This Golden Land (47 page)

     "She ain't a doctor," argued Mike Maxberry who was so covered in soot and cinders that his hands were as black as Nan's.

     "She's a
lady
doctor," Jamie said. "And believe it when she says we're all going to lose our teeth and die scurvy deaths. Besides, a fierce summer's coming, and we've found enough opal to set ourselves up on our own land. So start packing up."

     They hurried away, all secretly pleased to be getting out of this desolate place and anxious to start spending money. Maxberry scratched his head, looking back over his shoulder with a dubious expression on his face. Was she right about the Barcoo rot? He ran a finger over his gums and felt his first loosened tooth.

     Jamie turned to Hannah and grinned at her with deep creases at the corners of his eyes. "Health practitioner, is it? It's for sure no one can tell you you're not what you say you are. And you get to make up the rules. And now, Miss Practitioner, I've a brilliant idea to share with you . . ."

     He took her by the elbow and walked her over the damp ground to the blackened remnants of the opal shed. "Something's changed in me, Hannah. I went down that shaft last night one man, and came up another. I want to end my wandering life. I want to stop cheating and stealing. Settle down, if you know what I mean."

     "But what about the police?"

     "I can clear my name. I'll have enough money from the opals to pay fines and bribe judges. I can get that wanted poster taken down and my good name polished clean. No more Jamie O'Brien the gyp artist."

     And the minute we get back to Adelaide, he added silently, I'm going to give you the biggest and most expensive wedding ring our opals will buy.

I
N THE DAYS SINCE HER NIGHT WITH
T
HULAN AT THE SACRED
mountain, the Moon Spirit had not visited her, and so her monthly sequestration from the rest of the clan, as all menstruating females must practice, had not taken place. A new life had begun in her belly. The clan was going to be thrilled. Thulan's child meant that Thulan himself would be with them forever, which meant saying good-bye to him would not be as painful.

     She did not tell him. Jallara knew that white men held peculiar ideas about children, especially boys, saying, "He is mine," when everyone knew that a child belonged to the clan. If she were to tell him, he might decide to stay with them and therefore not continue on to his own Dreaming, or he might want to take her and the child with him to the white man's world. It was best he did not know.

     A hot sun beat down on the thirty-three Aborigines and lone white man as they spoke a sad farewell. It was time for the clan to strike north and meet the other clans at the
jindalee.
This time, Jallara knew she would have no
trouble finding a husband, not like in past when she had been passed over because she wasn't beautiful. This time, men wouldn't mind her lighter skin because her pregnancy would be proof of her fecundity, and that was more important than looks.

     She gave Neal a special spirit-stone, gray and smooth, that fit in the palm of his hand. It was carved with mystical symbols, and she said it would protect him throughout his life.

     As Neal accepted it, slipping the small stone into the leather pouch that held the empty tear catcher, he thought of Jallara's mixed blood, wondered whether her mother had been with a white man by choice or had been forced. It made him think of the Merriwethers, well-intentioned missionaries who had declared their desire to bring Jesus to the Aborigines.

     "Jallara," he said with passion, "take your people far from here. More white men will come this way. A road will be laid. They say the railway will come, it will bisect your land and cross the songlines. The telegraph will come through here, and towns will spring up. Your way of life will be destroyed."

     She smiled, not knowing what roads and railways and telegraphs were. "We cannot do different from what the First Ones taught us, Thulan. We cannot go from here."

     And so Neal knew that they were doomed.

     It was time to go. He had lived with Jallara's clan for six months. A lifetime.

     With Daku and Burnu to keep him company and lead the way, Neal lifted his hand in a gesture of farewell, and struck off toward the west, where he would cross unknown land in search of the man who had left him to die.

     "If I have to take one more bite of lizard, I'm going to hang myself from a tree—if we can find a bloody tree!"

     No one paid attention to Billy Patton's grousing. As much as he complained about the food—and he was the expedition's cook, after all—he managed to tuck away a few helpings every night.

     The camp wasn't as orderly and pristine as it had been six months prior, just north of Iron Knob when Sir Reginald had insisted upon daily inspections, spit-polish shines, and a regimented schedule. A challenging trek over hundreds of miles of wilderness, braving sand and wind and freak rain, not to mention dingoes and snakes, water rationing, and now this intense heat, had taken its toll. The tents were grimy and tattered, and so were the men.

     But now that they were nearing their goal—a shining beacon called Galagandra—their spirits were lifting. Only young Fintan Rorke remained disheartened. He had taken to eating alone and keeping to himself, whittling creations out of whatever wood he could find, and brooding over the death of Mr. Scott. They should have stayed and searched for him. Fintan would never forgive Sir Reginald for that.

     But despite keeping to himself, Fintan had become a vital member of the expedition. As wagons had gotten stuck, as axles and wheels had broken, Fintan's skills had been called upon over and over until his name was the first called whenever anything needed to be repaired. He didn't mind. It was what he had signed up for, and he was on a grand adventure. But he was sorry about Mr. Scott, and hated having to turn over all that fine camera equipment and scientific instruments to Sir Reginald when they reached Perth. Somehow, he didn't think it was what Mr. Scott would have wanted.

     "Hey!" shouted John Allen, shooting to his feet. "We've got Abos!"

     Everyone turned to squint in the noon sunlight, and when they saw the black men approaching, carrying spears, they reached for their guns.

     But one of the natives raised his arm and shouted, "Don't shoot, I am Neal Scott!"

     As the white men looked at each other in astonishment, and then ran to welcome their long lost comrade, Neal's two companions touched his arms and murmured farewells. There was sadness in their eyes as they turned and started back over the distance they had covered.

     Neal watched Daku and Burnu deliver themselves into the ancient desert, and then found himself at the center of a genuinely happy reception. "We thought you were dead, mate!"

     "Aborigines found me," Neal said, searching the camp for Sir Reginald. "They saved my life."

     "You've been living with Abos all this time? You'll have some stories to tell!" Their eyes bugged out at the sight of his chest tattoo. When they drew close to get a better look, Neal fell back a step. The men stunk!

     As Neal was brought into the camp, the men all talking at once, and he recognized their faces, he realized that no one was missing. And then he saw the horses in the makeshift paddock, including the chestnut mare he had been riding when the sandstorm struck.

     Fintan pushed through and unabashedly threw his arms around Neal. "Thank God!" cried the twenty-one-year-old.

     Neal smiled. "It's a nice welcome, Mr. Rorke."

     Fintan drew back and ran his sleeve under his nose. Like the others, his thick black hair had grown long, but there was only a sparse, downy beard on his jaw. "Your things are all here, sir. I never even opened your trunk. Everything's as you left it."

     "Thank you," Neal said, thinking of Hannah's glove, and feeling an intense need to hold it in his hand.

     With tears glistening in his large soulful eyes, Fintan said quietly, "I wanted to stay behind, Mr. Scott. When Sir Reginald said we were to get moving and it wasn't even daylight yet, after the sandstorm blew past, I said we had to stay and look for you. He told me I was welcome to, but that he was taking the wagon and the horses."

     "It's all right, Fintan," Neal said, his eyes on Oliphant's tent where the others said their leader was napping. "You couldn't have done otherwise."

     "But I kept all your equipment and chemicals safe. Nothing blew up. And I wouldn't let the men touch any of it. Your camera is still in perfect working order."

     Bringing himself back to his young assistant, Neal said, "I'm going to start tomorrow, taking pictures. We still have a ways to go before we reach Perth. There will be some beautiful landscape to photograph."

     Sir Reginald came out of his tent then, as ruddy-complexioned as ever, in white shirt and shorts, his hair and beard both white and flowing. "My God, is it Mr. Scott?" he boomed, and strode toward Neal with outstretched hands.

     But Neal kept one hand on his spear, the other casually at his side.

     The walrus moustache fluffed out as the older man said with bluster, "We thought we'd never see you again! And look at you! Gone native, I see. By God, you'll have stories to tell!"

     "For a while there," Neal said quietly, his eyes steady on Sir Reginald, "I didn't think I would see any of you again. It looks as though the expedition is a success so far."

     "Indeed it is! Haven't run into any natives though, not like you. We're looking to find Galagandra next where there is supposed to be plenty of sweet water. Come come, sit down. You must be hungry. I say, that's an impressive tattoo. You must tell us how you got it."

     As Neal was led to the circle at the campfire, surrounded by cheerful fellows filled with congratulations, he decided not to confront Sir Reginald until they arrived at Perth and Neal had conducted a discreet investigation. When he had proof of his suspicions that the man was a fake, he would make it public.

     He wondered if Oliphant had an inkling of what he suspected. And if, between here and Perth, he should, what would the man do? They were still far from civilization, far from any white settlement. Neal knew he had to be careful. Oliphant had already left him for dead once. He might do a better job of it next time.

W
HEN THE
A
USTRALIA
H
OTEL CAME INTO VIEW
, H
ANNAH
cried out with joy.

     Although it was not officially summer, November's heat bore down on the weary group as they followed the dusty road in their wagons and on horseback. It had been a long, hot trek back from the opal fields. Poor Ralph Gilchrist had not survived. They had buried him in the wasteland just north of the tip of Spencer Gulf. And then Nan left them. The day before they had reached the head of Spencer Gulf, they had encountered a group of Aborigines, standing at a distance, watching. The next morning, Nan was gone. When they neared the Kapunda copper mines, the three brothers, Cyrus, Elmo, and Roddy, also left, saying they had quite liked the mining life and would seek their fortune here.