The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya Read Online Free PDF Page A

on top as a grim decoration. On either side of the road stretched the shimmering flat plains, their monotony broken only by countless grey termite mounds, more bleached bones of various animals, and pepperings of brittle-looking shrubs and trees that were almost as red and dry as the soil they clung to so precariously. Beyond the plains loomed a horizon of low, uneven mountain ranges, blue in the distance. These always gave Murray the feeling that eons ago, during the dreamtime, some giant had come along and decided that these ranges were too high; so he scooped the tops off and turned them all into plateaus. Now and again small flocks of startled emus or bustards would gallop off into the spinifex and stinging trees, joined occasionally by equally small mobs of scraggy red or grey kangaroos. Wedge-tailed eagles, hawks and crows would sometimes appear drifting languidly in the hot air currents like scraps of burnt paper, then dive and disappear into a landscape as drab and gaunt as the people and creatures that inhabited it. The great master painter never bothered with too much on his palette when he made this part of Australia. Any colour schemes he left to be chosen by the relentless hot winds and the burning outback sun.
    Murray checked his watch about an hour later as a change in the terrain — from semi-desert to huge outcrops of granite and ashen boulders, interspersed with orangy brown carpets of wild hops — told him he was getting into the McGregor and Coleman Ranges. At the edge of the trickle that presently passed for the Kyabra Creek, thirty or so kilometres this side of Windorah, he decided to stop so he and Grungle could have a piss and stretch their legs.
    After he’d had a leak, Murray got the canvas water bag from the front of the Land Rover and took a good long swallow. Normally he would have poured some in his hat for Grungle but the dog found a small pond in the creek bed and happily slurped up all he needed. He trundled back up to his master and they stood in the still, hot silence by the side of the car idly watching a huge antlion buried in the sand, its jaws just below the surface, snap onto another ant almost as big and drag it beneath the surface to suck it dry. A monstrous greeny black goanna, almost two metres long, lumbered up over a boulder and looked intently at them for a few moments, possibly wondering if the weird-looking dog was going to give chase; but Grungle wasn’t the slightest bit interested in this heat. Its body swaying rhythmically from side to side,the goanna finally lumbered off disturbing a pair of fat, white, speckled geckos sitting on a rock. They appeared to have heavily-membrane-lidded eyes only for each other. Murray always liked the ubiquitous little geckos with their flattened spade shaped tails and funny little hands. He walked over to them for a closer look. It wasn’t long before the two lizards brought their heads up and started their awful, high-pitched hissing scream that was supposed to terrify him but was nothing more than a bluff from the delightful, harmless little creatures. Murray chuckled to himself and watched them continue with their hissing for a few moments before he turned to Grungle.
    â€˜Come on mate,’ he smiled. ‘It’s not hard to see we’re not wanted round here. Let’s piss off.’ Murray looked at his watch once more. ‘We might stop again for a bit of lunch in a while, eh. What do you reckon?’
    It’s hard to imagine, but as he jumped up on the front seat of the Land Rover it looked like Grungle nodded his head in agreement.
    An hour or so later they’d passed Windorah — where the Barcoo and Thompson Rivers join to form a creek, the Cooper — and were on the banks of the Whitulah River.
    It was almost noon, Murray’s stomach was rumbling constantly and Grungle also looked like he was getting ready to gnaw the butt off his master’s AR-15 sitting on the back seat, so they