Blood stained the ground around it. It was a fresh kill but already the flies crawled all over it. He slid from the saddle and moved closer. No smell yet but the heat of early January would bring on the decay quickly. He looked up as Binda came through the bush from the other direction. “Dingo.” He looked from Joseph to the pitiful remains between them. “Big male. I lost his tracks on the ridge.” Joseph pursed his lips. The wild dogs had been all but eradicated with baits and traps in the early days. There had been good summer rain in the ranges and grass was plentiful. Rabbits had increased in numbers and they in turn had become easy food for the dingo along with his sheep. This was the third carcass they’d found since the new year had begun only a few weeks back. “Such a waste.” He turned back to take his shovel from the pack on his horse. “We’d better bury it. Don’t want it ending up in that waterhole down the hill if we get more rain.” Binda found a place where the soil was clear of rock and while Joseph dug the hole Binda cut what wool he could from the dead animal and stuffed it in a small hessian bag.