by Tony McKenna
‘You start digga you shaft yet?’ Bruno asked at the end of the day.
‘Not yet. We’re not sure where to start, Bruno,’ Harry answered, brushing flies from his face.
‘I come looka for you. Show you where besta to dig. You can wait coupla days?’
‘That’d be great, Bruno. We’ll tell Reynold to hold off till then.’
They worked with the Italian for two more days, digging, hauling, sweating and learning, then on the morning of the third day Bruno came to their claim just on sun-up.
Surveying the terrain Bruno shook his head. ‘No digga da shaft.’
‘What?’ Jack was shaken.
‘You mean there’s no opal here?’ Harry said, similarly stunned.
‘No can tell ifa opla not here. You need to digga to find out.’ He looked around picking up some stones and examining them. ‘Good though.’
‘But you said not to dig.’ Harry was confused. ‘No. I say don’ta dig shaft, not don’ta dig.’
The three boys looked at each other completely bewildered. They had trouble interpreting Bruno’s broken English and were also amused that he called opal ‘opla’.
There was a low sandstone ridge running through the claim that rose to a flat peak near the centre and it was to this that Bruno walked. The ridge was around a hundred and fifty yards wide where the peak rose, presenting a sandstone face around thirty feet high that sloped slightly backward from where he was standing.
Bruno motioned for the boys to join him at the foot of the rock face. ‘Youa very lucky, you no need to dig shaft downa like dis,’ he made shovelling motions at his feet, ‘… but you dig inna like dis.’ He repeated the shovelling motion but this time at chest level straight at the rock face.
‘You slopa you shaft down little bit, go right in under da sandastone.’ He was beaming from ear to ear. ‘Maybe I swoppa you eh? You digga my mine and I taka dis one … itsa easy.’
Reynold was pleased not to have to dig a shaft straight down and for some reason didn’t find digging a tunnel straight into the rock face threatening. He took a pick and immediately starting to chip away at the rocky clay.
‘You digga da house first.’
‘What do you mean, Bruno? Jack asked.
Firsta thing you do is make ada place to live. You dig him wide, make ada room, then runna you drive from him. You then have house anna da mine.’
As the days passed Jack and Harry absorbed everything they could from Bruno who delighted in their company and in sharing his knowledge with them. They made no big finds with Bruno but small pockets of colour were dug or chipped from the clay below the sandstone. It was hard, repetitive work but they thrived on it, happy to be underground where it was many degrees cooler than on the surface where the angry sun beat ferociously, the wind sandblasted them and the ever present flies explored their mouths, ears and noses.
They developed a pattern of working three days a week with Bruno and three days with Reynold fashioning their dugout. They went to town one day a week for supplies and to cart water, which was non-existent in the diggings.
It was in the third week of this pattern that they arrived back at the nine-mile from a trip to town to find the tunnel abandoned, tools lying idle at the mouth and no sign of Reynold. They checked the shed and called out to him but there was no response.
Drinking the inevitable mug of tea beside the campfire that evening under a twinkling blanket of starlight they discussed what could have happened to Reynold. They had no idea where he could be and why he would leave without some explanation. They stopped talking when Anna padded to the edge of the firelight and started whining, her tail wagging as she stared into the night.
‘Who’s there?’ Jack called.
‘That you, Reynold?’ Harry shouted into the darkness.
There was no answer and they heard no sound so when a figure materialised out of the blackness beside them they let out a yell and jumped to their feet.
‘Reynold! You scared the livin’ daylights out of us, mate. Where the hell have ya been? We were worried about ya?’ Jack slapped Reynold’s shoulder in welcome. ‘You had any tucker?’
‘No tucker, Jack, not ’ungry. Gotta go, eh?’
‘Go! Go where? I don’t understand.’ Harry held out a mug of hot tea. ‘Gotta good brew, mate, here have one.’
‘No. Rennol ’e jus’ come to say goodbye ’n pick up swag.’ He hesitated obviously upset by something. ‘I gonna miss yu bloke.’ They could see tears glistening in the firelight before he turned his head away.
‘Come on, Reynold … you’re not gonna leave us, mate. What for?’
‘Gotta go, Jack.’ He offered no explanation.
‘What’s the matter, Reynold? You can’t just go off without tellin’ us why.’ Harry walked to him and putting his hands on his shoulders looked him directly in the eye. ‘Now what’s goin’ on, mate?’
‘Rennol ’e jus’ cause yu problem. Better I go.’
‘What problem?’ Jack was getting frustrated, his voice showing a hint of irritation.
‘Those blokes, they tell me to go.’
‘Blokes! What blokes?’
Reynold sat on the ground his head in his hands and told them. ‘Today, after yu go, these bloke come. Rennol ’e diggin’ and don’ ’ear ’em straight up. Come out from inside ’ole ’n was blinded little bit by the sun. Then this bloke grab me ‘’n push me up long the rock. Then he say, ‘yu black bloke not welcome ’ere. Opal for white bloke, yu take off ’n don’ come back.’
‘What’d you say to ’em, Reynold? Did you tell ’em that we all work together on this?’ Harry was angry.
‘I tell ’em I work this mine wit’ me brothers ’n they say, ‘yu tell yu brothers to take off too.’ Then they push me little bit more ’n say they comin’ back nex’ day ’n if I still ’ere they gonna beat me bad.’ He was trying hard not to let his tears show. ‘So I go now ’n save you trouble wit’ them fellas. When they see yu is white bloke, I tink they maybe go way.’
‘You’re not goin’ anywhere, Reynold. We’re stayin’, mate, and so are you. They can’t kick us off this claim.’
It took some persuasion but they eventually convinced Reynold to stay, saying they would sort it out if the men turned up again the next day. They then worked out a plan of what they would do if the trespassers did come back.
‘You in there, darkie?’ The voice was cocky and mocking. ‘You better not be or you’re in fer a bashin’ for sure.’ Two other voices laughed at this threat.
‘Go on, Reynold, you know what to say.’ Jack nudged him to walk out of the tunnel where the three of them were hidden. ‘We won’t let ’em touch ya, mate, just say what we told ya to say.’
Reynold walked boldly out into the morning sunshine causing shocked gasps from the men who expected him to have run away in the night.
‘Well, well, well. Look at this willya. We got us a little smartie pants here,’ the self-appointed leader mocked. ‘You got a bloody cheek haven’t ya, but you’ll be gone in a minute, mate, and with a good kick up the backside to send ya on yer way.’
Reynold spoke his rehearsed line ‘Yu need to talk wit’ me brothers. They say yu jus’ big win’bags, eh?’
The leader was taken aback at this unexpected show of defiance and spluttered ‘You what? … You callin’ us names? That’ll get ya a bigger hidin’ you little …’
Harry stepped from the tunnel mouth, Anna growling beside him, stopping the man in mid sentence. ‘Can I help ya, mister?’ He was shaking at the knees but didn’t let it show, glad of Anna’s growling support.
‘Who the hell are you?’ The man turned his attention to Harry, his companions standing behind him with belligerent expressions on their faces.
‘No. Who are you and what are ya doin’ on our claim?’
‘I’ll show you who I am, young fella.’ The weedy man with haunted watery eyes took a step toward Harry who retreated a step. ‘You obviously need a thrashin’ too, eh?’ He turned to his comp
anions ‘Come on, men, let’s teach these two cheeky young bastards who’s who around here.’
The three men moved forward, wary of the dog, but stopped dead in their tracks their mouths slacking open as Jack stepped from the shelter of the tunnel mouth, the Winchester levelled steadily at them.
What the! … Hey … put that gun down, young fella!’ The weedy man’s voice had lost its aggressiveness, his eyes darting from Jack to Harry, then, back to Jack. The two other men with him raised their hands slightly and retreated two or three steps.
‘You didn’t answer me mate’s question. Who are ya?’ Jack amazed himself at the confidence he showed but didn’t feel.
‘We … er … we just thought this young, black bloke here musta jumped yer claim. Only helpin’ out, mate, no need to get all shirty. Now just put the gun down before it goes off and hurts someone.’
‘Only helpin’ out were ya? Then you can help out again by gettin’ off our claim as you’re trespassin’. We don’t need your sorta help, mate, so clear off the lot of ya.’ Jack indicated with the rifle barrel the direction for the men to go.
‘You can’t threaten us, mate.’ The watery-eyed man tried to reclaim some authority. ‘Bet it isn’t even loaded that gun. What do ya reckon, fellas?’ He said over his shoulder to his two companions, without taking his eyes from the rifle pointed at him. Jack didn’t respond so he continued. ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ he laughed, ‘not even loaded. Bet yer don’t even know how to load it either and I also bet ya don’t know how to use it.’ He took a tentative step forward and his friends lowered their arms believing that there was now no threat from the kid with the unloaded rifle.
Jack looked past the men to a stunted mulga a hundred and twenty yards behind them where he had hung an empty jam tin the night before. ‘Just have to see. Maybe I did forget to load it.’ He put the rifle to his shoulder and the men cringed, then, realising the rifle was not pointed directly at them, looked behind to see what Jack was aiming at.
The rifle shot cracked loudly in the still morning air echoing around the nearby sandstone ridges as the tin exploded into the air from the dead branch and, hitting the ground, rolled a couple of times before it stopped. ‘Yeah,’ Jack said quietly. ‘I musta forgotten to load it.’ He levered another shell into the breech and brought the barrel around to point directly at the three men. ‘Now get off our claim and don’t come back. The next shot won’t be aimed at a tin can.’
The three boys collapsed in emotional, relieved laughter after the men scrambled over one another and, running into the surrounding mullock heaps with Anna yapping at their heels, were swallowed up by the sand dunes.
‘Do ya think they’ll come back, Jack?’
‘Hope not, Harry, ’cause I didn’t know what to do next if they hadn’t of bolted. You know I wouldn’t have shot ’em don’t ya?’
Reynold and Harry shrugged but didn’t reply and Jack had a chilling thought that maybe he would have fired if the three intruders had continued to threaten him and his mates.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Jack and Harry related to Bruno what had happened to Reynold the day before and described their confrontation with the three men that morning as an explanation for why they were late at his claim. Bruno listened intently, just grunting occasionally as the boys talked. His face lit up when Harry described how Jack had run them off with the rifle.
‘Not from arounda here,’ Bruno said. ‘The people onna da field would not do that. I ask around, maybe someone seea dese men. I think you shoulda stay at your claim froma now on’. You got lotta work to do and me OK now. You helpa me out big time. When you wanna help you just come aska me and I show you whatta to do.’
They worked Bruno’s mine for him that day but Bruno excused himself late in the morning and left them, not saying where he was going. The boys had finished up for the day and were about to leave when Bruno reappeared.
‘You notta worry ’bout those men no more,’ Bruno said.
‘Why’s that, Bruno?’ Harry was curious.
‘Never mind, just notta worry, OK? Now, you stay atta your claim tomorrow. I come round later inna day and see watta you do. Give a little advice maybe.’
Bruno didn’t explain to the boys that he had been into town to see some miner friends of his and have a couple of vinos and to tell them about the three men that had tried to run the boys off their workings. There was not a lot of discussion about the incident but Bruno’s friends decided that these men were not a welcome element in the opal fields and that an eye would be kept out for them.
The boys were not aware that they had already earned a reputation in the area in just a few weeks. All the locals knew of the two young drover lads that had arrived in Coober Pedy and started mining the Afghan’s long idle claim with their Aboriginal friend. The people learned from Bruno of their honesty and hard working ethics so word quickly spread throughout the close knit mining community that there were two more miners considered ‘local’. Reynold was also well respected for his work digging the tunnel into the ridge and for his loyal friendship with Jack and Harry. The news that some claim jumpers with bad attitudes had tried to intimidate the three young lads with violent threats angered the miners who, although they kept to themselves and normally never meddled in other peoples business, could unite in a split second to defend their own kind.
A battered, rust coloured Dodge utility caked in dust and spewing smoke pulled into the garage on the main street of Coober Pedy beside the petrol pumps. It was after dark and the driver, an untidily dressed, thin man, paced impatiently beside the vehicle as he waited for the attendant. ‘Fill ’er up mate,’ he snapped, ‘we’re in a hurry.’ He walked off to the men’s room. His two passengers left the vehicle and wandered to the garage entrance where they filled in time looking at the racks of motor oil, tyres and batteries on display.
The garage attendant noticed two things in particular. The back of the ute was piled with camping gear indicating these three men were itinerant or newly arrived in town, and the driver, who pulled cash from his pocket to pay for the petrol, had unusually watery eyes. He watched the men closely until they returned to the Dodge and drove out onto the street before he lifted the telephone receiver, asked for a number then spoke softly and briefly into the mouthpiece.
‘Where we goin’ now?’ One passenger asked the driver.
‘I dunno, just drive around a bit I suppose … look for an opportunity.’
‘Another opportunity, eh? Well, let us pick the mark next time, Joe. Last time you got us run off by a coupla bloody kids.’ The man nudged his fellow passenger and they both laughed.
‘Shut up or you can bloody well walk, it’s my truck,’ The driver snapped angrily.
They drove in silence for some time until the driver said, ‘what’s this then?’ A vehicle with its bonnet up appeared in the headlights on the side of the road just out of town.
The Dodge slowed to a stop alongside the stranded car and the man seated on the passenger’s side leaned out of the window. ‘Need a hand, mate?’
‘Yeah, thanks for stoppin’. The motor just conked out. Know anythin’ about cars?’
‘You might just be in luck, mate,’ the man answered, glancing at his companions. ‘Joe here’s a mechanic, aren’t ya, Joe?’
‘I guess we could have a look at her for ya, yeah.’ Joe, the driver, summed up the situation, making sure the man was alone, then nodded to his two passengers before picking up a tyre lever from beside the seat and stepping from the Dodge. ‘Come on, men,’ he whispered, ‘opportunity knocks.’
The monthly finance committee meeting had concluded for the evening and Father O’Malley excused himself from the gathering after spending what he considered to be an acceptable time with them drinking tea and forcing a rather limp tuna and lettuce sandwich down. They were dear loyal parishioners but the priest couldn’t wait to escape from the irrelevant chitchat that habitually followed these meetings. Besides, Paddy O’Brien had appeared that morning an
d was waiting for him.
Sitting in the cane chairs on the presbytery verandah, the evening breeze brought little relief from the heat. Father O’Malley busied himself filling his pipe while Paddy poured two healthy nips of Irish whisky into large tumblers.
‘And here’s lookin’ at ye, Timothy, me mate.’ Paddy threw back his head, emptying the tumbler in one gulp, reaching again for the bottle.
‘It’s no wonder it is that you feel like you do in the mornings, Paddy, you drink far too much, m’lad.’ The priest sipped at his glass.
‘Arhh, Father it’s little I have left to enjoy I’ll be tellin’ ye. The mornin’s I feel the worst are the ones when I haven’t been havin’ a drop of the doins.’ Paddy laughed.
They talked on into the evening, the level of the bottle sinking past the label. ‘And tell me, Father, have ye been hearin’ from me lads, Jack and Harry?’
‘Not for a little while, Paddy but they’ve reached Coober Pedy by their last letter.’
‘To be sure they have. I never doubted they’d make it,’ he chuckled. ‘Did they say if they’ve been findin’ any of that opal yet?’
‘It was early days, Paddy, but I’m sure they’ll write again soon. It worries me though, those two young lads out there in the wilds of Coober Pedy.’
‘I’m sure there’s no need to be worryin’, Timothy, they’re made of good stock those two.’ Paddy poured another healthy nip. ‘It wouldn’t be surprisin’ me none if there was Irish blood in ’em somewhere you know.’
‘I’ve heard some stories that it’s a rough place full of hard men and it concerns me that they could walk into trouble easily and not know it.’ The priest continued to voice his fears.
‘Arhh ya worry too much, Father, they can look after themselves and they’ll be makin’ friends for themselves in no time at all.’
‘Do you think that those hard-working hard-drinking miners would worry about a couple of kids, Paddy?’