The first third came to me as a nightmare; so this is my only Joseph Garbarla Dream-Time story not based on an existing legend.

‘I’ve already seen what the fire owl does to people!’ thought Garbarla.   Recalling the pile of shapeless ashes that Lucy Gabadabadana had been reduced to, he expected to see something similar in the bedroom.

Instead, to the surprise of Garbarla and Jimba, they saw the relatively intact form of John Dulban lying on a wire-frame cot.   The young man looked as though he were only sleeping.   Except for the ugly hole bashed into the back of his head, where dried blood had already turned black.

“How?   What?” stammered Garbarla, caught off guard.

By way of answer the old man pointed to a blood-stained stone axe lying beneath the cot.

“He was murdered?” asked Garbarla, stating the obvious.   He almost heaved a sigh of relief that the fire owl had not claimed another victim.   But he managed to stop himself in time.

“But who?” asked Jimba.   Like Garbarla, Jimba had been a close friend of John Dulban.

“Mutapina,” said Weari-Wyingga.

“Mutapina?” echoed Garbarla, at first not understanding.   Then he realised, “You don’t mean Larry Mutapina killed him?”

“Seems like it,” agreed Weari-Wyingga.

“But Mutapina and Dulban were the best of mates,” pointed out Garbarla.

“Mutapina doted on Dulban,” added young Jimba.

Weari-Wyingga shrugged, obviously as puzzled as they were.   “Who knows?   Maybe…?”

But before he could finish they heard footsteps behind them.   Turning they saw the short figure of Roger Gardigardi, a young hunter.

“We found tracks,” said Roger.

“Show me,” said Weari-Wyingga.   They all filed outside to where the sea of black faces still swirled outside the hut.

“Go home!   Nothing here to see!” ordered the old man.   And one or two of the gawkers did as ordered.   But, despite the best efforts of Neal Judawali to shoo them off, most of the crowd followed after Weari-Wyingga, Garbarla and the others.

Only a minute or two later they arrived at the unpainted two-room corrugated-iron hut that Larry Mutapina shared with his widowed mother, Wendy Tudjudamara.   Still with most of the village following them.

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