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A nameless hyena pup, enjoying an unequal chase with Lenira, the Bandicoot, heard the cries. He stopped chasing Lenira, who could not believe his good luck, and raced to help.

Fearless, the hyena pup leaped into the fight, ripping and tearing at the big boomer. Tarner picked up the boy, and backing against a rock, squeezed until Palana felt his life almost ebbing. The Great Kangaroo kept the young hyena at bay with his big raking hind feet.

The smart pup quickly dashed up onto the rock and sprang at Tarner, driving his sharp fangs deep into the big animal's throat. Holding the boy with one forearm, Tarner clutched desperately at the brave pup trying to break the deathhold he had on the kangaroo's throat.

But the little hyena was there to stay.

Body tense and eyes closed, he concentrated all his strength in the mighty effort to close his jaws. Slowly he felt the flesh and sinew give under the pressure of his grip, and suddenly his teeth crashed together with a loud snap.

The big boomer staggering and trembling violently, crashed to the ground, taking Palana and the pup with him.

They lay motionless, exhausted and stunned beside their dead enemy.

Some time later a party of blackmen picked up the unconscious pair and carried them back to the camp. The pup recovered first. Soon Palana stirred and looked about him.

There he saw Moinee, the god, his father.

Walking up to Palana, the god smiled down at him and said, “You have done well for one so young, my son. You have come through your baptism of danger bravely and unaffected. In a very short period of time you have passed from childhood and now stand on the threshold of young manhood. So be it.”

Straightaway the little boy arose and stood proudly.

He appeared to ignore his father so intent was his gaze on the hyena pup. Moinee read Palana's thoughts and a look of admiration crossed his stern face.

“From today you will make your own decisions,” Moinee said, “and you will bestow your own rewards.”

But Palana heard not a word.

Walking over to the little hyena, the boy put his arms around the torn and bleeding neck, gently helping the pup as he rose painfully to his feet on tired, wobbly legs.

Looking into the weary yellow eyes, Palana said, “Truly you are the bravest of the brave. Today you fought not as a pup but as the Wurrawana Corinna, the Great Ghost Tiger.”

Kneeling down beside the pup, Palana reached down to where his blood had run into the ashes of the fire, and with his fingers, mixed the blood and the ashes into a thick paste.

Then, with this thick brown paste, Palana described a number of dark stripes across the pup's back from the top of his shoulders to the butt of his rigid tail, saying as he did so, “From this day forward, all shall know you as Corinna the Tiger.”

The story of the Great Ghost Tiger seemed dimly familiar. We thought about the rock art Les Bursill had shown us on the mainland. The stripes on that four-thousand-year-old thylacine drawing had been made using charcoal from an aboriginal campfire, too.

We continued along the highway until we reached the town of Deloraine, where we decided to spend the night at a “hotel,” a bar with accommodations attached. The walls of our room, a triple with three lumpy beds, were cotton candy pink.

At dusk we walked down to the river that flowed through town and onto a bridge built with stone masonry. From underneath, we heard cooing and the flapping of wings. Pigeons flew into view. “You can never escape the usual suspects,” said Alexis.

The river—called the Meander—presented a beautiful scene. The sunset was a flamelike mix of orange and yellow and the trees lining the banks were reflected on the slow-moving, placid water. The few houses on the river were Georgian and Victorian in style. The setting evoked a tranquil river town in England—an effect that was slightly tempered by the sound of local youths drag racing on a road that paralleled the far bank.

Down at the river's edge, we gazed at the colors of the sunset