For a long time they cast patiently, without receiving a single
bite; the sun had grown low in the sky, and it seemed as if they
would have to go home empty-handed, not even with a basket of
roots to show; when the youth, who had baited his hook with raw
meat, suddenly saw his line disappear under the water.
Something, a very heavy fish he supposed, was pulling so hard
that he could hardly keep his feet, and for a few minutes it
seemed either as if he must let go or be dragged into the pool.
He cried to his friends to help him, and at last, trembling with
fright at what they were going to see, they managed between them
to land on the bank a creature that was neither a calf nor a
seal, but something of both, with a long, broad tail. They
looked at each other with horror, cold shivers running down their
spines; for though they had never beheld it, there was not a man
amongst them who did not know what it was-- the cub of the awful
Bunyip!

All of a sudden the silence was broken by a low wail, answered by
another from the other side of the pool, as the mother rose up
from her den and came towards them, rage flashing from her
horrible yellow eyes. 'Let it go! let it go!' whispered the
young men to each other; but the captor declared that he had
caught it, and was going to keep it. 'He had promised his
sweetheart,' he said, 'that he would bring back enough meat for
her father's house to feast on for three days, and though they
could not eat the little Bunyip, her brothers and sisters should
have it to play with.' So, flinging his spear at the mother to
keep her back, he threw the little Bunyip on to his shoulders,
and set out for the camp, never heeding the poor mother's cries
of distress.