"Save yourself!" screamed Pilla. "Here comes Kuperee!"
The great kangaroo came bounding back through the bushes, and the brothers, wild with terror, flung themselves at the lightwood tree. Up they went, but only just in time. Inda's heel was grazed by Kuperee's claw as he gained the safety of the lower branches. He climbed up swiftly, and, clinging together, they looked down at their foe.
"He cannot climb!" gasped Pilla.
"No, but he will have the tree down!" cried his brother.
Kuperee was flinging himself against the tree, until it rocked beneath the blows of his great body. Again and again came the dull thud as he drew himself back and came dashing against the trunk. Gradually it yielded, beginning to lean sidewards. Lower and lower it came, and Kuperee, rising high on his hind-legs and tail, clawed upward at Inda.
As the hunter, with a cry of despair, tried to pull himself higher, Pilla, leaning from an upper branch, thrust something into his hand.
"It is the stone axe of our father," he gasped. "Strike with it, brother!"
Inda grasped the handle, and smote downward with all his might. The keen edge of the stone caught Kuperee in the forehead, and sank into his head. He fell back, wrenching the axe from Inda's hand. One more terrific roar rent the air—a cry of pain and anger fearful to hear. Then, with a dull groan the monster sank sidewards to the grass. He was dead.
It was long before Pilla and Inda dared to quit the shelter of the leaning tree. They could scarcely believe that their enemy was dead, until they saw the mighty limbs stiffen, and beheld a crow perch, unmolested, on Kuperee's head. Then the brothers came down from the tree and clasped each other's hands.
"That was a good blow of yours," said Pilla.