BORDERLINE ALBURY WODONGA

There comes a time when we have to be accountable for our actions, especially when the game's up. Some resist it. Cr Duncan-Strelec will resist it to the last. The lies we tell ourselves. When this happens the options of spinning webs of deception become far more limited, the stories more fanciful. The trip up the garden path becomes a perilous journey along a precipice, where every step can send us to the rocks below.

And so to Cr Duncan-Strelec's trip to America.

She never mentioned Alaska   that would evoke far too much suspicion given the circumstances   not to mention give the game away. So she started to play her own homegrown version of charades. Charades can be fun after a few drinks, a harmless opportunity for a bit of imagination and laughter. But playing charades can have its disadvantages when it becomes a real life game of opportunism and a cynical manipulation of the truth. When it becomes a game of self-deception.

In this matter Cr Duncan-Strelec has a distinct advantage. From mistress of the wardrobe to master of ceremonies, she has used every ploy to give her an electoral advantage in her years on Albury City Council. She has even sought to pursue further glory under the patronage of both the Liberal and Labor parties, suggesting an ideological neutrality that usually comes with unbridled lust for power. There were people who believed she had some vision for Albury, but that seems to have degenerated into the machinations and intrigues of self-interest and its accompanying power plays. To do this she used all the chicanery she could muster to impose her will on others. Those who resisted her she plotted and raged against. With others of her kind, she has been prepared to use a more creative interpretation of planning regulations for the selected few. While capriciously using her Lavington constituency to bemoan the wastefulness and other shortcomings of Albury City Council, she has always been prepared to take advantage of it. There is no doubt Cr Duncan-Strelec has always been an elitist, and once she became confident of the game she thought she could play it forever.

How wrong she was.

Now that her power and influence have waned and in many cases been seen for what they are, now that a few little business decisions have gone askew, she can no longer depend on the electoral advantage she once had. Though her alliance with her closest confidante, Cr Henk van de Ven, gives her hope, now she seems to be trying to reengage her constituency by choosing to play the victim. The Joan of Arc of municipal politics. The persecuted and the hurt. Of course, while playing the innocent she has also been playing a more private game, in this instance her proposed trip to Alaska.

The trouble is when you read into it you can't help but think it's just been a ludicrous charade in which Cr Duncan-Strelec has cynically played the good folk of Albury for a song.

Consider this statement on her Australian Alaskan Adventure website after she returned late last year:

I loved Alaska so much that when Don offered me the opportunity to come back as a guide for his Aussie clients, and at the same time complete the hours I needed to get my pilot's licence, I jumped at the chance.
I lost a heap of weight and returned home the fittest I had been since my twenties. Now I have the opportunity to repeat all that fun again in the company of fellow Aussies. If I can do it, anyone can. Come and join us and experience the adventure of your life.

She had also made a formal application to profit from the arrangement and set up a company to this end. Whether she formally asked the Albury City Council to include it in the Pecuniary Interest Register it is not known. What is obvious she stood to profit by the enterprise.

Extracted from ASIC's database at AEST 10:47:18 on 02/04/2009
Name         AUSTRALIAN ALASKAN ADVENTURE TOURS PTY LTD
ACN 132 651 131
Type Australian Proprietary Company, Limited By Shares
Registration Date 08/08/2008
Next Review Date 08/08/2009
Locality of Registered Office Albury NSW 2640

The postal address listed on her website is
PO Box 300 Lavington Australia 2641

When Cr Duncan-Strelec recounted her first Alaskan Adventure in the Border Mail July 5, 2008, she was resolute that she would be visiting Alaska the following year (2009). What she failed to say was that as well as going there to finish getting her pilot's license she was actively engaged in promoting Australian Adventure Tours. Of course there was nothing wrong with that. As her site shows, she has many interests:

I was to stay in the lodge Don had built to accommodate the pilots he trained to fly every summer. So here I was, at the age of 51, mother of three adult children, politician, land developer, business owner, who had never ventured further than the east and west coast lines of Australia, travelling thousands of miles from my comfort zone to experience what turned out to be the adventure of a lifetime.

Not only did I learn to fly the gutsy little float plane that took us high up into the magnificent glaciers every day, I snow skied for the first time, caught rainbow trout in the ice fishing hut, raced across a frozen lake on a snowmobile, witnessed the spectacular northern lights from the verandah of our lodge, explored an authentic trappers cabin and wilderness hut and experienced a $200 hamburger.
Every day was different and more exhilarating than the previous one.

The nights were great fun too. We did a good old fashioned Aussie pub crawl and met many fellow travellers from all over America as well as friendly locals. I found the Alaskans are very much like the Aussies with their humour and sense of adventure and fun.

Now the cat was out of the bag. She admits rather foolishly that Don not only offered her the opportunity to complete the hours needed to get her pilot's license but also to come back as a guide for his 'Aussie clients'. There were obviously other arrangements to make. They were such a distraction from her duties as a councillor for Albury City Council that recently she has only attended the monthly full council meeting and has seemed disinterested in any committee meetings (most councillors attend 4 meetings a month). Last Monday, April 13 was an exception. Cr Duncan-Strelec's vote was required for a dodgy land subdivision that was before the council. (See article this edition).

So recently, everything had seemed to be in place.

BOOKINGS AVAILABLE FOR THE FOLLOWING DATES;

FEBRUARY 2009 16TH FEBRUARY 23RD MARCH 2009 2ND MARCH 9TH MARCH 16TH MARCH 23RD MARCH 30TH APRIL 2009 6TH APRIL 13TH APRIL 20TH
It seems obvious that she was going to be the personal guide for the latter half of the holiday period. But then the whole thing got a bit complicated when the company of which she was a director, Dunlec Pty Ltd, asked the Albury City Council for a deferral of $53,280 on developer fees. When Dunlec's request for a deferral was granted there was widespread anger at the preferential treatment a land developer was seemingly being given, especially as there seemed to little supporting documentation as is usually the case in commercial activities, except to say that Dunlec's request was 'due to the current economic situation our country is experiencing.'

Now of course you have to be careful about this   but Amanda wasn't - and when it was disclosed to Borderline that a fully commercial website existed promoting her company, Australian Alaskan Adventure Tours, there was obviously some explanation owing to the residents of Albury. Borderline doubts it will be forthcoming.

Now the prospect of Cr Duncan-Strelic being seen winging her way to Alaska required a bit of invention to legitimise her story    considering her travel costs at a time her company owed to the Albury City Council $53,280. Taking leave of absence on medical advice probably seemed to be an appropriate way of neutralising any criticism that could eventuate. This was only months after she had returned from her previous Alaskan Adventure 'the fittest I had been since my twenties'. The advertising hype would have you believe she had been to Shangri La. You can't help but be skeptical when she publically announces her 'declining condition', that stress has triggered lupus, and that even though she is in remission she has to get away (on medical advice) to look after her health. In almost the same breath she tells David Johnson in the Midwweek Xpress that if her health doesn't improve she would consider quitting permanently...

Sounds like self-induced hypochondria designed for public consumption. Of course Borderline is not accusing Cr Duncan-Strelec of not having lupus, but it does seem apparent she has used her condition to attempt to spin her way out of the web of deception in which she found herself. It is interesting to note that in her many years as a councillor her medical condition has never been mentioned. Stress brings on lupus, she said. Has the uproar following her company's free ride from Albury City Council, to the tune of $53,280, been any more stressful than many other incidents in her time with Albury City Council? Many Australians have lupus. It is also a fact that many others have more serious diseases, and while we sympathize with her condition we suspect it was being used to elicit the necessary sympathy to legitimise her leave of absence.

Then her request for leave of absence was suddenly withdrawn. One can only wonder at the similarity to her company's application for a deferral because of 'the current economic situation our country is experiencing.' Her week long holidays are quite expensive: $2,500 in American currency   about $3,200 Australian. Then there is the cost of the return flights to Alaska and other sundry charges. You wouldn't have much change out of $6,000. 'Due to the current economic situation our country is experiencing,' an expensive little holiday if ever there was one. One might quite rightly ask how many Australians would find an Alaskan adventure high on their agenda at the moment, and wonder to what extent Cr Duncan-Strelec's sudden withdrawal of her request for leave of absence was due to the Australian Alaskan Adventure Tours inability to attract enough clients to make her presence in Alaska viable.

When she withdrew her request for leave she issued a familiar Amanda diatribe to fellow councillors. She named her now familiar enemies, Councillor Gould, Councillor Sawyer, Paul Wareham and John Emery, and like much of Cr Duncan-Strelec's invective the diatribe contained so many inaccuracies and so much irrational logic she seemed to be parodying herself. Cr Duncan-Strelec has in the past caused a great deal of stress to a great many people, councillors and residents. I wonder whether she asked them if they had lupus or some other condition, and whether she might have been more sympathetically inclined if they had.

Somehow I doubt it.

Nowadays it seems most councils are run by gangs, be they of a close political nature or a loose fraternity of likeminded individuals intent on their fair share of the spoils that come from the domination of the council, a parliament or whatever. Albury in the last council had its gang of 4 and 5, though it varied occasionally with the inevitable turncoat defecting to the dark side or the partially luminescent side as someone once said.

It's just a matter of how you look at it. There's not much use for words such as good or bad in council   it's more what is the most convenient 'option' in satisfying your obligation to the alliance you have entered into. It becomes a process of self justification   or opportunism. Usually they go hand-in-hand in politics.

Of course some alliances are best left unsaid   you can even have alliances with council officers. They are a lot more subtle because a lot of people see them as not quite proper like when Albury councillor, Cr Robert Angus, admitted to another Albury councillor that he had sought the advice of certain council officers before he made his choice of Deputy Mayor as to who they could work with. Mr Angus since his retirement from Albury City Council has become a semi-permanent man of religion; Still I suppose he knows all about that - Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto God...

Such 'consultations' might seem highly irregular to some but the reality is that to hunt with the pack or part thereof is almost an essential psychological ingredient when it comes to self-interest and the inevitable notions of what's in it for me.

The Department of Local Government really did put an ad in the paper saying that those espousing some type of independence should not apply.

Still to look on the optimistic side of the matter alliances are fickle things   especially when local government is concerned and in the heat of battle when the cake has to be distributed. There are some that are willing to accept less, but more frequently there are those that will want more. No matter which direction one may wish to take the first law of Local Government is to keep your snout clean.

Mark Byatt, present Mayor of Wodonga and grand supremo of the gang of four must be feeling very confident by now. His snout is very clean. The trouble is the gravy stains are becoming all too apparent.

It's not hard to see why when he's a smoke and mirrors man   with bib. How else could you be is paid for 2 full-time jobs by the Wodonga Council $68,125 and $70,000 paid jointly by Wodonga and Albury City Councils as general manager of DAW (Destination Albury Wodonga).

DAW which has absorbed millions since its inception with (spin aside) has been one of the most incompetent regional promotional organisations ever to grace Australia. Millions of dollars spent with very little effect. In fact DAW is such an embarrassment that even the notion of throwing good money after bad is no longer an adequate explanation of its activities. It is just seen now as a fiscal black hole. (See February Archives).

But of course it's never explained in such terms. In fact it's never really explained. Mr Byatt's competence for the job has never been adequately explained, but like his predecessors at DAW   that's not the point. All as the job requires is a pathological addiction to spin.

Ed Foulston, another newly elected councillor was correct when he supported the full amount to Mr Byatt. "The mayor's job is not nine to five," he said. Well apparently his position as GM of DAW isn't either. Getting paid for two full-time jobs by Wodonga and Albury City Councils is not something Mr Byatt likes to be reminded of. So much so that he hardly mentioned it when he found he had the calling to local government.

Mr Byatt did not like to be reminded of and he didn't either otherwise some cynical types would call it a gratuitous formal of double-dipping. Others more inclined to more colloquial mannerisms might accuse Mr Byatt of having his snout well and truly submerged in the trough.

Lately we have been informed that a review is in process however Mr Byatt and presumably the rest of the councillors have been getting their full remuneration since early December. So when it was actually publically announced in late March they had all been dipping into the public purse for several months making a mockery of any so called community consultation that had apparently been put in place.

All this comes with Wodonga's debt almost out of control and which has required a large reduction in public spending citing the current economic situation. Like a few other people around Albury-Wodonga you can see that Wodonga's 'current economic situation' has been in a parlous state for years so much so that the Auditor General has expressed concern about it.

The councillors also got the amount of about $22,000. Except for Mahood (no stranger to the snout in the trough syndrome) and is paid as they say from a separate account from the ALP it seems there was little opposition to the payments.

This is a real problem with local government when regardless of the competence of the council they seem to believe that they're worthy of every shilling their way. But Mr Byatt even exceeds in an almost contempt for any notion of fiscal or moral integrity. He probably thinks he deserves it.

Then again there's been quite a few people before him that wanted nothing more than their fair share, even though their skills are more versed in curriculum vitae schools of thought where lesser qualities of human nature can make you coming out smelling as sweetly as roses.

In the last issue of Borderline there was concern expressed about the Mayor of Albury's proposed trip to Nanping and hazards that can eventuate when a meaningful dialogue can lead to an unsatisfactory outcome which is put down as 'lost in translation'. Borderline has since learnt that there have been several developments that led to the trip in the first place considered so confidential that any reference to the matter could lead to instant dismissal (employees) and a code of conduct violation (councillors).

Thus is how it all came about.

Four months months ago the President of China, Hu Jintao was shown the famous picture of the Uiver being pulled out of the mud in Albury in 1934 after losing its way in an electrical storm. The only caption accompanying the photograph was wrongly translated into Chinese to read; Glorious image as residents of Albury pull airplane to Sydney while others caught the train. Mayor refused mayoral car and had to ride horse.

Apparently President Hu Jintao wept at seeing the picture and was overcome with compassion. Immediately he rang the Fujian Governor, in which Nanping (sister city of Albury) is located. Governor Huang Xiaojing and told him of his concerns that Albury residents are a primitive but proud people and instead of flying in a plane they pull their aeroplanes to their destination and the mayor has to ride a horse.

"We must help them out Comrade Governor Huang Xiaojing   ring up Comrade Councillor Patricia Gould (Cr Gould is known amongst the highest echelons of the Chinese Communist Party) and ask her how we can help."

"Certainly Comrade President I'll do it right now."

Now Governor Huang Xiaojing was not fluent in the English language and got his son who had studied English in Melbourne a few years back (although inconsistently as he preferred to chase girls and drink beer). This was to prove disastrous as the son was not too fluent in English himself although he could sing the Footscray club song he never admitted to his father what it actually meant, and instead told him it was a revolutionary song about great comrades who took up arms against a number of capitalist foes. After all nepotism has its advantages.

"But we're not revolutionaries anymore son   so they still have revolutionaries in Australia   you better get on the phone the Comrade President Hu Jintao doesn't like to be kept waiting." When the son was put through to Mayor Gould he was straight to the point.

"Hello Comrade Mayor Gould   you ride horse?" said the son introducing himself as an important person on the phone. But he thought that she might say wong number because when he was in Melbourne he bought a Footscray jumber and had it inscribed 674, which was not based little methodology but amounted to an estimate of his parking infringements.

Now Mayor Gould thought someone was winding her up about the proposed acquisition of a mayoral car and decided to go along for the ride so to speak. Then again she realized someone might be genuinely interested in the fact of whether she rode a horse for recreational purposes. She had to tread a fine line.

"I once had a ride on a pony when I was a very small girl - but that was a long time ago," she said. The son was writing it down but as he translated he completely misinterpreted Mayor Gould's reply and wrote down (in Chinese) Comrade Mayor Gould's pony died a long time ago.

"You want car?" asked the son.

"Are you a car salesman?" asked Mayor now convinced someone was winding her up. Then thinking it was a councillor trying to get the better of her she decided to go along with the joke so that the caller might give themselves away. After all you can only keep up a thick Chinese accent for so long.

"Why not   one of those Noddy cars will do fine."

Now the son knew all about Enid Blyton's Noddy because he had read the books as a child. He was even scolded by his father for reading Noddy instead of studying A young comrades guide to Marxism.

"You want airplane that flies?"

"Why not   what about a Noddy aeroplane to match." Mayor Gould chuckled because she thought she had the measure of her protagonist.

Now by this time anyone with a modicum of intelligence would realize the conversation was descending into farce but the son due to linguistic and cultural differences was unable to determine it. After he put the phone down Governor Huang Xiaojing asked his son what Comrade Mayor Gould wanted.

"She wants a Noddy car and a Noddy aeroplane."

"I'm not familiar with that make son," said Governor Huang Xiaojing.

When the son had called the official Noddy site up on the internet Governor Huang Xiaojing was very perplexed about the whole thing.

"You better email some photos of them to Comrade President Hu Jintao before I give him a call," said the Governor Huang Xiaojing trying to make sense of it all.

President Hu Jintao reassured the Governor.

"They are obviously a very proud people in Albury and we must respect their wishes. As you know very proud people don't like to lose face Comrade Governor Huang Xiaojing. Can you see to it?"

"Of course Comrade President Hu Jintao   the first thing in the morning.

You never heard once the word Striptease Joint until that night a week or so ago   far too crude for the sensibilities of the morally undoubtable Albury City Council. Adult Entertainment Venue was far more subtle for such sensitive souls.

Still we suppose such a place goes hand in glove with the brothel next door when the Adult Entertainment Venue is constructed. Even the proprietors of the brothel are reluctant to call it a brothel. It's referred to in the phone book as the Happy Ending Relaxation Centre. You can see opportunities for crossed purposes there.

The display of moral repugnance was truly awe-inspiring. Everyone likes to take the high moral ground   that's the thing about places like strip joints and brothels it brings out a lot of 'moral repugnance', however you have to be careful how you put it so all of the councillors duly emphasised their moral repugnance and it was left to the NSW State Government to cop the flack and be charged with contributing to the moral degeneration of this once great city of Albury. Such moral outrage is always seen as an opportunity for councillors to be seen a paradigms of virtue.

Cr Henk van de Ven, in another outstanding display of hypocrisy, said that probably 70 percent of people were against it and that the council should write to the NSW Government that they should accept the wishes of the community when they oppose developments such as this.

That's the thing about strip joints councillors have their chance to argue in the most self-righteous and sanctimonious way and convince a rather skeptical gallery that they are indeed a very good person and really believe in the most virtuous of values and decency.

All the councillors were most reluctant to approve the application, and had rejected the application on the inadequate car parking at a previous meeting. This time however the proprietor had rectified the lack of car parking they had no alternative but to pass because they did not want to waste ratepayers' money defending their decision if they refused the application in the courts.

It hasn't stopped them in the past when they've pursued matters in the courts they had little hope of winning.

The trouble is they all knew this from the start but not any mention was made about why the state can overrule councils' on such matters as brothels and strip joints. It's because it has always been there and if there is some control over such establishments you can avoid the real problems that come with the business   the whole gamut of corrupt practices. Remember Kings Cross when it was ran by Abe Saffron, the boss of the Cross   and other like minded legends of organised crime. Fortitude Valley before the The Costigan Commission of Inquiry.

There were other outbursts of moral indignation that were seemingly as illogical as they were selective.

When Cr Henk van de Ven said in an outburst of moral indignation that maybe 70 percent of Albury residents would be against the proposed 'Adult Entertainment Venue' it just showed how some councillors use pseudo statistical information for their own particular purposes.

We don't know where Henk got his figure from, but if he is to use such statistical recourses to reinforce his argument how come 81 percent of the community were against the Fromholtz Park Development, so his logic can be seen to be at best highly selective not to mention somewhat flawed.

What Henk seemed to be saying was that the community should be able to reject a development on the grounds that the state should listen to the community. That was a hollow bit of 'democratic'opportunism.

It would be good if Albury City Council actually adopted a moral/ethical indignation clause in their dealings with residents and the way some of them use the council for their own ends. The trouble is I wonder how many of them would be seen wanting if they adopted such an initiative and prefer everything to be behind out of sight out of mind. That's why it seems their moral indignation seems a bit hollow when all things are considered.

Albury's flexibility in interpreting its own planning rules was again in evidence on Tuesday April 14 which shows conclusively that equality as far as the planning process has a number of Orwellian overtones as outlined in the classic novel, Animal Farm.

All residents are equal but some are a bit more equal than others.

The matter concerned a development at 3 Kirkpatrick Place, Norris Park by a successful Albury business woman.

The Albury Development Control Plan (DCP) specifies that the minimum area of land that can be subdivided for a development is 2,200 square meters which divided in two would give you two blocks of 1,100 square meters. However in this instance the developer wanted to subdivide the land into two lots of 900 hundred and 1,2oo square meters.

Borderline is aware that other people have attempted similar schemes but they have been rejected.

However, the developer found this arrangement not to her liking and approached Michael Keys who reassured her that such a rule was an old rule and that there shouldn't be any problem. It is also alleged she spent close to $20,000 on environmental works in anticipation of the approval for the development.

No doubt there would have been hell to play had the development been rejected. The large document prepared by the officers in support of the development was heavy prejudiced in favour of the developer and as much doublespeak that would make George Orwell proud.

The council meeting on Monday April 13 reaffirmed this arrangement and what a farce it was which once and for all showed just how flexible some councillors and officers are capable of when it comes to doing a few a favour.

Now most people consider a rule a rule, but in this instance it considered quite wrongly as an old rule it then underwent transmutations as then being called being a generic rule, while Cr Henk van de Ven said it wasn't really a rule at all but just merely a mechanism for guidance in such matters. He went on to say that if you added both the blocks together you would only have a difference of about 12 percent.

Try telling that to a policeman when you're pulled over for speeding.

"Officer there was only a twelve percent differentiation between the official speed limit and what I was doing can I go?"

By this decision it means that if any resident buys a block of land, the blocks integrity and the covenants put in place to protect the resident are in truth not worth the paper it is written on, and are subject to interpretation that at times can be clearly unlawful, unfair, and unprincipled.

The residents have spent considerable sums in opposing the subdivision and have definitely a very good chance should they wish to take it to the Land and Environment Court. That's where the Albury City Council has got it all over them with their bottomless pit of ratepayers' money, they can simply outspend them.

When I was invited by Borderline to present the
Joke of the Month I was highly skeptical that
I was being put to the test in that I have absolutely
lost my sense of humour and this was my last chance.
I made a few enquiries and was pleasantly surprised
to find that Borderline had won the Willy Dalai Lama
award for exposing certain shortcomings in notions of
reincarnation.

Willy doesn't much believe in his brother's notions of
reincarnation because everyone refers to him as a rat. The philosophical nuances of being a rat and at the same time a
human being can lead to certain conclusions like when I invited
him around for dinner last week and he stole my purse and I
called him a bastard. Then he used my phone to ring his brother
up, I told him it was not advisable as he just drank a couple of
bottles of brandy. When his brother came on the phone Willy
was straight to the point. He simply asked his brother can you
be a human being, a rat and a bastard in one lifetime and was
he experiencing a triple reincarnation in real time. His brother
agreed with him and said in your case I'll make an exception.
Willy was quite taken back by this and told me he was going to commit suicide.

Then I read in the paper the other day that he had been hauled
before the courts for exposing himself to a Swedish tourist and
had justified his actions on the grounds he was in reincarnation overdrive and the judge while sympathising with his condition
fined him one hundred and fifty pounds. Still life goes on and
it is a pleasure to present this months Borderline 'Joke of
the Month'.

A ventriloquist was making fun of rednecks with his dummy at a bar. He was a joke a minute man.

"Do you know what," he says "Ya know your a redneck when you think physcopath is a mountain trail for bikes."

Earl was having a quite drink, and who thought of himself as mildly sensitive took particular exception to redneck jokes and got increasingly angry at the ventriloquist's gags.

"Did you know there's a redneck I know that The UFO hotline limits him to one call a day," continued the ventriloquist.

The ventriloquist continued unaware of the offence he was causing Earl. Earl just sipped his beer, smoldering with indignation.

"Did you know all rednecks consider their license plate personalized because their dad probably made it in prison." This one always got to the ventriloquist and he laughed hysterically.

Earl couldn't take it anymore. As angry as hell he stood up, rolled up his sleeves ,and yelled, "I resent that!"

The ventriloquist started apologizing profusely to Earl.

Earl looked at him angrily and grabbed him by the shirt, " You stay outta this, I'm talking to the guy on your lap."

They spoke in whispered tones of the silent wolf-like shadow that stalked them from tree to tree - rock to rock. From deep dark glens and pine-clad trails it moved.

The forest still, the birds silent, the animals in hiding, the braves waiting to die. At night the guards stood in place; by crimson sunset dead, their faces frozen in fear.

Manatilla, summoned his finest warrior, his son, Fire Hawk.

He stood before the great Comanche war chief naked but for a buckskin breech-cloth and a headband massed with golden feathers denoting many coups. Wide of shoulder, thick of trunk, Fire Hawk, was an awesome figure of rippling copper muscles.

Hair greased and braided topped a face of sinister expression. Brown eyes blazed from muddy whites that looked down upon a flat nose sheltered under a wide forehead. His chump lips tightened as his father spoke.

'You, are the greatest warrior of Comanche tribe. With blade and bow unmatchable, with strength and muscle to crush a bear. Search the Far Mountain and slay this evil shadow that hunts and slays our brothers. Go forth, my son, with contempt for death and bring me back a scalp'.

The sun brooded blood-red, hanging above a chosen battleground. Fire Hawk had chosen his time and place to die. His final glance of his world would be of Tandu, standing lordly and arrogant, his bow stretched taut, muscles packed, the arrow pointed. Both marksmen let their arrows loose. The twang of twine, the rush of wind as arrows sped in flight. One arrow, the whistling whisper of death, the other a slash of wind that sailed into emptiness. A grey-specked sky the only witness as one figure sunk slowly to the earth, the other standing motionless, invincible and still omnipotent.

Manatilla sat hunched with heavy heart and aching breast. All about him the night breathed with living sounds. The mocking yip-yip of the coyotes, the sullen snarl of the mountain lion, the mournful howls of prowling wolf packs. Yet his spirit minder was silent. Manatilla felt empty. Long had he waited for the replenishment that always came. Despondent eyes searched for Mother Moon, her silver crescent veiled in charcoal cloud. He began to chant. His spirit minder had deserted him. He intoned for its presence-loud was his chant. His son was dead-sob wretched was his chant. His slain warriors-forlorn was his chant. His chant faded to a whisper that choked on shattered dreams.

The moon slipped stealthily from the sky-cold were the stars.

Came the rush of dawn. Manatilla rose worn and jaded. Never before had his spirit minder failed him. He felt forsaken, the weight of leadership heavy upon him. He would rouse the camp, choose his bravest warriors and scour the forest until the killer shadow was found and put to death. Then and only then would he sleep the quite sleep. But not until the last drop of blood trickled from his enemy. That one's death would be slow-prolonged for two, three moons of pain. He would watch him die little by little. The braves would strip the skin from his body in small pieces. The squaws would cut off his nose, his lips his eyes and his genitals. Splinters of pine filled with pitch would be jabbed into his skin-less body and set on fire. His screams would be music to his ears. Then he alone, Manatilla would cut out his heart and feed it to the dogs.

Manatilla led the cream of his tribe into the bowels of the Far Mountain. Fifty warriors, lean and bronzed, armed with lance, tomahawk, spear and bow. 'Search every valley, bluff, canyon, glen and cave', was his command.

For seven days they combed the forest. The readers of sign who could track an ant found nothing. 'The forest is hiding the slayer', whispered a puzzled warrior.

'His magic is greater than ours', said another.

'We hunt a ghost', came the fearful curse from under an eagle-feathered headdress.

'We will stay one more moon', commanded Manatilla. The wolf's shadow will come this night when the moon is full and the color of blood.

The warriors sat cross-legged around their fires. A clearing ringed by pine and spruce offered shelter for the night. Talk was infrequent, the mood tense. Wide eyes searched the darkness.

A full-blown moon stole ghost-like across an expanse of brooding sky. Somewhere a wolf howled, then another-soon a steady chorus. The mournful wails became louder tainted with savage snarls.

Fires were built. The warriors crouched stone-like-waiting. Before their eyes the forest swayed and the scent of the wolf was upon the night wind. Manatilla peered into the darkness as the shrouded moonlight began to play weird tricks. He thought he saw movement as shadows skipped from tree to rock.

Suddenly the glow of two eyes stared at him, then more until dots like fireflies circled the clearing. The warriors shuddered, wide-eyed and spooked. The fireflies waltzed on a background of shimmering blackness. Closer they came, circling the clearing. Tighter and tighter became the circle. The warriors fired a shower of arrows into the advancing eyes.

'Again', shouted Manatilla.

A yelp of agony shrilled the night as the fireflies disappeared for an instant then reappeared, dancing and bouncing as they closed the circle.

'Light the fire sticks! Light the fire sticks!' came the guttural cries of terrified voices.

Tongues of flame like sacred daggers pierced the silvery shadows. The warriors cowered together, transfixed with thumping hearts, weapons clutched in trembling hands. A warrior threw down his spear and ran into the night. A hideous scream became a throttled gurgle of pain and death.

'Attack! Attack! Screamed Manatilla in vain.

Fight! Fight! You yellow dogs!' He screeched.

'Followed Me!' He bellowed.

With head held high he rushed the howling circle. Suddenly the moon shed its prison of cloud and lit the forest. Hundreds of snarling wolves sprang upon the horror-stricken braves. Soon their jagged jaws dripped blood. Screams of terror and amid the sound of tearing flesh soiled the night.

Manatilla sang his death chant under his breath. The moon was awesome, its orange-flamed halo lighting the carnage. He stood alone. All around him lay the mangled bodies of his warriors. His all-conquering warriors, the seed of his tribe, lay still and silent in grotesque shapes. Blood dripped from their bodies soon to make a river. The army of eyes had miraculously faded into the night as silently as they had come.

He had been spared. But why?

A cold tingle ran the length of his spine. A shadow has crossed over his. A ghostly stood before him. Eyes still and glowing stared into his. Eyes the same color as the predators that had ravaged his once-mighty tribe. A voice spoke like thunder.

'Manatilla, take what's left of your tribe-your old men-your sobbing squaws and your fatherless children and leave the mountain. Return from whence you came, to the dry streams, the barren plains, the empty hunting grounds. No more will you cast your evil deeds upon the Far Mountain. Now Go! Be gone by sunrise!'

The dawn was beautiful, clear and lovely in the emerging light. Lemon-tinted clouds hung still and listless waiting for the touch of the morning breeze. Tandu stood before his loved ones drenched in sunlight.

Then came the breeze and played with the peach blossom that drooped above the graves.

He heard a voice say. ' Tandu, the corn is ready to reap'.

He felt the delicate touch of a dainty hand that brushed the hair from his brow.

On the broken stem of the rose bush above the tiny mound was a new bud.

Beautiful was her presence, whether placing the kettle or kneeling above Krister's tiny grave. From the pastures two eyes were soft upon her. Leif stood straight and tall, the years yet to bend him. The golden tips of the corn brushed his knees. A sudden mist clouded his eyes as Emma knelt cupping in her hands the petals of the red rose that grew at the head of a violet edged mound.

Gently she raised it to her lips and kissed its velvet bloom. She felt eyes upon her, sharing the scented sadness. She turned, her profile proud and dignified. They were distanced by the grove of peaches, yet he could see the blue of her eyes, a shade of blue he'd never seen before, even in the sky. Ageless was her beauty; haunting was her serenity.

It seemed like yesterday that he had first gazed upon her exquisite form. His heart raced then as it did now. That had been many summers past-Krister, if alive now, fourteen-no fifteen.

Like he, she had left behind her homeland. Her memories were of England, his of Sweden.

Sharing similar dreams they sought a new country, a land of hope and plenty where people could embrace the sunshine and harness the wind in peace and freedom. Many of their travelling companions reaching, America had stayed to shape their lives in the industrial cities of Boston and Chicago. She, like he, had chosen the far lands, the unexplored rugged and wild Northwest.

By wagon team they had ventured. Making new trails in the long grass, fording rivers five miles wide, traversing great forests dark and silent, circling deep canyons lost in purple haze. Huge shaggy beasts stood and stared whilst from their sheer mountain eyrie, golden plumed eagles hovered in the sky.

She knew the man with the hair the color of ripe corn, often watched her. She trapped his ardent glance-fleeting was her smile. The journey had ended where the Great Plains shimmered beneath white dusted mountains.

When others went their way, two stayed.

A valley walled by granite, carpeted with golden grass and fed by a silver stream enchanted them-a place to call home.

She knew before the mid-wife came. A baby boy was born. Its heart still as was the night. Each passing year was barren. Etched in her face was the need of wanting.

Leif heard her gasp before he followed her pointed hand. A small figure was crouched on hands and feet in the shadows of the peach grove.

'Emma, what do you see?'

'I think it's an animal, a coyote-no, a wolf.

The sunlight broke through a hole in the cloud and captured eyes infused with glowing light. A small face scratched and dirt-stained peered out from under a mass of tawny shoulder-length matted hair. Eyes of palest grey flitted from ripe peaches to Emma, then back again.

The small creature was clothed in a buffalo hide, mud-caked and torn. From heel to toe the figure swayed as uncut toe-nails clawed the soil.

'It's a child, Leif, a chills!'

The child's bare legs were covered in scabs, broken and infected. Again the furtive glance at the peach trees as if measuring the distance. Emma slowly edged forward. She reached in a casual manner above her head, plucked a ripe peach and tendered it to the cringing figure.

The frightened child backed away. Emma spoke, her voice soft, warm and reassuring.

'Eat, eat, it's good'. She took a bite and smiled in pleasure at its taste.

Again she offered it with outstretched hands and a smile that gently parted her lips. The ragged form took one step forward, then another. A small grimy hand flashed out and snatched the peach, devouring its pulp in hungry gluttonous slurps. Emma picked another, her words drowned by the slobbering sounds.

'It's a boy, Emma', said Leif softly. With animal cunning, the crouching figure followed the sound of Leif's voice. Sighting Leif, it turned and with amazing agility whirled around and began to flee. The small boy sped across the soil using hands and feet.

The animal like figure suddenly faltered, slowed and began to stumble. With an agonised howl the fleeing child crashed to the ground, rolled and lay still.

'Leif! Leif! Look at the child's back, it's hurt'. The shaft of an arrow protruded from beneath the shoulder blade of the crumpled child. A dark stain had spread and caked the width of the buffalo hide.

For five nights and five days the child's life hung in the balance. Emma remained by his bedside, her vigil constant, her caring endless.

'The boy has been sent to us, Leif, he must live', she said again and again. Fever soared. The child's strange mutterings grew weak as his life slipped into the long sleep. The dark veil of death shrouded the room. Emma knelt in prayer. Suddenly she was bathed in moonlight. Through the window, red and gold against the velvet black shone a full moon. It's saintly presence filled the room.

A small hand found hers; moist grey eyes free of fever looked into hers then closed in healing sleep. Outside the night was drenched with the howl s of a wolf-pack.

'His name will be "Tandu", Leif'.

'Tandu-that's a strange name, Emma'.

'Yes, Leif, it means to share'.

Tandu grew, nurtured in strength and wisdom by Emma and Leif. Willed into their care, dauntless was their devotion. Mindful always of the gift bestowed upon them that was to be shared with others.

When the moon was full and the wolf call sharp upon the night, they found his bed empty. At the birth of the sun he would return, the scent of the wolf upon him. Unspoken were the questions. Silent were their thoughts. Bountiful was their understanding.

'Leif, our boy, Tandu, we must send him East. It is time'.

' East! Time! Emma, what folly is this? East id to far away and time is today'.

'He has to learn, Leif.

'Learn, Emma; what else is there to learn? What else does he have to know? You have taught him words, the books, the Scriptures, from me he knows the way of the land, to saddle a bronc, to herd cattle, to brand a cow, make a fire, throw a rope, doctor a sick calf, even how to use a plough and sow corn'.

' Hush, Leif. That is not enough, there is much to learn. He knows what is on the next page before I turn it. He must go the university. He has such a fertile mind, he must learn of things other than what we know.

'Emma, I would miss him. Who would tend the herd? Hunt the deer? Catch the silver trout and split the pine.

' And I, Leif, cannot bear to be without him. To place his plate before him, to mend his clothes, to wipe his brow when illness is upon him, to hear his voice and see such love in those grey, grey eyes. But we must Leif. He will return to us a wise man in scholarship and the ways of the big city. Tomorrow, Leif, we must make ready.

'You've come home, then', said old Ralph. 'Got me letter'.

'How? Why?' asked Tandu of the kindly old trapper.

'They cum` like a raging river outa` th` forest, two hundred of em`, mounted braves smeared wid` yellow ochre an` red vermilion, decked wid` eagle feathers an` hawk plumes. Some wore buffalo horns, bear claws and gaudy blankets. Them clad only in breech-cloths wore feathered headbands and copper chains. They swarmed through th` valley leavin` a trail of bloody carnage.

Their leader, one called Manatilla, rode a painted pinto. He held aloft a lance an` pumped the air an` screamed his words of blood-lust - Kill! Kill! Kill!'

'Wid` knife an` tomahawk dey` cut an` hacked our neighbours down. Wid` bow an` lance dey` thrust aside all resistance. I seen it all, Tandu, heard der` cries for mercy, der` pleas for th` little ones drowned in a feast of blood-lettin`. Families cut down and wiped out; der` cabins fired, herds slashed, fields trashed.

Tandu, it was awesome. A mighty savage force bent on destruction. When dey` was no-one left ta kill, dey` rode away wid` scalps hangin` frum der` blood-stained lances.

I buried ya` folk', said old Ralph. Each side of the small grave I placed dem`. Did me best ta chip der` names on th` cross-beams thet I anchored deep. Neber said a word tho`; don't know none ta` say. Guess ya` can say ya` own'.

'I'm obliged to you, Ralph. Tell me', said Tandu, their leader, how did you call him?'

'Manatilla, a Comanche, da` worst kind. He an` his tribe set up camp in th` Far Mountain. Overnite dey` cum` frum th` barren lands of der` forefathers. Der forests are hunted out, der` rivers dry, dey` cum and liked what dey` seen in th` Far Mountain, food an` water a plenty, shelter frum th` winter winds'.

'But why kill our folk, destroy our valley, Ralph?'

'Guess dey` reckon there be too many of us. Since you've been East, families cum` settlin`, cabin's springing` up everywheres`. Now it's all theirs, th` valley an` th` Far Mountain, cep't me of course. Thet Manatilla, he held his lance at my heart. Said he's spare me cause` of me chickens. Dem` Injuns jus` luv` chicken meat but don't like much th` smell o` raisin` dem`. Dey` cum` ta me frum time ta` time an` help demselves'.

'The cabin, Ralph', enquired tandu. 'Why is it still standing when all others but a pile of ashes?'

' Haw! Haw! Funny thet, scoffed old Ralph. 'It's made of stone, dem` Comanche, dey` mighty superstichie`. When dey` die, th` dead are placed in caves, th` entrance sealed so der` spirits don't havta` wander th` plain forever. Ta burn ya` cabin would be ta anger th` spirits. You'll find it intact, Tandu, I barred th` door ta keep out th` possums an` th` like'.

It was as old Ralph had said. Memories stung his heart,. A fire still set in the hearth-kettle on the stove- Papa's pipe beside his chair-Mama's book open at her favourite verse.

Tandu placed upon his body his buckskin trousers and shirt, his muscles strained against the cloth. He heard Mama's voice. 'My, my, Tandu, how you have filled out'.

He rid himself of his shoes that pinched his toes and in their place slipped into his deerskin moccasins. From the wall he took down his bow. His eyes watered. Nearby hung his quiver that had been packed with well-fashioned arrows iron-tipped and feather-quilled to make them fly true and swift. From the shelf above the fire-place he took his Bowie knife and wedged it in his belt. Tandu closed the door, not firmly but lightly on the latch; he would be back.

The peach grove beckoned him. He stood in solemn reverence above the three mounds of earth. Upon the whispering wind he heard Papa's voice. A white butterfly hovered and he felt Mama's gentle touch. He reached down and gathered, in cupped hands, the withered petals that lay scattered on the tiny grave. The headstone, a once beautiful rose bush, now savagely destroyed. The tears came and words cracked through firm-set lips. 'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away'. He rose, jaw set, and took in the Far Mountains. Another verse spoken aloud spiked the wind. 'Vengeance is mine'.

Tandu entered the Far Mountain. On wings he traversed the terrain and thrust his presence upon his adversaries, invisible, vengeful and omnipotent. Certain was their death, scant was his respect for his chosen foe. As if planned he came upon two braves dressing a deer. Tandu drew an arrow and placing it in the notch braced the twine. One Comanche toppled forward in silent death, the other stood searching for the bow-man. Swift hands replaced the arrow, nimble fingers that could load and fire eight arrows in the space of time it took a rifle to be fired and reloaded. Before the brave's eyed had focused upon his attacker, he fell across his comrade, an arrow through his throat.

His silent shadow moved through the forest. Wolf-like on padded footsteps, he crept upon his unsuspecting victims. Their only sighting was as he plunged his blade into their breast. One by one he executed a party of bucks as they hunted for venison. Gold-feathered arrows pierced hearts.

Manatilla was troubled. An invisible assassin was invading his mountain. Each day the sun set upon empty wigwams. Someone or something as silent as a wolf's shadow was prowling the Far Mountain, stalking and culling his tribe Who? Why? The serenity of his camp was pervaded with gloom, fear and despair.

The squaws had ceased to labor, their constant wails like the hum of bees. Their lost ones mourned by fasting, cutting hair, slashing bodies and hacking fingers. The food pots empty above cold fires as the braves hung back, reluctant to enter the forest. Only in numbers they hunted, always returning empty handed and minus a brother.

continued next column