Forest Spirit by David Laing Page B

towards the track that would take her back to the camp. The others would be worried. ‘C’mon Shadow,’ she called, ‘we’d better hurry.’
    A sound, like a twig cracking, brought her to an abrupt halt. She strained to listen. Nothing. But there was something out there. She could sense it.
    Puzzled, she hurried on, anxious to be with the others. She didn’t like the icy feeling of dread that had suddenly crept over her skin. She didn’t like it at all.

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?’
    â€˜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 …
    â€˜Who are they?’ Arnie asked, his head tilted to one side.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Then what, Hector? Do we go and um, visit them people?’
    â€˜No, you idiot. But if they’re here for the long haul we gotta make sure they don’t come snooping around.’
    â€˜Ah, how, Hector? How do we do that?’
    â€˜We’ll find out tonight, when it’s dark.’ He shoved Arnie in the side. ‘Now do like I said. Put that fire out.’

Jim Kelly was cooking some trout he and Snook had caught earlier, when the sound of footsteps running through grass made him look up. It was Jars. He called out to Snook, who was nearby. ‘Come and look after these fish will you, while I go and have a word or two with your cousin.’
    He walked towards Jars, his steps slow but purposeful. Jars saw her uncle coming towards her. When she drew near, he stopped, blocking her path. He folded his arms and glared, as if daring her to speak.
    She knew she was in trouble. She felt her stomach clench. ‘So, where do you think you’ve been?’ he said at last. He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s past seven o’clock for God’s sake. Did you forget what you were told – about wandering off on your own?’
    Jars lowered her head and stared at the ground, not sure what to say. She wondered whether Quenton had mentioned the cave and how she had gone looking for him. It didn’t seem likely. Her uncle’s anger told her that. No, Quenton had told a different story one that wasn’t true. Why else would her uncle be so upset?
    â€˜Look at me when I talk to you,’ her uncle continued. ‘We were all starting to get worried about you, including Quenton, who tells me he even went looking for you.’
    Jars looked up. She shook her head. ‘No, that’s not … that’s not how –’
    â€˜And that’s not all. He tells me you lost his camera, which you’ll have to replace somehow. Now, what do you have to say? I don’t want any lame excuses