Hearts of Gold (7 page)

‘And they’d be proud of you, Mr John. They’d be pleased to know that a reformed adventurer with a heart of gold had taken charge of me.’

This time he grabbed her up and swung her round before he hugged her tight. She began to laugh and pulled on his beard. ‘Your whiskers are tickling my ear. What do you look like without this beard.’

‘Like the rogue I am at heart. Reformed . . .? Hah!’

The days had a certain routine to them. Chores didn’t take them long, after which she did the reading and writing he set her, though John never bothered to check it. It was enough for him that she did what he expected of her, and to the best of her ability, so to please him.

The quartz containing the gold seam still eluded him, and he was beginning to think it didn’t exist.

Out of habit he still drank regularly, but he’d cut down a little for her sake. His stomach bothered him from time to time, but not enough to allow him to see a doctor on his quarterly visits to Southern Cross, where they had a telegraph office.

Another year passed quickly. His little companion had filled out in that time. She was still slim with soft round hips and breasts that were firm and upstanding. Although she looked delicate she was strong, and breathtakingly beautiful.

He thought about her as he headed for Southern Cross on one of his trips. He’d sell the claim. He’d take Sarette to the city and pack her off to a friend in England, who ran a small establishment. There, she’d be turned into a lady.

‘What then?’ he said out loud.

He ignored the question his mind threw at him and sent his usual telegraph to Ignatious Grimble, to let him know he was all right. He told Grimble to stand by for further news. John wouldn’t know what ship Sarry would be on until he reached the Port of Fremantle and arranged things. Grimble would meet the ship, and he’d send a letter with her for Grimble, who would tell Magnus nothing, unless John specifically instructed him too.

He supposed he ought to write to Magnus, let him know of the plans he was making. No . . . perhaps not. Magnus would misconstrue his relationship with Sarry. John would prefer to explain things to Magnus when he got there himself.

It was July, and the midwinter day was warm and humid. For a change the sky had clouded over and he could smell rain in the air. Often the clouds passed over but there were some rumbles of thunder in the distance that sounded promising.

He’d sloped a sheet of corrugated iron into the barrel to give direction to any water off the roof before he’d left. ‘I’ll take the rifle. Keep the loaded pistol within reach and I’ll be back as soon as possible.’

She’d nodded, and smiled. ‘If it rains I’m going to stand in it and wash my hair.’

‘You and every other man, woman and child in the place.’

And down it came as he was heading home. How sweet it was. It beat against the dry soil, sending up puffs of dust at first, then sinking into the earth. When the earth was saturated it formed little rivers that filled up the gullies and holes, and the dusty track became sticky with mud.

John turned his face up to the shafting rain and sang at the top of his voice as it soaked through his clothing,
‘Christ the Lord is risen today, a-a-a-a-a-alay-loo-oo-ya!’

Hercules whinnied and did a little dance as the drops began to sting his hide.

‘It’s rain. Make the most of it, my lad.’

Taking a bottle from his saddlebag John pulled out the cork. He took a good swallow as they ambled along then waved the bottle in the air and yelled, ‘Here’s to rain. Without it they couldn’t make whisky.’

Back at the camp Sarette stood with her petticoat plastered against her body. She’d been there for several minutes rinsing the soap from her hair and allowing the water to run over her. She’d also put a pail out to catch the fresh water for cooking. The fire had gone out, the hot ashes spitting out steam with each wet extinguishing drop. The rain had been refreshing, but now she was cooling and her body was covered in goosebumps.

Going back into the hut, which was dripping water from the roof, she pulled on her old skirt and bodice, since she didn’t want to ruin her good clothes in the mire underfoot.

Taking up the gold pan she scooped up some mud and allowed the rain to half fill the pan. She began to swirl it around, and soon became absorbed in the occupation. She’d panned enough gold dust to fill a quarter of a teaspoon when instinct told her she was being watched.

Hair rising on the nape of her neck she strolled casually back towards the hut and picked up the pistol.

Someone called out, ‘Hello, the camp.’

She went outside, the pistol held at her side. Opposite the door beyond the campfire site was a ginger-haired man of about thirty. He had a sly look to him.

‘What do you want?’

‘My name’s Jimmy. Can you spare something to eat.’

She had made a loaf and a pot of soup before it rained, but there was only enough for herself and Mr John.

He took a couple of steps towards her. ‘Is your man home, missy?’

‘No, he’s . . .’ She realized her mistake when he smiled, and she said hastily, ‘He’ll be back any minute.’

Sarette pulled up the gun when he took another step forward. ‘If you come any closer I’ll shoot you. Move back, and I’ll give you some bread if you’re hungry.’

‘Thank you, miss, I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ Jimmy said humbly and backed off. She lowered the pistol and was about to turn back into the hut when she was seized from behind by a second man. Her heart nearly exploded from fright and she gave a loud yell before a hand was clapped over her mouth. The gun was wrenched from her hand and thrown into the bush, where it went off with a loud report that set the birds into the sky, crying out in alarm.

Dragging her into the hut they threw her on the bed and looked around. First, they helped themselves to the stew, spooning it into their mouths, then they ate the bread, washing it down with the water that ran off the roofing sheets. Afterwards they ransacked the place, throwing her mother’s things into the mud and grinding them in as they tromped all over them. Jimmy slid the matchbox containing her gold into his pocket.

Sensing an opportunity, she leaped off the bed and tried to dodge through them. The dark man grabbed her by the arm and jerked it up her back. ‘Where’s your gold?’

She gave a loud yell when he twisted her wrist. ‘Let me go, you’re hurting me.’

‘Let her go, Col.’ When Col did as he was told, Jimmy pushed her back on the bed. ‘Stay there and you won’t get hurt. Where’s the gold?’

Fear filled her, drying her mouth so she could hardly speak. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about?’

‘We heard that John Camly had made a big strike.’

‘This is John Kern’s claim. D’you think we’d still be here if we’d found a lot of gold?’

‘She has a point,’ Jimmy pointed out. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here before her man comes back.’

Col’s eyes raked down her and his eyes changed. ‘Not just yet. She’s a nice-looking piece. She owes me a little something for aiming that gun at me.’

A snatch of a hymn came to her ears and Sarette experienced relief. All she had to do was keep them at bay until John got here. She opened her mouth and let out a piercing scream.

Col gave a bit of a grin and punched her in the midriff. When she collapsed, gasping for breath, he threw her skirt up over her head. ‘There, that shut her mouth. Look at that sweet piece of pie. Hurry up, so I can have my slice of it.’

Sarette kicked out with her remaining strength, only to have her legs seized and pulled apart. Someone grasped the front of her drawers and pulled. There came a clanging noise and the full weight of a man’s body dropped on her. She shuddered, pulled down her skirt and struck out with her fists. The unconscious body was dragged off her. It hit the floor with a thud.

John handed her the rifle. ‘Keep that on him, and shoot to kill if he moves.’ Taking a rope down from a nail he tied the unconscious man’s wrists together.

She eyed the iron skillet on the floor then gazed at the man again. ‘What are you going to do to him?’

Sarette gasped when John told her, ‘I thought I might hang him. After that I’m going to shoot his companion. If I bury them in the bush nobody will ever know.’

Col said, ‘Without giving us a chance? That’s murder.’

‘So it is. You didn’t give my niece much of a chance, did you?’ Sarette didn’t know whether John had meant what he’d said or not, until he winked at her.

‘We wouldn’t have killed her. Aw, come on, mister. My brother never got anywhere with her. She gave him a flirty look and he was just giving her a bit of a kiss.’

‘You lying scum. I’d rather kiss a dead lizard.’ She grabbed up the skillet and was about to take a swing at him when John said in a voice she didn’t care to argue with, ‘Put it down.’

‘We was hungry that’s all. She was scratching for gold over there. We asked for food and she gave us some. She looked so pretty and we thought she gave us the come on. Sorry if we upset her. We didn’t mean to.’

‘Is that true, Sarry?’

She shook her head and said fiercely, ‘It’s true that I was scratching for gold. I thought the rain might have turned some up. They stole the food. But he tried to . . . to force me, and he punched me in the stomach, and they turned everything over and stole my twenty per cent. It’s in his pocket. It took me over eighteen months to collect it, and if I don’t get it back I’ll shoot his legs out from under him.’

‘He’ll give it back. Won’t you, young man?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The man turned out his pockets, so did his brother when he came round. Tied together by one set of joined wrists at the back and another at the front, the pair looked like a sorry sight. Tying their ankles together John took them outside and pointed them towards town. ‘Coolgardie is that way. When you scum reach there, go to Warden Finnerty’s house, tell them what you’ve done. I’ll be right behind you with my rifle in a minute or two. And if you step on my claim again you’ll be shot out of hand. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ they said together, and shuffled off sideways like a couple of dancing crabs.

‘I doubt if we’ll see them again,’ John commented.

‘I thought you were going to escort them in.’

‘I don’t see the point. They should be able to figure out a way to get those cords off. There are a lot of people coming in now the train service is here, and it won’t be long before the adjoining land is pegged. ‘It’s nearly time we left.’

She just laughed. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

The next morning when the sun came up the air smelled fresh and clean. Sarry was busy cleaning up the mess. She’d been badly shaken and the innocence in her eyes had been replaced by sadness. John had heard her crying during the night, and hadn’t known how to help her.

He’d come to a decision though. He doubted if those men would come back for Sarry. But if not them, then others would try. She had reached that age of desirability when she was peachy with innocent youth and ready for plucking. He couldn’t fight them all off. He was too old. He had to get her out of here, take her to a place that was more civilized. He would tell her tonight.

The sun shifted a little in the sky. From habit he placed his pick in the wheelbarrow and set off. It was a pretty day. The trees shook off the moisture from the downpour in rainbow-coloured drops, the sun shafted beams down through the branches. In the distance John saw a patch of yellow. His eyes narrowed in on it, identified it, then mesmerized, he found himself drawn towards it, his heart pounding in his chest and hardly daring to hope.

There were several nuggets strewn about on top, and sticking out of the soil, a chunk of quartz, uncovered by the punching force of the rain. How lovely it looked.

As he drew nearer he began to shake as though he had a fever. ‘
The ridge! At long last!
’ He couldn’t leave now. He’d work it until it ran out, then he’d leave, taking Sarry with him.

He began to hack at the quartz, ignoring the pain that haunted his stomach. He’d grown used to it. By the end of the week his muscles ached, his spine seemed set to break in two, and he was suffering from extreme fatigue. To his disappointment the quartz reef hadn’t contained any gold.

John hadn’t drunk anything but water for a week and he felt out of sorts. He tipped the bottle up, took a swig and kicked at a chunk of quartz that seemed to be mocking him. The toe of his boot went under it, lifted it and sent it flying through the trees. Where it had rested was a pitted yellow patch. Placing one end of the pick under it, he loosened it from its bed in the earth and lifted it out.

Gold in the rough shape of a heart appeared from under the dirt, a nugget so large it must have weighed at least sixteen pounds.
This was it! More than he’d ever hoped for
. He named it Sarry’s heart. It was for her, though she wouldn’t know it yet. John wanted to shout out his good luck, but didn’t dare in case he was overheard. He wasn’t even going to register his find, though it would be breaking the law not to. But he couldn’t remember ever respecting that, and was too old to do so now.

He laughed, kissed it and said, ‘You beautiful, beautiful thing.’

Wrapping the nugget in his coat he placed the bundle in the wheelbarrow and trundled home with it. He handed a couple of the smaller nuggets to her. ‘Here’s your twenty per cent, Sarry girl. That’s it. I’ve had enough of the diggings, so get ready to leave in the morning. Don’t take anything we can’t carry on the train.’

While she exclaimed over her twenty per cent he carried his coat inside and placed the nugget in his trunk. It would weigh heavy, but he didn’t care.

As John knew she would, she resisted the scheme, reluctant to step out of the narrow little world she was used to.

‘Then what?’ she’d scoffed, looking displeased with the whole idea when he’d explained it to her. ‘It’s not much good being turned into an English lady unless it will help me earn a living.’

It was worse when he sold Hercules along with the claim, outside of the railway station. It was then that she realized that they really were leaving, and John knew that she was scared of losing everything that was familiar to her.