The car pulled up to the Kalkadoon Hotel, a weathered old bush pub. A sharply dressed man from the city, with a hint of adventure in his eyes, stepped out and made his way towards the bar.
"How are you?" asked the old bearded Bushman from his perch on a bench on the pub's veranda, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. The old man continued, "What's a city fella doing out this way?"
The visiting fellow answered, "I'm looking for some mates that have gone fishing somewhere around here."
The old bushman's weathered face creased with a knowing smile. "This is not a very good country to be wandering around looking for someone, especially if you don't know where he's at," he warned. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, studied the stranger. "Lucky for you, I am a seasoned bush tracker, and I know this area like the back of my hand. I am confident I can lead you to your mates."
The old Bushman smacked his lips and slightly nodded towards the bar. He then went silent, waiting.
"Can I buy you a beer?" offered the city guy.
"Sounds like a good idea," said the bushman, turning to the other person on the pub veranda. He said, "This gentleman has offered us a beer, George."
The three men entered the bar.
"I did see some tyre tracks earlier this morning," said the Bushtracker. "I recognized the tracks of two cars. The first one was a four-wheel drive, heavy, probably a Land-cruiser, maybe a Patrol. Followed by a smaller treaded, four-wheel drive, much lighter, it might have been one of those little Isuzu buggies. I also saw some footprints at the Junction. The tracks suggested one tall fellow, a long-legged fellow, and town shoes. Also, a weighty bloke with a short stride, thongs, and a short, stumpy guy."
"YES," said the city fellow, "They are the friends I am looking for."
George and the Bushman sculled their beers and again sat silently but with a knowing wink that said: "We got him by the balls."
When the second beer arrived, the bush tracker said: "If you head back to where you turned off the highway, that would be the same road you took to get to this pub. Turn left. About two miles along, you will see an old truck tire that is a marker for a dirt track that leads to the river."
The Bush tracker sipped his beer and continued, "Your pals will be camped a few hundred yards down that track."
The grateful city fellow thanked them, returned to his car, and drove off in the indicated direction.
George turned to his Bush tracking mate and asked, "Was that fellow he looking for the two fellows here earlier looking for a fishing spot?" "Yes!" said the bush tracker.
George added, "I still have the map the fellows gave me in my pocket. We were supposed to give it to that city fellow."
Then George turned toward the old bushman and asked, "Since when were you ever a bush tracker?"
"I tracked us six beers this morning, George."