Michael stood motionless, every nerve straining to see or hear anything in the shadowy bush surrounding the clearing. The rain was barely more than a drizzle, though water still dripped steadily from the trees onto the leaf litter below.

A twig cracked.

He jerked his head towards the sound, scanning the trees ringing the clearing.

There was a sudden movement in the shrubs opposite.

Michael narrowed his eyes and tried to identify the dark shape that seemed part of the shadows, yet not quite. A finger of wind stirred the branches overhead, bringing with it the earthy scent of beasts.

Had that smell been there before? Or had he been too focused on Jemimah and Beau to notice it?

Heart pounding, he waited -- just as that dark shadow waited behind the tree line.

Then the shadow separated from the gloom behind it; loomed larger as it stepped forward into the clearing.

The hair on the back of Michael’s neck prickled.

In the dim light of the clearing he now saw it stood upright, taller than he was and at least as broad across the shoulders. Sharply pointed ears were outlined against the darkness, its whole man-like shape covered by hair - just as Jemimah had described.

His mind refused to process what he was seeing, but whatever it was he would have to deal with it. He took a deep breath and walked purposely toward it. Even when the creature continued to approach the centre of the clearing, he didn’t check his stride.

“So ya found the little bloke?”

The very human voice stopped Michael dead, stunning him like a physical blow.

“I’m glad ya come - I didn’t wanna have to leave him to get help.”

Michael stared up into the glittering eyes of a bearded old man, his head and shoulders shrouded by a kangaroo skin cape, his rough clothes beneath made from the same fur.

“Crikey!” the voice continued, “You’ve got to be Mick Turnbull’s son. You’re the spitting image of him at your age, you know?”

Half-forgotten memories of the tall vagrant began to mesh like gears in Michael’s seized brain and he gave a crack of laughter. “And you must be Bob Gates! I had no idea you were back in these parts!”

“Yeah, well - if it were known, they’d be no point would there!” The old man chuckled, the gap where his front teeth should have been making the remaining incisors look like fangs. He walked spryly across the clearing to where Jemimah crouched with Beau under the rocks, “I dunno if the little bloke’s broke his leg or not - I splinted it anyhow, and told him to keep still until help came. Lucky I had him under the shelter before the rain started comin’ down. Hello, Miss - I saw you here last week, didn’t I?”

“Yes -- I’m sorry I didn’t stay to make your acquaintance,” Jemimah replied with what Michael thought was amazing spirit, notwithstanding the tremor in her voice. “I thought you were the yowie that everyone’s warned me about.”

“Yeah - well, you gave me a good scare, too. Mate, you can scream!” He chuckled again, and pulled off the kangaroo skin cape, exposing a thinning thatch of grey hair, “I was gunna call after you, but then thought it better leaving things the way they was. I knew you run along the track with those kids every arvo, but when I saw you here in my own little spot, I thought my peace and quiet was over. But when you didn’t know I was just an old codger -- I reckoned I might be safe here for a little whiles yet.”

“Is that why you dress like that? To look like a yowie?”

Bob Gates laughed heartily. “It never crossed me mind until you took off like death itself was after you. I’ve been makin’ me own clobber from the roos I’ve caught for years - but I usually only put that rug over me head when it’s rainin’. Gets a bit cold up here these days.” He patted his balding scalp and then admitted, “And seein’ the success I had with you, I thought I’d give it another go when them boys were sniffin’ around here this arvo. Never thought it would do ‘em any harm -- but then this little one tripped and fell--”

“I’d better ring and let them know we’ve found Beau,” Michael said, pulling out his phone, “and get them to organise a stretcher to carry him out.”

“Yeah, s’pose so. But I’ll have to clear out pretty quick now. I’m glad you two turned up - I wouldn’t have left the poor little blighter on his own, but it was gonna make things a bit awkward for me, you know.”

“I can imagine,” Michael smiled wryly. “Thanks for looking after him - I’ll make sure it’s known what you did.”

Bob Gates snorted, and walked to the far edge of clearing. Then he stopped and called back. “I guess they’ll find them cattle too that I ... ah ... found roundabouts. I been keepin’ ‘em safe over here.”

Michael followed him through the trees, and after pushing aside a cleverly contrived screen of shrubs and bushes saw a pen of branches containing at least a dozen steers and a few bales of hay. Moving closer, he recognised the ear tags of a couple of the animals nearest him.

“Hey Bob - some of them are ours!” Michael called out, shaking his head, “Now where did you find them?”

“You know - cattle are always strayin’ here and there. Ya can’t complain - been keeping them fed up for ya, anyway!” He laughed ruefully and, after picking up a bulging hessian sack and hoisting it on his shoulders, led the way back to Jemimah and Beau.

“See ya, little mate, Missy,” he said and then turned again to Michael. “If ya have a bit of a wait, I got some dry wood at the back of that little overhang there. You got a lighter or anything for a fire?”

When Michael shook his head, Bob scrounged in his sack and produced a battered book of matches and handed it to him. “Remember me to your old man, okay?”

“Certainly will do,” he answered with a respectful nod, “And thanks for your help.”

Within a moment, Bob Gates had disappeared into the night and Michael walked back over to Jemimah. She was in the process of wrapping Beau in the jacket he’d put around her shoulders earlier.

“Who was that man?” she whispered over her shoulder as Michael knelt down beside her.

“Bob Gates - he’s a legend around here nearly as much as the yowie is. I haven’t heard of him for years, but whenever he’s in the area there seems to be a spate of petty theft and stuff like that, but he always seems to disappear before anything can be pinned on him. He’s a dishonest old rogue -- and he seems to have upped the stakes to cattle rustling now -- but I’ve never heard anything more than that against him.”

“Well, whatever else he’s done, he’s certainly looked after Beau. Beau tells me he’s been making him cups of sweet billy tea and telling him funny stories. He’s being very brave, but I think his leg is broken ...”

“Let me have a look at you, young man,” Michael said bracingly, as Jemimah moved over to make room for him. She’d zipped the little boy into the man-size jacket and it encompassed him like a cocoon, only his head and feet sticking out, and the sleeves arranged like a pillow behind his head. He chatted with him for a few moments while looking closely at his leg with the dim glow from his phone screen and satisfying himself that the boy was otherwise unharmed. “Now I reckon we’d better give your Mum a ring and arrange to get you out of here.”

He was surprised to see the little boy’s eyes fill with tears.

“What’s wrong?”

Beau sniffed piteously. “I’ve been very bad. Mummy said Miss Parker said no-one was allowed to play in the bush anymore and ... and ... we did. I’m very sorry we did it.”

“Oh, sweetheart!” Jemimah squeezed in next to Michael, and reached over to wipe away the little boy’s tears. “Your mummy loves you very much, and she will be very, very happy to see you. When you tell her you are sorry, she will be very glad to forgive you, okay?”

“Just like God? When I fell over and my leg hurt so much, I told God I was sorry and he sent that nice man to help me. And when the man said we had to wait for someone to come find me, I asked God to send someone -- and he sent you!”

Michael felt Jemimah draw in a shuddering breath, and he had to blink away the tears that had suddenly sprung into his own eyes. He gently stroked the boy’s warm cheek with the back of his finger, “You’ve done the right thing trusting in God, Beau. He always hears the prayers of his children. Even if you have to wait a while for the answer.”

He stood up and rested his hand briefly on Jemimah’s shoulder. “I’ll go make that call.”

Mobile reception was dodgy in Jacaranda Plains in all but the centre of town, but as Michael had hoped, he picked up a reasonable signal from the centre of the clearing. His first call was to his dad, who gave him Sgt Beavan’s mobile number, and within a few moments he was talking to the sergeant.

“That’s great news,” the sergeant told him, after relaying Michael’s message to Julie and, by the background noise, a growing number of townsfolk gathered at the school. “The S.E.S. rescue crew are already heading across from Wee Waa, we’ll just need to figure out how to get them to you once they arrive. I couldn’t believe it when Julie told me about the little school teacher going in to look for him in the dark. I thought we’d end up with two missing person searches on our hands and got the Pilliga crew on standby. I’m glad you were there to help.”

Michael frowned at what seemed like an off-hand dismissal of Jemimah’s courageous effort. “I did nothing but follow Jemimah -- she would have found Beau without my help.”

“You didn’t happen to run into her yowie too, did you?”

The sergeant’s derisive tone rankled Michael, and when he replied his voice was hard.

‘Yes - I did. And what I saw made my blood run cold.”

“What?”

“It towered over me, and in the dark all I could make out were its animal hide and its fangs. I was scared out of my wits until it came close. Old Bob Gates is back, and he’s getting around in a get-up made from roo skins with a head covering that makes him look for all the world far more animal than human. I was lining up to tackle him to the ground until he spoke to me. I can imagine the shock he gave Jemimah when she saw him last week. And last week he didn’t want anyone to realise that he was only human.”

“I see.” The swagger had gone from policeman’s tone. “Any idea what he’s up to? Last I heard he’d skipped bail up in Moree about six months ago. I’m pretty sure there’d be a warrant out on him.”

“He’s got at least a dozen stolen cattle penned up here beside the clearing. I only got a quick glance but I recognised a couple of our ear tags and a few of our neighbours’ amongst them. He’s gone bush now, but only after he talked to us and saw that we were able to take care of Beau. He’d splinted his leg and looked after him until we got here -- even though he could have shot through hours ago.”

“Did he now?” Sgt Bevan chuckled. “Well, I guess he’ll get a good head start on us since this rescue’s obviously the priority, and then I imagine my hands will be full finding the owners of the livestock before I’ll get time to find the details of any outstanding warrants. I’d be more interested to know who he’s helping out with the cattle, anyway. But for now we’ve got to figure out how to pinpoint your location. Can you give me directions from the school?”

Michael’s anger at the policeman’s treatment of Jemimah had begun to die down, but he didn’t miss the opportunity to make another point in her defence. “The honest truth is that I was totally lost before Jemimah had even gotten us to the clearing -- I know I couldn’t find my way back out of here the way we came in. Jemimah said when she was lost she eventually found a creek and followed it to the road where you picked her up. With the cattle Bob’s got penned up here, there must be water nearby. If it’s the same creek it’ll be like a road for the SES to follow from the culvert where you found Jemimah. I was thinking I’ll go and have a scout around for this creek and then call you back, if you’re able to check the maps to see if there’s more than one creek cutting through here.”

“Sounds like a good plan. So long as you don’t get yourself lost after all this! You’ll call me?”

“Yes -- reception is patchy here so you mightn’t get through to me.”

Less than ten minutes later, Michael was back on the phone with the sergeant, having found the creek only a stone’s throw from the makeshift cattle yard. Sgt Bevan confirmed there was only the one creek running through that area, and that he’d plan to meet the SES crew at the culvert in the road.

“From what I can work out from the map, it could still be an hour or two before we can get in to you. I’ve been on the radio to the SES crew, and they said to try and keep the little fellow warm, the main things to watch out for with him are shock and hypothermia.”

“He’s in pretty good shape so far -- and I couldn’t have done a better job splinting his leg. He’s been kept warm and dry, and apparently Bob was plying him with warm tea earlier on. Bob gave me some matches too, and showed me his cache of dry wood, so hopefully I’ll get a fire going.”

“All the best then, Michael. Give me a call if there’s any problem.”

Michael was thoughtful as he ended the call. He’d been surprised by the depth of hurt and bitterness in Jemimah’s voice when she told him about the town’s reaction to her report of seeing a yowie, sure she’d self-consciously assumed the worst. But hearing the sergeant’s ready dismissal of her changed his perspective and made him wonder what all the poor girl had endured these past few weeks. She’d already been at a very low point that last Sunday he’d seen her at church -- no wonder Nan had said Jemimah could use his prayers.

As he made his way back across the clearing to the rock shelter the dim light from his mobile phone showed Jemimah’s silhouette at the mouth of the overhang. With her legs drawn up beneath her long skirt and her slender arms wrapped around her knees as she watched over the young boy she could have been one of the pioneer women immortalised in Frederick McCubbin’s nostalgic bush paintings.

Beautiful.

The word had come unbidden into his mind and seemed to linger of its own accord. Michael snapped shut his phone and dismissed the fanciful image just as quickly, blaming the stray thought on his fondness for the old bush lore of Australian poets and artists. Picturesque as they appeared, the subjects of their art were most likely cold and weary in a hostile bush too -- just like he and, undoubtedly, Jemimah were.

The sooner he stopped romanticising and got a fire started, the better.