BOOM! A BULLET RIPS through the dry, still air. Moments before I had watched the Aboriginal hunter crouching, ducking, beetling, pausing, looking, ever intent on the grazing buffalo. It was a dance that seemed to crystallise the eternal mysteries of life and death, predator and prey, the hunter and the hunted. The buffalo stoically took the impact of the bullet, but was felled by a second shot. Silence. Then, exhilarated by some primeval force I didn't understand, I ran to the dead buffalo. Its eyes were black, shiny hemispheres that reflected the world of the living. My Aboriginal companions quickly started to butcher the beast, turning buffalo into meat.