‘Like Brindabella,’ he thought to himself.
He tossed the torch onto the verandah, and then, seeing his father’s stick propped up against the back door, picked it up. That would stop him falling over in the dark. His fingers wound around the handle of the stick that his father held every day, and with the touch of the cool wood, at once he felt stronger and braver.
It only took a few moments for Pender to become used to the starlight and the moonlight, and the shadows of the trees began to take a more definite shape. It was very cold. He pulled his coat tighter around him as Billy-Bob scampered up and down impatiently. His dark eyes shone like drops of oil and his short fur seemed to stand up on end. Pushing the walking stick into the earth to steady himself, Pender set off up the hill and Billy-Bob ran before him like an escaping shadow.
As he walked, his skin shook and his footsteps sounded so heavy and loud. There had been no more shots since those first ones they’d heard. But he did not believe the hunters had left the bush. What was he going to do when he found them? Tell them to stop shooting? They would laugh at him or be angry. He had seen hunters in town with his father—big, vital men with loud voices and long strides. They would not listen to him.
‘But I can’t go back,’ he thought. ‘I have to do something.’
He caught sight of the moon above the tree tops. It was low and huge, and a luminous orange colour. Pender felt filled up by the glow of it. For a moment, he lost all his thoughts about anything, about the house, about his drawings, about Billy-Bob, about the hens, the eaten berries and the bees in the beehive. He forgot about his shoes, his clothes, chairs, tables, beds, food, taps, roofs, bricks and tiles. He forgot about his father lying so stiff and pale in bed, he forgot about the doctor, he forgot about the hunters, and for an instant, he even forgot about Brindabella. He forgot all about himself.
Afterwards, when he tried to remember, he could not be sure how long the feeling had lasted. Perhaps it was only a moment, perhaps not even a minute, but in his heart, he felt as though years had passed, even thousands of years. It was a feeling that there were no more years, that there was no more stopping and starting, no more beginnings and endings, no more arrivals or departures.
At the house with the green shutters, Pender’s father woke up. He put his hand out to touch Billy-Bob and realised the dog wasn’t there. Then he sat up in bed, raising himself on his elbow.
‘Billy-Bob!’ he called.
No paws came pattering over in the darkness. Pender’s father frowned and raised his voice.
‘Pender!’
Nothing. He began to shiver, but it was not from the cold.
Suddenly he knew that he was in the house alone, that neither Billy-Bob nor Pender were there. There was an unmistakable feeling of emptiness. But what had happened? Where were they?
He reached for the metal stick that the doctor had given him for use indoors, which he kept by his bed. With unexpected energy that came out of his anxiety, he stood up on his shaking legs. Slowly he made his way to Pender’s room.
The bed was empty. The blankets were lying on the floor. And Pender’s boots and coat were gone.
‘They’ve gone out,’ Pender's father said out loud. ‘They’ve gone out in the night by themselves.’
He went to the window. The bush loomed in darkness above the house. Why would Pender really do something like that? He was normally such a timid boy. What was he up to?
‘Some sort of private adventure?’ wondered Pender’s father.
He coughed and took time to catch his breath. He remained by the window, looking out at the bush, as though he was trying to read it, to find some sort of explanation. That was when he realised that there were lights flashing between the trees, on and off, up and down.
He knew what that meant. Hunters! Out at night with torches, searching for kangaroos.
He sank down onto Pender’s bed.
‘Pender,’ he groaned.
He knew what must have happened. Pender too had heard and seen the hunters in the bush. He knew how much Pender loved Brindabella, how his heart had broken when she had run away. Pender's father had seen all the drawings of her, scattered about the house. Of course, the hunters were not seeking out Brindabella in particular. Any kangaroo would do for them. But Pender would not believe that. For Pender, there was only one kangaroo—or was it that all kangaroos were now Brindabella?
‘Oh, Pender,’ he said.
Pender’s father felt very weak. He was so sick. But Pender was in danger—why, in the dark, the boy could be shot! And Billy-Bob, too—it was reckless, mad to venture into the bush at night when there were hunters about. But what could he do about it? He did not have the strength to even climb the hill by himself, let alone search for them in the dark.
‘I’ll ring the vet,’ he decided. ‘If she brings the jeep over, we can drive as close as we can until we find him.’
He struggled out to the hallway to find the telephone. Pender had left the front door wide open, and Pertelote was now stepping her careful way inside the house, cawing softly. She sat herself down next to Pender’s father’s feet, as he made the call.
‘Dear, dear. What will happen now?’ she wondered, fluffing her glossy red feathers. ‘That Brindabella. Always a troublemaker.’
After Pender’s father put down the phone Pertelote followed him as he went back to his room to get dressed, and
