The Publicity Push

by Christopher Cummings

  In spite of the raincoats they were all soon soaked again but at least the raincoats helped to keep them warm. Kylie was amazed at how cold she was. ‘This is the tropics! We are only seventeen degrees from the Equator.’

  Nugget Creek held them up nearly half an hour. It was badly swollen and they had to search up and down its banks to find the safest point to cross. The water was waist deep where they did this but a log and some rocks just upstream of that point broke the force of the current and gave them a back eddy which helped. They were already so wet that wading and floundering in the cold water made no real difference.

  After that it was slow scouting and searching. They made their way to Franks Claim and looked carefully along two other old tracks which radiated out from it. The one to the west had been used by the Old Prospector and was fairly obvious so they followed it for several hundred metres to another old mine. After that it petered out and they gave it up.

  They were looking for footprints in the mud but there was so much dead fall that the spongy surface barely registered that they had all walked on it. Nor was there any sign of the vegetation being disturbed. Feeling even more worried they turned and set off back the way they had come.

  At Franks Claim they turned up the track towards the ‘Jewellers Shop’. They slowly searched up this until they reached the moss covered rocks. All the while the rain poured down and wind gusts shook the tree tops. Once the wind caused a large dead branch to fall nearby. That made them all look fearfully at each other and Kylie felt particularly sorry for Uncle Bill, knowing he would be blaming himself for getting them into the situation.

  At the track junction near the moss covered rocks they stopped to consider their next move.

  “We had better follow this track that goes to the left,” Uncle Bill. “Someone has been along it recently.”

  “I have,” the Old Prospector answered. “It goes up to an old mine half way up the mountain, a quartz blow I thought looked promising.”

  “Victor may have followed it so let’s go that way,” Bert said.

  “Why don’t we split up?” Graham suggested. “We would cover more ground that way.”

  “No!” Uncle Bill replied emphatically. “We have already left two at the camp and we are not going to get scattered all over the bloody jungle in this weather.”

  The fact that Uncle Bill swore gave Kylie a clue to the strain he was under. ‘Poor Uncle Bill,’ she sympathized.

  The group set off up the other track. This was steeper and much less clearly defined than the other one. It went up the spine of the ridge, winding through thick jungle and around more clumps of rocks. These slowed them down as Uncle Bill insisted they carefully search all around them, just in case Victor had slipped and lay injured among the boulders.

  The ridge grew steeper and steeper and they began to get glimpses out through the trees. These showed grey curtains of rain and dark looming mountains across the valley and behind them. Kylie knew one of the mountains must be Bartle Frere but she was becoming both disoriented and distressed. She was also aware that she and Margaret were both shivering with cold. Allison appeared fine, but then she was walking with Bert and they exchanged frequent loving glances.

  The higher up the mountainside they climbed the worse the wind became. It drove the rain hard at them and shook the trees wildly. Leaves whipped past and several times they heard trees or branches fall nearby. A gap in the canopy showed that the sky was solid overcast. It was dark enough to be late evening rather than mid-afternoon.

  The climb got them all puffing and tested sore muscles and will-power but at least the effort warmed them a little. The rain poured down without a break, seeping in under their collars.

  It was 2pm when they reached the old mine. It was a sad disappointment. The scars of old earthworks showed where tents had been pitched and a collapsed and overgrown tunnel entrance indicated the actual mine but it was a cold, wet and windy place and there was no sign of Victor.

  For a few minutes the group stood in shivering silence, looking around. Kylie felt sick at heart and had begun to quietly pray. Bert was now visibly upset.

  “Where else can he be?” he cried. His face showed that he was undergoing mental anguish and was close to tears.

  “In the jungle somewhere?” Peter suggested.

  “But where? Why? Why would he leave the track?” Bert shouted.

  “Maybe he was running away from those men?” Graham suggested.

  Bert shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. They were supposed to be mates.”

  “Thieves falling out, when they realized how much money was involved?” Peter said. “Gold makes people terribly greedy so I’ve heard.”

  “But he wasn’t there when the two men robbed us,” Kylie said.

  “Maybe they snuck up and watched, then had an argument about what to do?” Graham suggested.

  They considered this for a moment. Kylie said: “Which would mean they must have been quite close to where we found the gold.”

  Uncle Bill looked sick. His face appeared haggard and he nodded. “We are a bunch of fools. We should have thought of that earlier. We are wasting time. Let’s get down to the ‘Jewellers Shop’.”

  The thought that they had wasted several hours did not appeal to any of them. It was enough to make Kylie choke up with emotion. Led by Graham they set off back down the mountain side, going as fast as safety would allow, and some times too fast as they all slipped several times.

  It was 2:30 by the time they reached the track junction near the moss covered rocks again. Without pause they took the track to the ‘Jewellers Shop’. As they walked along it the Old Prospector commented. “It ain’t my business I know but is your gold mine, the famous ‘Jewellers Shop’, down this track?”

  “Yes,” Uncle Bill replied.

  “Drat! I searched this way a dozen times. Went up every creek too. Ah well, good luck ter ye.”

  “You can have some too,” Kylie said.

  “Thanks lassie, but I’ll do me own finding,” the Old Prospector replied with a smile. “Lookin’s most of the fun do ye see?”

  Kylie nodded. She wasn’t really interested in gold at that moment. It was enough to know that the farm had been saved.

  They walked quickly along in the driving rain, a mostly silent single file. Within a few minutes they had reached Hector’s campsite. There was a pause while they looked around. Graham even looked over the slope near the tent. Nothing. Sick at heart they continued on.

  The small creek near the camp was now a foaming flume that they had to jump across. Progress slowed as the track deteriorated. As it passed out around the end of the spur they went even slower. Down below Kylie could see that Nugget Creek was now racing along, swirling and foaming over the rocks in its bed.

  Suddenly Graham stopped. He bent to look at a bush, then pointed. Without a word he stepped off the track and made his way down the steep slope. It was so dangerous he had to move from tree to tree. Peter pointed down as the others came up. To Kylie it seemed as though her heart had stopped. She did not want to hope in case it was a false alarm. There was a scuff mark on the bark of a tree and the leafmould had been disturbed.

  “Here he is!” Graham cried. He was five metres below them now, right on the lip of the steep drop down to the creek.

  “Oh thank God!” Kylie cried, only to have her heart seize up with anxiety as Peter called: “Is he alive?”

  CHAPTER 28

  CRISIS

  “Vic!” Bert cried. He scrambled down the slope towards him.

  “Steady! Slow down!” Peter called, reaching out to stop Bert sliding down the cliff. It wasn’t a big drop, only about ten metres, but it was enough.

  Graham held up his hand as Bert slithered from tree to tree to join him. “No more! Stay back up there.”

  Kylie had moved a few steps down the slope from the track but she now stopped, her heart in her mouth as she watched Graham bend and place his fingers on Victor’s neck. She could only jus
t see the top of Victor’s head and saw that he was wedged against a tree, right on the top of the drop.

  Bert knelt beside Victor, his face a mask of anxiety. Graham nodded and called out: “He’s alive!”

  “Thank God!” Kylie cried. She was moved to hug Allison who was looking very drawn.

  Bert and Graham knelt and did some more checking. Kylie could not hear what they were saying but saw them nodding in agreement. Graham straightened up and called up to them: “We must get him out of here quickly. His pulse is very weak and he is extremely cold. Form a line down to here and grab hold of each other and we will drag him up.”

  Under Graham’s direction they did so. Bert was sent back up the slope and Peter took his place because, like Graham, he was wearing army webbing and that gave a good strong handhold. The line then ran Bert, Uncle Bill, the Old Prospector, Kylie, Allison and Margaret.

  “Grab hold of each other,” Graham called. “No, not by the hands. Grab their clothes.”

  “By the belt,” Peter supplemented.

  They did this. Bert shook his head and muttered unhappily. Kylie did not like this procedure. She called down: “Can’t we lower him down?”

  “No. Too steep.”

  “Won’t we cause more injuries doing this?” she called back.

  Graham shook his head. “Don’t think so. Anyway, exposure is more of a problem. He doesn’t appear to have any bones broken.”

  Still not happy but seeing no option Kylie gripped the Old Prospector’s leather belt and the small tree beside her. When they were all linked up she watched Graham bend down and take hold of Victor’s coat at the shoulders. Graham had his back to them and was only prevented from pitching forward over the edge by Peter gripping his webbing at the back.

  “OK, heave! Walk away up the track,” Graham yelled.

  They tried but most slipped and had to change their grip and better position their feet. Kylie found the wet bark of the tree much more slippery than she had imagined and had to wipe her hand. Her hand still slipped so she curled her arm around the tree. The group resumed its uphill move, muscles straining and fingers cramping. They heaved and struggled. Kylie moved uphill enough to put the side of her foot against the tree and to reach up to another sapling. That helped. To her relief she saw that Victor had been dragged up over the lip of the rocks.

  After that it was easier. Graham urged them to keep walking backwards as he dragged Victor over the deadfall and rocks. Within a minute Victor was lying on the track. They stopped pulling and crowded round to look. Kylie was appalled. Victor had obviously been bashed hard in the face and on the temple. A dark, purple and black bruise marked his right cheek. Worse, and more worrying, was a huge greenish lump on his left forehead. He was breathing but that was barely discernable.

  “He’s very cold. We must get him to shelter quickly,” Graham said.

  “We need a stretcher,” Peter said.

  “We can make one,” Graham answered. He looked around, then shook his head. “We need tools; an axe or a machete.”

  “I’ve got them at my camp,” the Old Prospector said.

  “Come on then. You others wait here,” Graham said. Without waiting to see if he was obeyed he dropped his webbing and set off at a fast walk. The others stood in a shivering huddle.

  Peter now took charge. “We can cover him from the rain. Give me hand.” He peeled off his rain coat and held it over Victor’s face. Kylie also took off hers and she and Margaret held it while Bert and Allison held Peter’s. Peter and Uncle Bill crouched and carefully checked Victor for other injuries. They gently felt along his limbs and neck.

  “Can’t find anything broken,” Peter said. “I think it is just his head.”

  “He’s had a real whack,” Uncle Bill replied, indicating the greenish lump.

  A wave of nausea almost overcame Kylie as she looked at Victor. His face was pinched and pale and his breathing was barely noticeable.

  “Murder!” Bert cried angrily. “Those bastards tried to murder him. They hit him on the head and tossed him over the edge.”

  Uncle Bill nodded grimly. “Yes they probably did.”

  “Burg,” Kylie added. “I’ll bet it was him.” She was sick to the bottom of her heart with horror and dread. It was obvious that Victor was in a bad way and that he might still die if he did not receive proper medical treatment quickly. She bit her lip and tried to hold back the tears. Her worst fears were being realized: a serious injury as far from the car as they could possibly be; and cut off by a flooded river!

  The next half hour was one of anxiety and impatience. Several times either Bert or Allison muttered: “Oh where are they?” This nettled Kylie a bit as she knew that Graham would be taking foolish risks to go as fast as possible. Through all of this the rain poured down and the wind in the trees grew stronger.

  “We were supposed to be back at the cars by now,” Margaret said quietly at one stage. Kylie could only nod unhappily.

  After what seemed an age Graham and the Old Prospector returned. Both were carrying stout poles and Graham wore a pack and had a bundle of basic webbing. “Steve’s and Roger’s,” he explained as he dropped it all.

  “Where are they?” Margaret asked.

  “Tying a rope across Nugget Creek,” Graham answered. “OK Pete, let’s get to work.” Graham and Peter went to work quickly, buckling their own basic webbing up and then placing the four sets of webbing in a line. They then slid the poles through the belts and straps.

  “What are you doing?” Bert asked.

  “Making an improvised stretcher,” Graham replied. Bert looked doubtful but Kylie knew exactly what the boy’s meant. She had seen this done as a demonstration during the cadet unit’s annual ‘Passing-Out’ Parade the previous November. While they did this Kylie was appalled at how cold Victor’s skin felt and it was a real relief to know they had at least got him into some sort of shelter.

  “Shouldn’t we tie a couple of sticks across to keep the poles from closing in and squashing him,” Uncle Bill queried.

  Peter shook his head. “No need. This will work fine. We do it at cadets,” he explained.

  Graham pointed. “OK people, all on this side. Now slide your arms in underneath him. When I say lift, lift him up and Pete, you and Uncle Bill slide the stretcher underneath from the other side.”

  The stretcher did not look much but to Kylie it was a huge step forward. A minute of group effort directed by Graham had Victor lying on it.

  Graham pointed to his pack. “Get the shelter and sleeping bag out. Try to keep the bag dry.”

  Margaret extracted the sleeping bag while Kylie, Bert and Allison held the plastic shelter over them. The sleeping bag was unzipped and wrapped around Victor. The plastic shelter was then draped over him. Peter pulled the plastic up to shield his face but Bert bent and pulled it back so his face was partly exposed. Kylie knew why: it made him look too much like a corpse. The thought made her shudder.

  Peter now took charge. “OK, now the hard part begins,” he said. He instructed them to group themselves around the stretcher. “As soon as someone feels they need a break then get someone else to take over. Don’t try to tough it out. Keep changing every few paces if you have to. Now, hands on... prepare to lift... lift!”

  Kylie took the left back corner. Instantly she realized what Peter was talking about. She knew he and Graham had been trained to make bush stretchers in the cadets and they had obviously had practice at carrying them. Peter gave the orders and nobody queried them. He and Graham went at the front on either side. Margaret and Uncle Bill went on each side. The Old Prospector went ahead of them to cut and push vines out of the way and to relieve them. Bert took the other back corner with Allison to help him.

  It was much harder than Kylie had ever imagined it could be. Her hands kept slipping on the wet timber and her fingers seemed to cramp up within seconds. The stretcher was just too wide for the foot track and they kept having to stop to manoeuvre through gaps between trees or to cut vine
s. At these places people had to let go one at a time to step around trees. They then resumed their place on the stretcher. “You can see why we need eight people to carry a stretcher,” Peter commented. Kylie could only agree.

  Within one minute Kylie knew she could not last more than a few seconds. She called to Peter and he told them all to stop and lower the stretcher. Then they all moved clockwise one place. “Use both hands on the stretcher if you can,” Peter said. “It spreads the load better and you are less likely to lose your grip and drop the patient.”

  The stretcher was then lifted and the group struggled on down the narrow, muddy track with it. They managed to cover about fifty paces before Margaret and Allison called for relief. The Old Prospector then took over from Graham who went ahead. Another fifty paces was covered. By then Kylie had been scratched by wait-a-while and could feel her shoulder and arm muscles beginning to protest.

  As before the stretcher kept snagging in bushes and vines and after another couple of minutes they had to give up and rest. The stretcher was lowered to the track and Bert moved to try to shield Victor’s face from the rain. Kylie saw that Victor was now shivering violently and that made her feel even more distressed.

  They tried again, Uncle Bill taking the lead and Graham taking Kylie’s place. She led the way, finding it a huge relief. But she also felt guilty, as though she wasn’t doing her fair share. They covered another hundred paces in five minutes. By then they were all sweating and shaking from the strain.

  “Time for a real rest. Prepare to lower. Lower!” Peter ordered.

  “We aren’t getting anywhere!” Margaret cried.

  Peter shook his head. “Yes we are. We can’t give up now. We must keep going,” he said. “It isn’t far to Franks Claim now.”

  They rested for a few more minutes. 4:30 passed. The rain became even heavier. Kylie bit her lip with anxiety and tried not to meet Bert’s anxious eyes.

  “Let’s go. Hands on,” Peter ordered. They bent and picked the stretcher up. The slow, shuffling movement resumed. The track was awash by surface run-off by then and they were all trying to wipe rain from their faces to keep their eyes clear. The movement began to take on nightmare qualities.