“This side of Carie, I think,” Fisher replied.“On Nogga Creek. There is water in Catfish Hole, isn’t there?”

They were by this time seated on their swags in what shelter the bluebush provided. At the mention of Nogga Creek and Catfish Hole the old man froze, and he leant nearer his chance companion to stare with a fixity which defied the dust.

“Ya-as, there’s water in Catfish Hole, I’m told,” he said, much more slowly.“You a stranger in these ’ere parts?”

“I have not been this way before,” Fisher admitted.

“Ho! But you’ve heard what’s been going on around Carie?”

The old man’s billy coming to the boil, he flung into the water half a handful of tea, removed the utensil and waited for Fisher’s answer.

“Er-no.”

“You haven’t, eh? Well, I’ll tell you. What’s been going on around Carie is what wouldn’t let me camp at Catfish Hole for all the tea in China.”

“The car driver said the same thing. What is the matter with the place?”

“Murders-two of ’emto date, that what’s the matter. Me, I’m George Smith, and I wouldn’t camp there for ten million quid. You take my advice and don’tyou camp there tonight-or ever until the Strangler is caught.”

“The Strangler?”

“That’s what theycalls ’im. The year afore last, at this time, he done in a half-caste girl where Thunder and Nogga cricks become Wirragatta River. And then last March he strangled a young feller named Marsh just this side of the township. He’s due now to strangle someone else, and itain’tgonna be me. Don’t you let it beyou. ”

“What does he do it for?”

“Hedon’t do it fornothink bar the pleasure he gets outer corpsing people. That’s thewust of it. Thereain’tno proper reason. ’Course the police can’t donothink. They can ’oundus about, mate, but theyain’t no good atcatchin ’ murderers. Then this strangler, he does his killing at the end of a day like this and when it’s certain sure it’ll blow like hell again the next dayso’s his tracks will be wiped out.”