At the far end of the lake a breathless Hector Grimshaw burst into the makeshift camp.

Arnie, who was placing some wood on the fire, looked up. ‘Ah, hi, Hector. Did you get it all done? Did you fix up all them cage things? Are we, ah, going to get everything ready now for the boat. Are we?’

‘Never mind that,’ Hector snapped as he walked quickly over to his brother. ‘And put that fire out. It looks like we’ve got some neighbours. I saw a young girl wandering around not far from here. She won’t be alone either. There’ll be others for sure. If they see us and find out what we’re doing, we’re sunk.’

Hector looked around. Set back from the lake, they had made camp in an area fringing the trees on the opposite side of the forest, about two kilometres from the Kelly camp. It was an ideal site, chosen carefully to meet their needs, which were anonymity and seclusion. Consisting of stunted bushes, ferns and pockets of moss, the area they had chosen was invisible – even to the eyes of anglers in passing boats. A further bonus was the fact that no-one was ever likely to make the difficult trek along Wombat Track. Their activities had easily been kept a secret. But now …

‘Who are they?’ Arnie asked, his head tilted to one side.

‘Dunno. I don’t even know how many of them there are. Or if they’re camping, or if they’re just staying for the day. All I know is we have to find out. See what they’re up to.’

‘Then what, Hector? Do we go and um, visit them people?’

‘No, you idiot. But if they’re here for the long haul we gotta make sure they don’t come snooping around.’

‘Ah, how, Hector? How do we do that?’

‘We’ll find out tonight, when it’s dark.’ He shoved Arnie in the side. ‘Now do like I said. Put that fire out.’