Wallaga Lake, New South Wales, 1998)It was Saturday and there was an older man painting a large canvas. Sam watched in silence.“What do you see?”�...�A group of youths hunting for a goanna.”“Can you see their prey?”“I see two. A goanna on the rocks and a perentie in the tree.”“Your eyes are as sharp as an eagle’s.”“Bunjil is my totem.”“Then leave me! I am a pebble-mound mouse and not your goal!”“Can you direct me?”“Further west. Further north. I see no more. Now go!”Sam wandered to another exhibit. He was a neat little man, brown haired, clean shaven. Best of all he looked intelligent. That was a contrast to the other guy. I knew him. His name was Jenkins and he was the Provost Marshall.The guy in the uniform inspected me. It was like he was buyin’ a horse. He said, “I witnessed what you did at the Draft meeting. I hear from your Chief that you’re a pretty good fighter?”I said, “Let go of me and you’ll find out.”The guy in the uniform laughed uproariously and said, “He’ll do. We need men. More

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