Read Online Dingo: The Dog Who Conquered a Continent by Jackie French - Free Book Online
Authors: Jackie French
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waited the fire might go out and the smoke vanish.
He couldnât stride, but he could limp. And anyway, the dog would find his tracks and follow, he told himself. Sheâd sniff out the way heâd gone just like heâd watched her sniff out tiny rock lizards, crunching them in her sharp teeth.
He forced himself to eat the still-raw fish, then drank as much as he could, wishing he had water bladders. The smoke was inland and he had no way to carry water.
But there must be streams here, even in the Dry. And the smoke was less than a dayâs walk away. He could manage â just â to get there and back to here without water.
He hoped he didnât have to.
CHAPTER 33
Loa
The sun had risen high behind him when the dog bounded up a few handspans later. Heâd been walking for long enough to have worried she wouldnât come. She ran to him. She sniffed his feet, then lay on her back so he could bend down and scratch her tummy, something heâd discovered she liked in the long afternoons when hunger and thirst were sated and there was nothing else to do. He grinned at her, relieved sheâd finally found him.
He stood up, leaning on his spear, and peered across the dry tussocks at the smoke again. The smoke cloud was bigger than it had been. The smoke was black as well as white too.
The fire was coming closer.
Suddenly he realised what it meant. That wasnât a tame campfire. This was wildfire! Fire lit by lightning crashing into the ground, perhaps, though he hadnât seen a lightning storm in all the days since heâd been here.
Maybe thereâd been a storm in the distance, when he had been sleeping. Heâd lost track of time and this land had few of the seasonâs cues he was used to,though he was sure the seasons were the same as at home. Storms could come at any time now that the year had turned.
The fire might also have been lit by people to flush out animals to spear. In any case, its cause didnât matter. The fire was heading for him and the dog.
He had no way to know how fierce it was. Wildfire could be a frog fire, jumping and snickering through the grass, so you were safe in a tree â if you could hold your breath till the worst of the smoke passed. Or it could be a monster fire that ate trees too. Suddenly the fire was an enemy, not a friend. Only one thing stopped fire.
Water.
The sea was too far behind him. But over to the south-west was a grey-green smudge that must be an inland mangrove swamp, perhaps by a river or lake. The ground would be too wet to burn there. It would stop a frog fire, but not a monster. A monster fire would eat the swamp trees too, leaving the land dried and scarred.
But the swamp was the only refuge he had.
He turned abruptly, and began to limp as fast as he could, not worrying now about hurting his leg more. Legs could heal ⦠perhaps. Burned bodies didnât. The dog bounced at his heels or âfollowed him in frontâ: she had a way of knowing where he was going and heading there first.
He looked behind. The smoke was a wide tear across the world now, the wind at its back. But the swamp was close. He lurched into its dampness justas he heard the first snicker of flames behind him. He waited till he was several spear lengths in among the trees, balancing on a root clump with the water pooled about his feet, staining the dogâs paws, then turned back again to look at the fire.
The flames licked up at the sky. The blaze was bigger than a frog fire, but not much. The red flames bit and frizzled at the mangrove edges. A few leaves turned into flame. But although he could feel the fireâs heat he knew they were safe. Already the flames were shrinking.
More than safe. He suddenly realised that this was his chance to catch some fire for himself.
He untied his spear and thrust it safely up into a tree, then began to gather whatever dry wood and dead branches hadnât fallen into the mud. He limped with
He couldnât stride, but he could limp. And anyway, the dog would find his tracks and follow, he told himself. Sheâd sniff out the way heâd gone just like heâd watched her sniff out tiny rock lizards, crunching them in her sharp teeth.
He forced himself to eat the still-raw fish, then drank as much as he could, wishing he had water bladders. The smoke was inland and he had no way to carry water.
But there must be streams here, even in the Dry. And the smoke was less than a dayâs walk away. He could manage â just â to get there and back to here without water.
He hoped he didnât have to.
CHAPTER 33
Loa
The sun had risen high behind him when the dog bounded up a few handspans later. Heâd been walking for long enough to have worried she wouldnât come. She ran to him. She sniffed his feet, then lay on her back so he could bend down and scratch her tummy, something heâd discovered she liked in the long afternoons when hunger and thirst were sated and there was nothing else to do. He grinned at her, relieved sheâd finally found him.
He stood up, leaning on his spear, and peered across the dry tussocks at the smoke again. The smoke cloud was bigger than it had been. The smoke was black as well as white too.
The fire was coming closer.
Suddenly he realised what it meant. That wasnât a tame campfire. This was wildfire! Fire lit by lightning crashing into the ground, perhaps, though he hadnât seen a lightning storm in all the days since heâd been here.
Maybe thereâd been a storm in the distance, when he had been sleeping. Heâd lost track of time and this land had few of the seasonâs cues he was used to,though he was sure the seasons were the same as at home. Storms could come at any time now that the year had turned.
The fire might also have been lit by people to flush out animals to spear. In any case, its cause didnât matter. The fire was heading for him and the dog.
He had no way to know how fierce it was. Wildfire could be a frog fire, jumping and snickering through the grass, so you were safe in a tree â if you could hold your breath till the worst of the smoke passed. Or it could be a monster fire that ate trees too. Suddenly the fire was an enemy, not a friend. Only one thing stopped fire.
Water.
The sea was too far behind him. But over to the south-west was a grey-green smudge that must be an inland mangrove swamp, perhaps by a river or lake. The ground would be too wet to burn there. It would stop a frog fire, but not a monster. A monster fire would eat the swamp trees too, leaving the land dried and scarred.
But the swamp was the only refuge he had.
He turned abruptly, and began to limp as fast as he could, not worrying now about hurting his leg more. Legs could heal ⦠perhaps. Burned bodies didnât. The dog bounced at his heels or âfollowed him in frontâ: she had a way of knowing where he was going and heading there first.
He looked behind. The smoke was a wide tear across the world now, the wind at its back. But the swamp was close. He lurched into its dampness justas he heard the first snicker of flames behind him. He waited till he was several spear lengths in among the trees, balancing on a root clump with the water pooled about his feet, staining the dogâs paws, then turned back again to look at the fire.
The flames licked up at the sky. The blaze was bigger than a frog fire, but not much. The red flames bit and frizzled at the mangrove edges. A few leaves turned into flame. But although he could feel the fireâs heat he knew they were safe. Already the flames were shrinking.
More than safe. He suddenly realised that this was his chance to catch some fire for himself.
He untied his spear and thrust it safely up into a tree, then began to gather whatever dry wood and dead branches hadnât fallen into the mud. He limped with
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