Storm Boy Read Online Free PDF Page A

be a place ready for him.’ Then he said goodbye and scratched Mr Percival’s neck. ‘You’re a big, wonderful bird,’ he said. He looked up at Hide-Away. ‘When he dies you must send him to the museum; we’ll put a label on the case: The pelican that saved six men’s lives.’
    Hide-Away looked round quickly. He was glad Storm Boy hadn’t heard the captain’s words.

 
     
     
    F OR THE REST OF THE YEAR everyone was happy. The storms went back to the cold south, the sun warmed the sandhills, and spring ran over the countryside with new leaves and little bush buds.
    Before long the open season for duck shooting came round again. All along the Coorong the shooters went, the blast of their guns echoing up and down the water, and the stench of their gunpowder hanging on the still air like a black fog of rotting smoke. The mornings were filled with the cries and screams of birds. Sometimes Storm Boy could see the birds falling, or struggling westward, wounded and maimed, towards the shelter of the sanctuary.
    From the start, Mr Percival hated the shooters. He harried them whenever he could. Sometimes he just sat staring at them rudely until they grew impatient and chased him away. Sometimes he swam annoyingly near their hidden boats until they splashed or made a noise. But most of all he flew round and round their hiding places in wide circles like a cumbersome old aeroplane on patrol. And all of it was to help the ducks, to warn them in time, to keep them away from the shooters, so that the terrible guns would roar less often, and kill less often still.
    Before long the ducks understood Mr Percival’s warnings, and kept away. The shooters grew angrier and angrier.
    ‘It’s that confounded, pot-bellied old pelican again,’ they’d say. ‘He’s worse than a seal in a fish net.’
    ‘He’s like a spy in the sky,’ said one. ‘We’ll never shoot any ducks while he’s about.’
    And so it went on until one terrible morning in February. Storm Boy was standing high on the ridge of a sandhill watching the sun slip up from the sea like a blazing penny. He turned to look inland, and there behind a bending boobyalla bush near the Coorong he saw two shooters crouching. They were very still, waiting for six ducks out on the water to swim a little nearer. Just then Mr Percival came sweeping round in his ponderous flight. He swung in low over the hiding men, and the ducks gave a sudden cry of alarm, flapped strongly, and flew off very fast and low over the water.
    The men shouted with rage. One of them leapt out, swung up his gun, and aimed at Mr Percival. Storm Boy saw him and gave a great cry.
    ‘Don’t! Don’t shoot! It’s Mr Perc—’
    His voice was drowned by the roar of the gun. Mr Percival seemed to shudder in flight as if he’d flown into a wall of glass. Then he started to fall heavily and awkwardly to the ground. Storm Boy ran headlong towards the spot, tripping, falling over tussocks, stumbling into hollows, jumping up, racing, panting, crying out, his breath gulping in big sobs, his heart pumping wildly.
    ‘Mr Percival! They’ve shot Mr Percival!’ he kept screaming. ‘Mr Percival! Mr Percival!’
     
    Poor Mr Percival! When Storm Boy reached him he was trying to stand up and walk, but he fell forwards helplessly with one wing splayed out. Blood was moistening his white chest feathers, and he was panting as if he’d just played a hard game.
    ‘Mr Percival! Oh, Mr Percival!’ It was all Storm Boy could say. He kept on repeating it over and over again as he picked him up slowly and gently and then ran all the way back to the humpy.
    Hide-Away was getting the breakfast when Storm Boy burst in, sobbing.
    ‘Mr Percival! They’ve shot Mr Percival!’
    Hide-Away sprang round, startled, threw down the spoon he was using, and ran out to find the shooters. But they’d already gone. Ashamed and afraid, they’d quickly crossed to the other side of the Coorong, and driven off.
    Hide-Away came back