Mudpoo and the Fungus Mystery (2 page)

SAMMY
is an incredibly clever silver gull who can speak almost every animal and human language. He comes from the Iluka World Heritage Nature Reserve and is an old friend of Mudpoo and Harry.

HOOTY
is a brave little boobook owl who lives in the hollow of a tree near Captain Pete's house.

SNOT, GROT, BONES
and
PONG
are horrible pirates who once sailed the Antarctic Ocean, but after a terrible fright, set up a flower shop in Northern Queensland instead. They think they're terribly clever and will stop at nothing to get rich quickly!

FUNGUS McPHEE
is . . . err . . . well . . . oh . . . be careful . . . I'll let you read the story for yourself and discover who he is!

o
n the edge of an old gum tree forest high in the hills of Bethanga, an obnoxious, musty smell floated on the afternoon breeze. It wafted thickly in the air around one old bushman named
Fungus McPhee!
The campfire smouldered eerily and Fungus McPhee was deep in thought.

“Bah, hmmrff, phooey,” muttered Fungus before he spat loudly into the ashes.

“This old hidden gold mine is perfect,
I'm gonna be rich, rich, RICH,”
he declared loudly to himself and he chuckled and spat horribly as he thought how clever he was.

Indeed, the old hidden gold mine had been abandoned for years and very few people had noticed that Fungus McPhee had made it his home. Even fewer people had any idea who he was, or what he was doing there. Fungus liked it that way. He had a secret plan and he thought the less people who knew about it, the better.

“Bah, people think the gold is all gone, let ‘em think what they like, I'm gonna make my fortune soon enough!” grumbled Fungus McPhee under his breath.

Years of living in the bush alone meant that Fungus McPhee often muttered to himself and answered his own questions with his own even more clever answers. That's just how he liked it.

“You'll show ‘em Fungus, mad as a cut snake they say, you'll show ‘em all. They wouldn't laugh if they knew my clever secret plan!”
he chewed the end of his pipe and spat loudly.

The animals near the mine were very wary of Fungus McPhee. The rabbits and the wombats scurried away quickly if they accidently stumbled into his camp. The birds too, were afraid of him; even the wedge-tailed eagles which nested in the hills, high above his camp, were extremely cautious of him.

Fungus McPhee wore a distinguished old, grey, tattered hat that had a sulphur-crested cockatoo feather and a freshly picked wild flower carefully tucked into the band. He had a hairy, bent nose, rotten, crooked teeth and a ragged beard with a peculiar green tinge growing around the edges. Some say that it was green fungi; others say it was stale, leftover food. Fungus McPhee couldn't care less. He didn't have a mirror; it'd only break out here in the bush and he didn't need seven years of bad luck, especially just when his luck was about to change.

His camp included his patched canvas tent, a campfire, a good supply of firewood and food supplies (mostly tinned beans and jam). It was hidden high in the rolling hills where no-one ever visited him. Everyone had simply forgotten about the old Bethanga gold mine.

Fungus was a kind of inventor and muttered to himself, “I'm Fungus McPhee and I'm smart, I can do anything, just ask me!”

He was proud he had built his own ‘Fungus' inventions that he'd carefully hidden around his camp. No-one but Fungus McPhee knew what they were used for.

A very large lock and an old chunky chain protected the two solid doors that guarded the entrance to his precious gold mine. He wasn't taking any chances. No-one was going to discover his secret; not yet anyhow, not until he'd made his fortune. He puffed on his Blue Gum pipe, the stench from his rabbit dung tobacco wafted over him, keeping the blow flies away.

‘I've more work to do tonight and it won't be too long before I put my plan into action,' thought Fungus McPhee as he carefully whittled his walking stick with his sharp, dangerous knife. All around his camp he had carefully arranged everything so that you wouldn't know he was there unless you were one of the wedge-tailed eagles, or little eagles, who often soared above nearby.

Fungus McPhee would curse them if they flew too close to his camp.

“Rotten, useless birds! Come near me and you'll get the taste of my knife!”
he'd angrily call, waving his bony arms about.

The eagles knew to keep a safe distance from the camp. They had an uneasy feeling that their cantankerous neighbour was up to no good.

“Bah, hrmmff, phooey,” muttered Fungus McPhee as he plucked some purple Paterson's curse from a nearby plant and carefully tucked it into the band of his hat.

“I'm expecting visitors soon,” he grizzled under his breath.

‘My secret plan is so clever, I even surprise myself,'
he thought, looking rather pleased.

Suddenly he sprang to his feet; “It's time to work!” declared Fungus McPhee as he fumbled in the pocket of his patched canvas trousers for the rusty old key to
his
GOLD
mine.

The gate creaked and groaned as Fungus McPhee opened the mine. When he entered, his own foul odour was so strong it even overpowered the mine's deep musty smells.

The sun sank beneath the beautiful Bethanga hills, casting shadows over the distant town. A lonely boobook owl hooted as everyone settled in for the night; all except Fungus McPhee, whose dastardly work was about to begin!

M
udpoo, Harry, Captain Pete and Gus live on a small farm in Bethanga. Their property is a mish-mash of long grass and broken down old deer fences, with views of the valley below. Gus, the Kombi van, was resting and looking rather forlorn, with grass sprouting up through his tyres. Every afternoon Captain Pete would rest in Gus' front seat, with his feet up, reading the paper and not drive anywhere. Things were happening lazily in Bethanga, except for one thing!

Mudpoo and Harry were quietly sitting on a log on their favourite hill one evening, admiring the sunset, when Harry looked puzzled.

“Is that paddock moving, or is it my imagination?” asked a wide-eyed Harry.

“Moving . . . ?” replied Mudpoo, with his mouth agape.

“Is that paddock moving, or is it my imagination?” asked a wide-eyed Harry.

“Moving . . . ?” replied Mudpoo, with his mouth agape.

They strained their eyes and looked carefully.

“Rabbits, dozens of rabbits, there goes another one!”
cried Mudpoo.

“And another and another and another,” said Harry trying to keep up.

“I've never seen so many; I guess we've had so much rain and hot weather it's brought them all out?” gasped Mudpoo.

“We should tell Captain Pete. I wonder if he knows what to do?” asked Harry.

“They weren't here yesterday, I'm sure. If we don't do anything they'll eat all of our grass and native flowers,” declared Mudpoo.

They both ran down to the house to see Captain Pete, who was busy fumbling and bustling about in his shed.

“Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully, “hundreds of rabbits hey?” he scratched his beard, “Yes I thought I'd seen a few more about than usual.”

“What do we do about them?” asked Mudpoo and Harry together.

“Hmmm . . . it's a mystery,” said Captain Pete, again looking even more thoughtful. Mudpoo and Harry peered up at Captain Pete looking hopefully for an answer.

“That's it, I've got it!” yelled Captain Pete excitedly, “It's easy.”

“What's easy?” replied Mudpoo and Harry together.

“We need to invent something to catch the rabbits
and move them on to somewhere else where they won't eat our plants. I'll start on it straight away!”

Captain Pete started to draw some interesting diagrams on a scrap piece of paper. Harry and Mudpoo looked on. They liked rabbits, but there were way too many and something had to be done.

“Pulleys and wheels, some ropes and poles and we'll need lots of carrots, yes I'd say that ought to do it!” exclaimed an excited Captain Pete.