Читать книгу Billabong Gold - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 12

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‟I’M dead sick of this! Did you ever see such God-forsaken country, Todd?”

“No. Nor I hope I never won’t again,” said the individual addressed. “Nor have a moke like this to haul round it. C’m up, you brute!”

He jerked violently at his horse’s bridle, catching a sapling with his free hand to pull himself up a stony rise. The horse followed with a scramble: then the ground gave way under its hind-legs and it slithered back down the hill, dragging Todd with it. On the lower level they crashed into several other horses and the men who held them: their arrival was unpopular, and a scene of general confusion and heated language followed, horses plunging wildly in the struggle to keep their footing.

“Well, you needn’t sling off at me,” objected Todd, when something like order had been restored. “I never asked to climb up the side of a young mountain. An’ I don’t believe there’s any good in it, either. We’ll be wanderin’ round here all night, if you ask me. Have you got any idea at all about where you’re makin’ for, McGill? ’Cause if you have, you might as well be the one to go ahead an’ break a track.”

He looked angrily at a huge, thick-set man who leaned against a tree, his arm through his horse’s bridle. McGill turned a cold eye upon him.

“I’ve got no more idea than you have. All I’ve been told was to head south-west after we got into the hill country, an’ I’m doin’ my best to do that. I didn’t reckon on bringin’ out people that needed nursin’ an’ lookin’ after. Some of us are leadin’ pack-horses as well as their own—you an’ Henry have only got one apiece. What are you grumblin’ about?”

At the threat in his voice Todd grew more subdued.

“Well, but what’s the use? We seem to be gettin’ into worse an’ worse places. We’ve camped in these hills two nights already; if it goes on we’ll have all our tucker eaten up before we ever see the blessed gold-mine.”

“That’s true enough,” said another man. “The horses are beginning to knock up, too. It’s your show, McGill, but you don’t know as much about horses as some of us do.”

“Too right you don’t,” said a lean bushman. “If you did you wouldn’t risk a pack-horse’s laigs on places like this unless you had to. It ain’t sense.”

Low growls of assent showed that the majority of the men supported the speaker.

“Well, what’s your idea, Mooney?” McGill asked sullenly. “Got one, I suppose?”

“My idea is that one man had better do the scoutin’ round for a track. I don’t mind bein’ the one; my horse is handier than most of the others. If you chaps like I’ll get up to the highest peak I can climb, an’ take a look-see. With any luck I ought to be able to spot smoke somewhere. These minin’ fellows must have camp-fires.”

“If they aren’t all a dream!” put in another. “I’m beginnin’ to think McGill’s been had with a tall yarn.”

McGill swung round upon him with a threatening gesture. The man stood his ground.

“Oh, you can hit me, I suppose, McGill—it’s your game, isn’t it? But it won’t do you any sort of good; you can’t afford to have any of us clear out on you. An’ there’s more than one of us will clear out if you keep on makin’ the mistake that you can bully us. Are you dead sure you can trust whoever it was put you on to this business?”

McGill swallowed his anger, forcing himself to answer with something like civility.

“Do you think I’d have come if I hadn’t been sure? I can trust him all right; only he couldn’t give me clearer directions to start with. Well, what say we get down to level ground an’ let Mooney do his bit of scoutin’?”

The men agreed enthusiastically; anything was better than fruitless scrambling through the hills. Mooney waited only to cram some food into his pockets, and to tie a quart-pot to his saddle.

“Goin’ to be out all night?” asked Henry dolefully.

“Y’ never know,” said the bushman. “It’s as well to be on the safe side, anyhow.” He rode away into the scrub.

The men had a rough meal, played cards, smoked and slept. McGill walked up and down the little stretch of level ground, brooding uneasily. He was more anxious than he cared to admit. He had taken a chance in coming into unknown country on comparatively slight information—a chance word dropped in the bar of a Sydney hotel by a man whose record, McGill knew, was of the kind described as “well known to the police.” He had been working as a shearer: he knew gold had been found in the hills south of Broad’s Creek. But when McGill had proposed an expedition he had been almost fervent in his refusal to accompany it.

“Not me: I’m not popular there. But you go, mate. There’s something in it, true as life!”

It was not the first time they had had dealings together; McGill did not believe that he would put him on a wrong scent. “What would he gain by it?” he asked himself, pacing up and down the scrub-ringed patch. “Alf’s never been anything but straight with me, whatever else he’s done. I reckon he knows better.” His fist clenched as he pondered on what he would hope to do to Alf if he found that he had sent him on a wild-goose chase. “Oh, rot!” he muttered. “He’d never dare.” For the hundredth time he looked at his watch and longed for a sign of Mooney’s return.

It came while the men were still sleeping in the hot sun. A stick cracked under a horse’s hoof; there was a crashing in the scrub as Mooney forced his horse through it. He jogged towards McGill, his face showing satisfaction.

“Any luck?”

“Yairs, it’s O.K.,” drawled the bushman. “I seen a smoke as soon as I got up the peak. Not much, but it’s south-west: I reckon it must be the place. Then I scouted round to see if I couldn’t pick up a track; and sure enough, I did. I believe we’d have found it sooner if we’d taken the straight line from Broad’s Creek, only you had your own notions about that. Anyway, it’s a passable track; there’s more than one horse been over it. Got any tea? I could do with a drink.”

The men came to life with renewed spirits. Packs were adjusted, riding-horses saddled, while Mooney squatted beside the embers of the fire and boiled up black tea. They whistled and sang as they followed him into the bush.

It was hard going for a while, but there was no more grumbling now that something definite lay ahead. Sooner than they had expected they came to the track. It was not well-defined, but hoof-marks were plainly visible, and the scrub had been broken aside here and there.

“An’ to think it was as near as this!” said Henry.

“Blimey, we might a’ wandered in the bush for ever without strikin’ it, the way we were headin’ this morning. Wonder if it’s the right one?”

“Well, it’s bound to lead somewhere,” said Mooney. “And there can’t be more than one settlement in here, I reckon.” He took the lead; they pushed on.

It was late afternoon before they came in sight of the clearing. A low whistle of astonishment broke from Mooney.

“Well, I guess your dream’s a pretty solid one, McGill!”

“Too right it is,” McGill uttered. “Whoever’s managin’ this show knows his business.”

The track had led them to the east of the mining area. They looked across the cleared space with its orderly lines of pegs, quick to notice that as yet there had been no digging on any of the outer claims. In the middle a shallow creek ran: beyond it, at its widest part, they could see washing troughs and sluice-boxes, walled in from the landward side by a fence of stout saplings and thickly woven bush. Another such fence enclosed the space from which a derrick rose: the yellow mullock-heaps showed them that a shaft was hidden in the enclosure. From it a pony moved slowly down the slope to the creek, drawing a cart heaped with wash-dirt.

Men were working at the creek, bending over the long troughs; others were shovelling mullock near the shaft. McGill looked about him, scanning tents that showed no signs of life; then up to the plateau under the cliff, from which a thin trail of smoke drifted. There a squat figure moved about. “Looks like a Chow,” he muttered contemptuously; and did not dream that the slant eyes of the man in the flapping overalls had seen him from the moment he had emerged from the scrub; were watching him jealously now.

“Look over there, Mac.” Mooney jerked his arm towards the southern end of the clearing. “Looks like we ain’t the first visitors. Those blokes are peggin’ out new ground.”

McGill turned, and swore softly. It was clear that the men he saw were newly arrived. Horses, still bearing packs, were tied to a sapling: men were working swiftly with measuring-lines, driving pegs at intervals.

“They’ve got ahead of us, it seems,” he said. “Well, there’s plenty of ground left yet, boys. We might as well go an’ have a word with them.”

They rode across the clearing, halting by the pack-horses. The man with the line had finished his task and was coiling it up. He glanced at them sharply.

“This section’s pegged.”

“So I see,” returned McGill pleasantly. “We’ll keep off your boundary, mate. I see you’ve got a bit of the creek.”

“You bet we have,” was the curt answer.

“Know anything about the ground?”

“Don’t know a thing meself. The old bloke up at the main camp advised us to peg here. He’s the boss of the crowd that’s got all this.” He swept his hand in a comprehensive gesture that included all the clearing.

“He didn’t welcome you, I’ll bet.”

“I wasn’t lookin’ for welcomes. Got to get busy now.” He turned on his heel and strode off.

“Well, we’d better ride up an’ see this boss he talks about,” said McGill.

They rode past the shaft, peering with sharp curiosity over the brush fence. The workers at the mullock-heaps did not look up; Billabong stockmen, they seethed with useless resentment at the invasion. Before they reached the plateau two tall men came from it to meet them.

“Good day.” The voices were quiet and courteous.

“You the boss here?” McGill asked.

“This land is part of our out-station.”

“No private ownership where gold’s concerned, I reckon,” snapped McGill. “We’ve got as much right to dig as you have. Want to see our miners’ rights?”

“Oh, no. I’m not a policeman. The police will see to all that later on, I expect. Did you want to see me?”

“Well ...” McGill was a little taken aback. “The chap down there said we’d better. But I reckon we’ll just start peggin’ out ground.”

“I’ve no authority about that, except where our claims are concerned. But you can’t make any mistake as to them. They are all secured in proper form.” David Linton’s keen grey eyes travelled round the group, noting each hard-bitten face. “I will be quite frank with you about your chances, if you like.”

“Oh—will you?” The tone was suspicious. “Well, heave ahead, Boss.”

“There have been prospectors in these hills as long as I can remember. We are the first to find gold in any payable quantity, and we stumbled on it by accident. We are not experts; but our advisers are inclined to think that what we have struck is a pocket, formed by volcanic action long ago when a wall of rock was thrown across the gully running down from here. We have blasted away a good deal of the rock, finding a certain amount of gold. We are now exploring farther, in the hope of finding a reef.” He paused. “Is that clear?”

“Clear as mud,” grunted McGill. “Means you’ve had all the luck.”

“That’s as may be. The point I want you to understand is that there is a very strong chance that the gold is held only in this area in the middle of our claims. If there is a reef—and that’s very uncertain—it probably originated under the cliff. There is a cave—you can see the mouth—where we have protected ourselves by pegging also. I don’t want you to think you’ve struck another Coolgardie. There’s a probability that the whole thing may never amount to much, and that anyone working beyond our ground may get nothing.”

“And you expect me to believe that, do you?”

Jim Linton moved restlessly. His father’s voice, however, sounded faintly amused.

“Most certainly I don’t. You know nothing about us: I should be a fool if I expected you to believe that I was telling the truth. And you would be fools if, having come so far, you didn’t try your luck. But we consider that it’s only decent to warn you, as we shall warn everyone who comes. For their own sakes I hope there won’t be very many.”

McGill looked black. From his men came discontented growls.

“Well, I may be all wrong,” said the squatter, with a faint smile. “Go ahead, anyhow: except for the people who came to-day you’re the first to have a chance. Have you made any arrangements about tucker?”

“We’ve brought a lot.” McGill nodded towards his pack-horses.

“Well, you can’t get any nearer than Broad’s Creek when you need more.”

“That’s a deuce of a way to go. Rough travellin’, too.”

“Yes. But you won’t be any worse off than the old prospectors; they all had to get there. And not all of them had pack-horses.”

“What about the south? No township there?”

“Nothing nearer than Cunjee, and that’s more than twice as far as Broad’s Creek. Our station lies between here and Cunjee—the main property. This rough country is where we run store bullocks. There is no road through to Cunjee.”

“H’m,” said McGill, turning the unwelcome information over in his mind. “Oh, I reckon we’ll manage. Anything else?”

“You’ll find plenty of good water; there are springs in various places, as well as creeks. Snakes everywhere, so I should advise you to watch out. We can’t say we’re pleased that strangers have come, but if people give us a fair deal we want to keep on good terms with everyone. One thing I should like to ask you—we’ve a lot of cattle in the hills, and we don’t want them driven about unnecessarily. Of course we shall have to move them if a rush comes; meanwhile we should like to get ahead with our work here, not waste time mustering them.”

“Right you are. We’ll remember.”

“And I’m sure I needn’t warn you about fire. It’s the easiest thing in the world to start a bush-fire if people aren’t careful.”

“That ’ud take the shine out of your bullocks,” said McGill, with a grin.

“We should probably lose them all. But we wouldn’t be the only ones to suffer: every man who comes here would be hit. Creeks poisoned by carcasses, tracks blocked everywhere. You wouldn’t enjoy struggling across the hills through a wilderness of burned timber every time you had to go to Broad’s Creek!”

“My oath, we wouldn’t!” put in Mooney fervently. “I reckon I know what it is to have to get through burned country.”

McGill turned on him angrily.

“Reckon you’re the only one who knows anything, don’t you?”

“Not me, Boss,” was the cheerful answer. “But I know that.”

McGill swung himself back with a snarl. He found Jim Linton looking at him steadily, his face quite expressionless. For a long moment the two huge men stared at each other. Then McGill’s eyes dropped.

“Well, we’d better make a move if we want to get our ground pegged out before it gets dark,” he grunted.

“Very wise of you,” was David Linton’s calm answer. “There may be quite a lot more of you here by the morning!”

He stood watching as the band rode away. Not until they had left the pegged ground did he turn back to the plateau.

“Keep an eye on those fellows, Lee Wing, and let me know where they peg.”

“All li’, Boss.” The Chinese went off noiselessly. David Linton sat down on a log and looked up at his son.

“Our new friend is rather a nasty piece of work, I think, Jim.”

“Fine specimen of an unhung ruffian, I should say,” agreed Jim. “Wally was right: they’re a tough crowd altogether. The first gang were choir-boys compared to them. Did you notice the leader’s ear, Dad?”

“I did. Not pretty. Legacy of the prize-ring, evidently.”

Jim nodded.

“Yes; fine cauliflower ear. I wouldn’t have minded being the man who gave it to him. Heavy-weight boxer a bit gone to seed, I should call him. We wouldn’t be badly matched, Dad, he and I.”

“You’re lighter, though you may be a bit taller. I couldn’t be certain without seeing him standing up. Are you thinking of taking him on, Jim?” asked his father placidly.

Jim laughed.

“I might have my hands full. But I felt I wouldn’t dislike a few quiet moments with him. There was no love at first sight between that warrior and me.”

“Keep out of his way,” advised Mr. Linton. “The last thing we want is unpleasantness of any kind, especially with a gang of that description. Not a decent face in the lot. Heigho! I’m afraid our good days of mining are over, son. I wonder what the next invasion will be like.”

“Don’t worry,” grinned Jim. “We’ve struck bedrock in that line this evening—the next lot can’t possibly be as bad.”