Lillipilly Hill by Eleanor Spence Page B

that he had not been sufficiently interested in the district to seek information about it. How he wished now that he had listened to the talk of his schoolfellows! They must surely have known of this place.
    So obsessed had he become with the idea of escapefrom Barley Creek, that he refused to think of turning back.
    â€˜But how can I get across?’ he wondered. ‘It would be hard enough in daylight, let alone in the middle of the night.’
    Aidan was not particularly nervous, nor given to wild fancies, yet the utter desolation and loneliness of this spot began to worry him. City-bred, accustomed always to company, he was now abruptly aware that he could rely on no one but himself for a way out of his predicament. If he remained here to starve, he would probably not be found for days.
    A long-drawn howl shattered the quiet of the swamp, and Aidan sat frozen with horror. No bird could ever have made a sound like that. Suddenly Aidan remembered Charles’s talk of the bunyip that lived on Maloney’s Hill, the mysterious creature that howled in the night.
    Cautiously, he turned his head to look back at the hill. It was steeper and rockier than any of its neighbours, and frowned over the swamp like a fierce guardian. It would have made a fitting home for any number of bunyips.
    â€˜There are no such things as bunyips,’ Aidan told himself firmly. ‘It could have been something else—a dog, perhaps.’
    Aidan might have been cowed by the sight of blood, and the thought of physical pain, but he was not to be vanquished by such things as unearthly howls and tales of mythical creatures. There might or might not be bunyips—this was a surprising country, where all sorts of fantastic things seemed possible—but this was a situation where one ought to sit quietly and use one’s powers of reasoning. Which was just what Aidan did.
    â€˜If it was a dog,’ he reflected, ‘then it’s either lost, or it belongs to someone. And if it belongs to someone, there must be a house not far away. If there’s a house, then I could ask the way to Blackhill. I’ll see if I can find the house, and wait near it till daybreak.’
    It seemed a sensible plan. It was almost a relief to hear the howl again—and this time Aidan was certain that it was the baying of a dog. It came from the hill-side, immediately above him. Without giving himself further time to think Aidan began to scramble upwards over the jutting rocks, tearing his hands and clothes on the vines and the razor-edged sword-grass, and colliding occasionally with saplings that were invisible here, where the moonlight could not penetrate. The noise of his progress was so great that he did not hear the dog approaching down the slope, and did not see it until it was poised on top of the very rock over which he was climbing.
    All this time Aidan had been thinking of dogs as friendly animals. It therefore came as a shock to him to realize that the creature towering above him was most definitely hostile. It was a large dog, and to Aidan it seemed as large as a tiger, with the same bared fangs and gleaming eyes. It stood in a patch of moonlight—looking around frantically, Aidan saw that the nearest tree was some yards away.
    The dog growled, and crouched as if ready to spring. Not daring to move, Aidan clung to his rock, staring as if mesmerized into the animal’s ugly face.
    Another shape detached itself from the shadows under the trees, and came forward to join the dog. As if in a dream—or rather, a nightmare—Aidan found himself gazing up into the muzzle of a rifle, whose barrel gleamed in the moonlight. Holding the rifle was a tall figure that seemed no more friendly than the dog.
    Aidan summoned what dignity he could.
    â€˜Please call off your dog,’ he said. ‘I’m not doing any harm.’
    â€˜What are you doing here, then?’ demanded a suspicious voice. The rifle remained steady in