Her words unlocked his body. He came eagerly towards her.
‘As a friend,’ she said hastily.
Jason’s arms had been open. Now his expression changed. He stopped in mid-stride and his arms fell to his side. ‘As a friend?’
‘I am married,’ she reminded him.
‘You didn’t come here out of friendship.’ His voice was harsh with pain and anger. ‘You wanted to make use of me, that’s all.’
‘How can you say that?’ Anguish tore her voice.
‘You’re lonely and unhappy,’ he accused her. ‘You thought that seeing me would make you feel better but now you won’t even let me get close to you.’
‘I daren’t.’ Her voice was desperate.
‘Why? Because you’re afraid what I might do to you?’
‘Afraid what I might do to myself.’
She had not intended to say such a thing; knew, as soon as the words had escaped her, that she should never have done so if she wanted to keep him at a distance. Too late. His hands were on her shoulders. Their touch was like fire but filled her not with pain but peace. He held her close. She felt his strong heart beating against her breast. Her body and spirit surrendered themselves to him, letting his enfolding arms press her tightly against him. Peace flooded her. It was like a calm blue day, not too hot, the lush paddocks dreaming, the tranquil sea rumbling softly as it met the land. There was serenity there, a sense of rectitude. After months of tribulation and loneliness Alison had come home. He held her close.
She craned her head to look up at him. His face was dark against the brilliant sky but she could see his eyes as he bent to kiss her. Her own eyes closed.
His hand was on her breast. Even as her body responded she said, ‘No.’
The hand continued to mould, to coax.
‘No!’ she repeated more emphatically, her own hand moving to stop him.
A murmur of protest in his throat but he stopped, nonetheless. His eyes questioned her.
‘We mustn’t,’ she told him. ‘It’s not right.’ It was true and she knew it, even as her rejection of him pained her.
‘It is absolutely right.’
And that was true, too.
Jason sensed her indecision. His hand moved again, seeking to penetrate her fragile defences.
‘Please don’t,’ she said, face anguished.
‘You want me to stop?’
She breathed deeply through her mouth. ‘It’s not a question of what I want but what we must do. Must not do.’ She seized his hand, guiding it away from her. She stared at him, willing him to understand, not to be hurt or angry. ‘If I let you do what you want—’
‘You want it, too.’
She did not deny it but what either of them wanted was irrelevant. ‘I will not betray my husband,’ she said, knowing that she had already betrayed him by coming here but knowing, too, that there were matters of degree in all things. She would have to face Blake on her return. As it was she would be able to put this meeting behind her but anything more and she could not. Blake would sense her guilt. Often he had beaten her for nothing; what he might do with such provocation she dared not contemplate.
Alison stood a little apart from Jason now, tidying her clothing, composing her racing heart. When her breathing had calmed she said, ‘I must get back.’
‘What will you say if he wants to know where you’ve been?’
‘I’ll tell him I’ve been out riding.’
‘Rather say you’ve been with Asta.’
‘What if he checks?’
‘He’ll never check, it would make him look bad. But I’ll warn Asta, anyway.’
‘Then she will know.’
Jason laughed. ‘She knows already.’
‘But—’
But nothing has happened. She had been about to say it but did not, knowing that much indeed had happened.
‘Next week,’ he said.
‘If I can.’
He shook his head. ‘No ifs. Be here.’
They parted, she mounted Star and rode home. She had been far longer than she had intended. For all her confident words, her heart beat nervously as she entered the house but Blake had not returned. This time, at least, she was safe.
TWENTY-SIX
‘Glad you come by,’ Cato Brown said to Blake. ‘Somen here I want to show you.’ The shepherd took something from his saddlebag and held it out. ‘Look at this.’
For a moment Blake did not understand what he was seeing. ‘Green pebbles?’
Cato touched a grimy finger to the side of his nose. ‘Question is, what sort of pebbles, eh?’
Slowly Blake said, ‘At Kapunda Dutton found green rock, too. That mine of his bin goin’ ever since.’ He took a piece of the rock and weighed it in his palm. ‘It’s heavy, right enough. Where d’you find it?’
‘A mile north of here. Just over the border with Whitby Downs.’
‘Let’s take a look.’
There wasn’t much to see: a shallow scrape in the sandy soil where wombats had been digging, the mouth of a burrow, a scattering of earth and stones. Blake knelt, sifting the loose material through his hands.
‘There.’ Cato pointed at a tiny green fragment amid the earth. ‘That look like copper to you?’
Blake had no idea. ‘Only one way to find out,’ he said. ‘We got to get it assayed. First thing, though, we must file a claim for the mineral rights. This whole area could be solid copper an’ it won’t do us no good if we ain’t got the rights.’
‘How can we do that?’ Cato asked. ‘It ain’t our land.’
‘The government issued grazing leases,’ Blake said. ‘Mineral rights is somen else.’
Cato scratched his head. ‘I don’ follow.’
‘Don’ matter who owns the grazing. Anyone can make a claim for the minerals.’ He grinned slyly at the shepherd. ‘You should’ve kept quiet about it. If you’d staked the claim yourself you might’ve been rich.’
Cato knew very well what Blake’s reaction would have been if he had done that. ‘I ain’t got the money to set up no mine.’
‘If this is what I think it is,’ Blake told him, ‘we could be sittin’ on enough money to set up half a dozen mines.’ He smiled vindictively. ‘Then we’ll see what Asta Matlock has to say about her bits o’ paper.’
Cato did not follow. ‘Eh?’
‘Never mind. One of us must get to Adelaide, that’s the first thing. Best be you, I reckon. If I go Asta Matlock will be sure to find out about it.’
‘Go where?’
‘To the Lands Office. Register a claim for the mineral rights to this whole area. Then we’ll see who owns what around here.’ He rubbed his hands gleefully. ‘I can’t wait to see her face.’
‘What about the sheep?’ Cato asked.
‘Let me worry about the sheep. Jest get down there, quick as you can, and make the claim.’ He stared at the shepherd with eyes that were suddenly cold. ‘Don’ try nuthin smart, will you?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like puttin’ the claim in your own name.’
‘I wouldn’t do that.’ Virtuously.
‘Be sure you don’t.’
Heavy rains had flooded the countryside and it was over a week before Cato Brown returned. He brought bad news.
‘No title?’ Blake was furious. ‘Why the hell not?’
‘They said they got to have a survey of the whole area or they can’t register no claim.’
Blake needed to blame someone and Cato was the obvious target. ‘Didn’t occur to you to fix up a surveyor, I suppose?’
‘Yeh, well I did, didn’ I?’ Cato said, aggrieved. ‘Fellow called Hargreaves, operates in Wild Horse Plains. Said he’ll come through and measure up for us.’
‘You should have brought him with you.’
‘He were too busy. But he said he’ll be here directly.’
Peddlers came and went with increasing regularity but a stranger in a tall hat was a rare sight on the peninsula. Asta eyed the angular figure
with curiosity. The man was obviously uncomfortable to be here. When Jason had come across him he was on his way south and anxious to continue his journey. However, it had been almost dark, more rain was threatening and curiosity, like hospitality, had rules of its own. Jason had escorted the man to Whitby Downs, Asta had given him a good meal and was now determined to find out what she could about him.
‘What brings you to this lonely place, Mr Hargreaves?’
‘I have been retained to act for a grazier south of here.’
‘What is your line of business?’
‘I’m a surveyor.’
Blake Gallagher was the only grazier south of Whitby Downs. What was Blake doing with a surveyor?
‘Bungaree is owned by my sister-in-law,’ Asta said. ‘She has not asked for a survey.’
Hargreaves smiled politely, clasping large-knuckled hands around his knee, and said nothing.
‘Let me offer you a drink before you go to bed.’
The surveyor was by no means averse to enjoying a drink with Mrs Matlock but he had a hard head for liquor and people had tried to get information out of him before this. When he left the next morning Asta was no wiser than she had been when he arrived.
Blake took the surveyor to the site and left him to get on with it. He had expected that Hargreaves would be finished within an hour or two but it was not until evening that he arrived back at the run.
‘I’d thought you’d have bin on your way to Adelaide by now,’ Blake said crossly, impatience eating him.
Hargreaves smiled. ‘The deposits won’t go away, Mr Gallagher.’
‘The deposits don’ worry me, it’s other folks gettin’ there first.’
‘I’ll be away first thing in the morning.’
‘How long before the claim’s registered?’
‘Directly I get there. Say a week.’
Blake scowled. ‘That the best you can do?’
Hargreaves seemed to find Blake’s impatience amusing. ‘My dear sir, those deposits have been lying there for millions of years. What’s another week?’
‘Listen to me,’ Blake said. ‘For all either of us knows this might be the richest copper deposit in the colony. If you can’t get to Adelaide in three days I’ll send someone else. Or mebbe go myself.’
Hargreaves did not take kindly to being harried. ‘Do whatever you think is right,’ he said huffily.
‘Damn right I will.’ Blake considered. ‘What’s to this business of filin’ a claim?’
‘You go to the Land Registry Office, give the Registrar these drawings I’ve prepared, register your claim. It will take you half an hour—less—once you’re there.’
‘In that case I won’t be botherin’ you no further, Mr Hargreaves. I’ll send one of my men.’
‘As you wish.’ Stiffly.
‘Your fee,’ Blake said.
‘Twenty pounds. As we agreed.’
‘That included filing the claim in Adelaide.’
‘Which I am still willing to do.’
‘Mebbe, but I ain’t willing to have you do it. I’ll give you twelve pounds for yon piece of paper and we’ll call it a day.’
Hargreaves was indignant. ‘Twenty pounds was what we agreed and twenty pounds is what I expect. I’m afraid twelve would be completely unacceptable.’
‘That right?’ Blake fetched a small sack of coins, tossed them on the table in front of the surveyor. ‘Count ’em.’
Hargreaves smirked, spilt coins on the table, counted them rapidly. He looked up in mounting indignation. ‘There’s only ten pounds here.’
Blake nodded, grinning. ‘I offered you twelve but you turned me down.’
‘Outrageous.’ Hargreaves stood. His lips were white with fury. ‘You’ll regret this.’
‘Word of advice. Don’t threaten me.’ With a swift gesture Blake scooped up the coins and jingled them beneath the nose of the indignant surveyor. ‘What’s it to be?’ he asked contemptuously. ‘Ten pound? Or eight?’
‘Ride like the wind,’ Blake told Cato Brown. ‘When the claim’s registered get back here, quick as you can. Everything goes according to plan I’ll cut you in for a share of the mine.’
‘’Andsome.’ Cato wiped his mouth at the thought of riches.
‘If it don’t,’ Blake cautioned, ‘you’d best not be coming back at all.’
‘When do you want me to go?’
Blake’s big frame vibrated with energy and determination. ‘Now. This minute. Ride all night. Don’t rest ’til you get there. There could be millions dependin’ on this. Remember, there ain’t no room for second place. You got to get there first.’
Hargreaves said, ‘I don’t make a habit of disclosing confidential information to third parties but Mr Gallagher’s behaviour was unconscionable. Quite unconscionable.’
‘What exactly are you telling me, Mr Hargreaves?’ Asta asked.
‘I am telling you there is a copper deposit on your land.’
‘How can you be sure of this?’
‘I have seen a good many deposits in my time, ma’am. As you know, copper has been found in the colony for some years now.’ He laughed deprecatingly. ‘At one time people seemed to be falling over it every week. Not all the claims proved of value but in some cases, as in Kapunda and Burra Burra, they did. Extremely valuable. The only way to find out the richness of a deposit is to develop it, of course.’
‘And these deposits? The ones on my land?’
‘I would say they appear promising, ma’am. Very promising.’
‘And how does one go about registering a claim?’
‘I was going to explain that, ma’am.’ The lanky surveyor coughed delicately. ‘There is one consideration we should perhaps discuss first.’
‘How much?’ Asta said.
‘Shall we say twenty pounds?’
‘You’ve got to get there first,’ Asta instructed Jason. ‘Hargreaves thinks that Blake will already have sent someone. Cato Brown, most probably.’
‘What’s the rush? It’s your land.’
‘I own the grazing rights, not the mineral rights. Anyone who registers a mining claim can develop a mine.’
Jason stared at the drawings that Asta had given him. ‘And we can register a claim with these?’
‘Certainly. Mr Hargreaves has marked the relevant areas on the map. He has also given me a letter for the Registrar. Don’t lose it,’ she cautioned him. ‘He said it might be important.’
‘What’s in the letter?’
‘He didn’t say. But he told me the Registrar is a friend of his.’
‘Why did he do it? If he’s supposed to be working for Blake?’
Asta laughed. ‘Blake tried to cheat him.’ She clapped her hands. ‘No more talk! On your way, quick as you can! It could be worth a fortune to us but only if you get to Adelaide first!’
Cato had Blake’s best horse and covered the ground so quickly that by daylight he was already well on his way to Port Wakefield. He had seen nobody on the trail but that was to be expected. It was in daylight that he would be likely to meet war parties, if there were any about, and he kept his eyes alert as he rode furiously along the mud flats fringing the northern edge of the gulf. Beyond the fringe of mangroves the mud-brown waters stretched away towards the eastern shore. He could just make out the shapes of two barges moored off the mouth of the invisible Wakefield River.
Cato’s mount was strong but there was a long way to go and, with daylight, Cato eased him to a steady trot. There was nothing to be gained by running the horse into the ground before he reached his destination and Adelaide was still a hundred miles distant. Not for all the copper in Australia could he hope to get there until late the following day, however fast he rode.
The blacks were what worried him. At Bungaree they’d had no trouble from them for a long time but he’d heard there were still wild groups scattered throughout the peninsula and was frightened he might ride into them. One meeting was all it would take if they were looking for trouble. He looke
d back over his shoulder but could see no sign of pursuit. He should be safe enough here, he thought. He had a good horse under him and the first signs of civilisation were already visible a few miles away on the far side of the gulf. All the same, he rode as briskly as he could, knowing he wouldn’t feel really safe until he was south of Port Wakefield.
Wild Horse Plains was a tide of yellow grass. Every hour or two Jason passed a cluster of buildings where some enterprising settler was attempting to put down roots but the only other landmark was a range of hills, thirty miles distant, running north and south along the eastern horizon.
Jason had left Port Wakefield far behind, with its dust and creaking drays loaded with copper ore. Ahead of him the plain stretched empty and seemingly eternal. Twenty miles after rounding the head of the gulf he broke his helter-skelter journey at an inn that had been built on the banks of a slowly moving creek. There was a livery stable at the rear and it was here that he picked up his first news of Cato Brown.
‘Come through earlier. Ridin’ like hell, he was,’ the ostler said.
‘When was this?’
The man scratched his head. ‘’Bout seven hour gone.’
Seven hours. Before he left Whitby Downs Asta had calculated that Cato was nine hours ahead. He was catching him, then, but not quickly enough to beat him to Adelaide.
‘How far from here to the city?’
‘’Bout seventy mile, I reckon.’
He had to catch up seven hours in seventy miles. There’d be no sleep for him tonight, then.
‘Where’s the next place I can change my horse?’
‘Twenty miles ahead.’
After the fast ride from Whitby Downs Tommy was already tiring. He would never last another twenty miles.
‘I’d best change here, then. I’ll pick him up on my way back.’
Through the long hours of darkness Jason rode on. The replacement horse was not a patch on Tommy but maybe it was as well; he was tired himself now, beginning to sway in the saddle, and the last thing he needed was a highly spirited animal under him. In truth he would have preferred to ride a lot slower than he was but with seven hours to catch up he could not afford to do that. His only hope of getting to Adelaide first was to push on as fast as the hired horse and his own tired body would permit. He rode all night in a daze of mounting weariness and seventy miles had never seemed so far.
A Far Country Page 36