The Stone Axe of Burkamukk

by Mary Grant Bruce

So they held hands, as they had done when Karwin fell in, and Karwin slipped into the current, holding Murla's hand tightly. He had found a stick with a sharp hook on one end, where a branch had broken off, and when the dark object came bobbing down-stream he thrust at it fiercely, savage with hunger. The hook caught in it, and very carefully they drew it ashore, and managed to get it on their island. It was a harder matter to get Karwin back, but they managed that too, and then they all lay on the mud and panted, and, except for Murla's fair face, they looked as if they were part of the mud.

Their find was a plump young wombat, and it probably saved their lives. Of course they had no way of cooking it, but at the moment that scarcely troubled them; neither did they at all object to the fact that it had been dead for a good while. They ate it all, and long after the moon had come out to cast her white light into the flood it showed them sitting on the log, happily crunching the bones.

CHAPTER II

Booran was a very clever bird. He was bigger than most of the water-fowl, and very strong. He was also very proud, partly because of his great wings, which would carry his heavy body skimming over the lakes and swamps, and partly because of his beautiful white plumage. All his feathers were perfectly white, and he was so vain about it that he scorned every bird that had coloured or dark plumage. He used to look at his reflection in deep pools, and murmur, "How beautiful I am!" If by any mischance he got a mud-stain on his feathers he was quite unhappy until he had managed to wash it off. Some people might not think a pelican a very lovely bird, but Booran was completely satisfied with himself.

Besides being beautiful and white, Booran at that time owned a bark canoe. It made him prouder than ever. It was not a very big canoe, but it was as much as a pelican could comfortably manage. He used to sit in it and paddle it along with his strong wings. There was really no reason why he should have had a canoe at all, for he was quite able to swim about in the water with far less labour than it needed to paddle his boat with his wings. It was only part of his great pride.

Still, no other bird had ever thought of having a canoe, so it pleased Booran to think himself superior to them all. No other bird wanted one at all, but he forgot that. The Emu laughed at him openly, and when Booran offered him a trip in his canoe he asked rudely what Booran thought he could do with his long legs in such a cockle shell? That made Booran more indignant than he had ever been since two black swans had risen suddenly under the canoe one day and upset both it and Booran in a very muddy part of a lake. He vowed that no other bird should ever enter it. Sometimes a meek little bird, such as a honey-eater or a bell-bird, would perch on the edge of the canoe and ask to be ferried about; but Booran never would allow it. He used to catch fish, and when he had stored all he could in his pouch he would put the rest in the canoe, so that soon it became all one dreadful smell. Not that any people in the country of the blacks were likely to object to that. They were brought up on smells.

When the big flood came, Booran enjoyed himself thoroughly. The river was too swift for him to attempt in his canoe at first, but he paddled about in the water that covered the plains, and poked into a great many things that did not concern him in the least. Sometimes he ran aground, when it was always an easy matter for him to jump overboard and push the canoe off with his great beak. He found all kinds of new things to eat, floating round in the flood-water; and some of them gave him indigestion rather badly. But on the whole it was a very interesting time, and he was very glad that he had a canoe so that he could go about in a stylish manner.

It was on the afternoon of the third day after the water had begun to go down, that Booran was first able to try the canoe on the river. The current was still swift, but he kept in the quieter water near each bank, and did not find much difficulty in getting about. He saw a number of strange blacks on a rise near the water, busily building wurleys; but they did not see him, for he dodged under cover of the wattle-trees fringing the bank. Then he pulled down-stream for a little while, until he came to where the banks were lower, and not many trees were to be seen out of the water. He rounded a bend, and came upon Karwin and his companions.

Booran's first instinct was to get out of sight. He was afraid of all blackfellows, especially when they had spears and throwing-sticks. But before he could go, the woman Murla saw him, and uttered a great cry of astonishment. At once they believed that it was Magic—so many strange things could be explained that way. They watched the big white bird in his bark canoe, and waited to see what would happen, hoping that he was not an evil spirit who would do them any harm.

Seeing them so quiet, and realizing that they were unarmed, Booran allowed his natural curiosity to get the better of him. He paddled across the river, swept down a little by the current, and stopped his canoe in a quiet pool near the mud island, where the castaways sat miserably on their log. They looked so forlorn and unhappy that even his cold and fishy heart was stirred.