At last he came upon the wattle clearing where old Joe’s hut stood and the goanna near the door meant nothing except the almost irresist­ible urge to throw a stone at the ugly hissing monster — but this was an­other man’s property and his father said throwing stones on another man’s land was not to be done.

The door of the hut was open and old Joe was sitting in his chair cleaning his rifle and the boy’s foot was on the step and his mouth al­ready open to greet the man until he smelt it and saw it in the eye and llmi hr noticed the patch under the chin and his gaze travelled in an rirmit v ol cicada shrilled time away from the face and down to the hand which wasn’t quite holding the barrel.