The Killer Koala Read Free Page A

encountered in distressing circumstances
after he was dead. Roger's offer sounded interesting, so I went
along.
    Roger
was a slight, bushy-haired, bearded little man of about forty. He had
very bright intelligent eyes and a large hooked nose. He looked
somewhat like a bearded parrot — a
likeness enhanced by his habit of wearing very bright floral shirts.
He also had a high-pitched, chirpy voice and was rather excitable.
Nevertheless, he was a very engaging and informative travelling
companion.
    He
didn't take up much room in the boat, which was just as well, because
I did — some call me obese
but I think of myself as stout, say, a hundred kilograms — and
we were carrying all sorts of radio gear designed to be clipped to
the heads of co-operating crocodiles so that we could follow their
movements. We also had a lot of nets and ropes with which to capture
and tie up crocodiles with the help of bands of Aborigines whom we
were to hire as required. There was also half a tonne or so of food
and liquor and on the whole we were pretty low in the water.
    It
all seemed great fun as we puttered down the Alligator, through the
petals of the wild frangipanni floating on the blue-green-brown
surface, under the eyes of the dingo and buffalo on the escarpment.
    Roger
was passionate about crocodiles and bewailed the fact that until a
few years before they had been hunted relentlessly for their hides.
Fortunately, it seemed, they had been declared an endangered species
and heavy fines had been imposed on people guilty of killing them.
Their numbers had begun to rise and there were increasing reports of
their taking cattle and Aborigines.
    'Even
two white truck drivers over near Broome,' Roger said brightly. 'They
were sleeping by their truck and all that was found was the marks
they'd made clawing the ground as they were dragged into the water.
It was almost certainly a giant crocodile that got them.'
    'Of
course,' he added soberly, 'it's hard luck for the people involved,
but it's encouraging to think the crocodile is on the increase up
here.'
    Enthusiasts
are different from other people. Not better or worse, just different.
    We
had only been travelling a couple of hours when Roger spotted a
likely place to find estuarine crocodiles. It was a gap in the cliff
face of the escarpment which seemed to lead into a small lagoon.
    'It's
the sort of place they like for mating,' said Roger as he steered for
the gap.
    'Shouldn't
we hire bands of Aborigines before we go chasing crocodiles?' I asked
mildly. After all, Roger was the crocodile expert and no doubt he
knew what he was doing.
    'Might
as well locate the crocodiles before we spend money,' replied Roger,
reasonably enough, I thought at the time.
    We
went through the gap in the cliff. The water was very shallow at
first, barely knee-deep, but then it fell away into black unguessable
depths. We found ourselves in a backwater as big as a football field
surrounded by high, sheer cliffs. There was one small beach area and,
sure enough, on it was a large crocodile — about
three metres long.
    'Lovely!
What luck,' said Roger as the creature slid quickly into the water.
'That's a nice female. Means the bull is almost sure to be here.'
    I
uncertainly eyed the black water and the meagre freeboard of our
vessel and wondered whether the luck wasn't just a shade mixed.
    'Well,
now,' I said stoutly, 'off to get the band of stalwart Aborigines,
eh?'
    'I
just want to look at that beach,' said Roger. 'There should be tracks
on it that'll tell me what's in here.'
    I
looked again at the black water. Then I reached into my personal gear
and took out my automatic shotgun.
    'You
won't need that,' said Roger impatiently. 'Besides, it's illegal to
shoot crocodiles.'
    'I'll
just keep it as a security blanket,' I answered, checking the
magazine to make sure the gun was loaded.
    Roger
ran the boat up onto the little beach and we stood up and studied the
sand. It was covered with tracks which consisted of long