When camped, but you’re tracked by the lone dukite,
That will follow[1216] your trail like death or fate,
And kill you as sure as you killed its mate.
Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife here
Three months; ’twas just this time of the year.
He had teamed some sandal-wood to the Vasse,
And was homeward bound when he saw on the grass[1217]
A long red snake.[1218] He had never been told
Of the dukite’s ways; he jumped to the road,
And smashed[1219] its flat head with the bullock goad.