceptions that all his people possessed, abilities that Whitefellas often scoffed at. There was something about that child. If the boy had been of the People, the man would have guessed that he had the skills to be a Man of High Degree, a clever man. But the boy was white, so that could not be . . . could it? The Aborigine did not know the answer to that, but the fact remained that the child did have abilities that the old man had never before seen in a Whitefella.
He did not know how, but Tjapaltjarri could sense that the boy he’d just saved was very important in some way. Something was going to happen in that child’s future, something that would affect a great many people.
Turning, the Aborigine headed back to his home, feeling as if, by saving that child, he had done one of the most important things in his life.