Blood in the Dust Read online

  They stayed that way for many moments. Finally, Anderson spoke.

  ‘She is Djarriba. We must kill her.’

  ‘Warriors of the Jannjirra do not harm women or children.’

  Anderson’s eyebrows knitted together as he contemplated this new turn of events. His eyes flicked again to the war club. Blood dripped from the weapon onto the floor and formed a small puddle on the carpet.

  ‘Fine! She’s yours! The bairn too. Hurry up and do whatever you are going to do. We ride out soon.’ He turned and strode off down the hallway. Chilbi heard him haranguing Tarrat and Yawong, venting his anger on them.

  Turning to the girl and baby, Chilbi found her studying him, wide eyed. His exchange with Warrigal had been in the language of the Jannjirra, so she could not have understood what was said. But she had recognised the way Chilbi placed himself between her and Warrigal. He went to her and tried to place a hand on her shoulder to placate her fears, but he was a stranger and a wild native. She slunk back into the corner of the wardrobe.

  Turning, he went to the doorway and waited there while Warrigal and the others prepared to ride out. At the last possible moment, when he knew it was too late for Warrigal to come back into the homestead, he left this position and went to join the others.

  As he picked at his breakfast one chilly morning, Toby noticed Maree frowning at the tailboard of the wagonette where they kept their provisions.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  ‘We’ll have to buy some more provisions before too long. We’re running low on everything.’

  ‘We’ll need money for that,’ Frank threw in. ‘There’s only sixpence in the kitty.’

  Annie looked over from where she was filling a washing tub with hot water from the big iron kettle. ‘Sixpence won’t buy much in the way of food. I thought the prices at Canvas Town were high, but this place—’

  Toby kicked the ground with the toe of his boot. ‘I hate to do it, but I guess we’ll have to sell some of our gold. We can reprovision and then get stuck back into working the claim.’

  ‘I’ll do the honours,’ Frank said. He looked about to make sure no one from the other campsites was watching, then went to the nearest wagonette and crawled beneath it. When he came back out, he carried a tobacco tin and brushed away some of the dirt from its hiding place in the ground.

  Frank pried the lid off. ‘How much do you reckon, lad?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Toby said as he eyed the contents. The tin was as wide as Frank’s hand span and two inches deep. Coarse grains of yellow-red gold covered the bottom to a depth of about a quarter-inch. ‘It looks like a lot, but I suppose it isn’t much really, not for three months’ work.’

  ‘I was really excited when the first streaks of colour showed in the cradle,’ Frank said. ‘But there’s hardly any showing now. I think we’re through the seam.’

  Toby nodded. ‘I reckon you’re right. The shepherd claim is a little lower in the gully. It won’t take as long to dig down to that level. We know what we’re doing now.’

  ‘We need to eat in the meantime,’ Maree reminded them.

  ‘Toby’s right.’ Frank shook the tin and watched the little grains slide about. ‘We’ll have to sell this gold to buy supplies. Toby and me will go find a gold buyer before we start work this morning.’

  They finished their breakfasts and, as Toby pulled on his jacket, he gave some instructions to Paddy.

  ‘Since we’re not digging this morning, why don’t you take the horses out into the scrub and see if you can find some new grass for them. They’ve both got their ribs showing.’ To ease the strain on their purse strings, Toby and Frank had sold the two draught horses. It had taken Betty a month to forgive her father for parting with Samson. They’d built a small yard for Moonlight and Patch on the hillside above their camp.

  ‘Can I go with Paddy, please, Papa?’ Betty asked.

  ‘Aye, lass. But only if your sister goes with you. There are too many dodgy characters lurking about. If Paddy is busy with the horses, he won’t be able to keep a proper eye on you.’

  Betty turned to her sister, a pleading look on her face. Annie nodded and she clapped her hands.

  ‘Both of you stay close to Paddy and do whatever he tells—whatever he wants you to do. Mind you don’t talk to anyone.’ Frank pointed a finger at each of his girls in turn.

  Toby hardly noticed the ring of pick and shovel or buzz of voices as he and Frank walked to what could loosely be described as Ballarat’s commercial area. They had become part of the countryside, as natural to his ears as the warbling of a magpie or the call of a crow.

  They discovered a sign above a hut proclaiming the occupant to be a gold buyer and merchant. The surrounds of the hut were littered with all manner of items. Spades and pans had been stacked against a wall, above which twenty or so hurricane lanterns were strung on a piece of rope running from the hut to a nearby gum tree. Washing tubs and frying pans sat on a trestle table with candles and other items scattered in the spaces between.

  A large, yellow-haired dog, mangy and thin, skulked back and forth at the limit of its chain. Toby gave the dog a wide berth as he and Frank approached the open front door of the hut and stooped into the gloomy interior.

  The only light came through the open door and spilled onto a makeshift counter and a set of balance scales. Counterweights were lined up neatly to one side. Behind the counter, a calico curtain divided off the back of the hut. It was from behind this curtain that the proprietor of the store appeared, a stocky man in his mid-forties with a pair of pince-nez glasses perched on the bridge of his crooked nose. He greeted them with a heavy Slavic accent.

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen. What can we be doing for you?’

  Frank pulled the tin from his pocket, but kept it in his hand. ‘Your sign says you’re a gold buyer. That right?’

  The storekeeper eyed the tobacco tin in Frank’s hand and his face broke into a smile. ‘Yes, yes. That’s what the sign says. Hugo Marcevic, buyer of gold. I will give you a good price – far better than Campbell.’

  ‘What price is that?’ Toby asked.

  Marcevic adjusted his glasses and pushed a wayward strand of hair back onto his head. He looked at Toby through eyes as brown as the muddy water in the creek. ‘You do not have an accent like your father.’

  ‘Frank’s not my father,’ Toby said. ‘We’re partners in a claim.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Marcevic said excitedly. ‘Partners in a claim – and now you have found gold to sell. I can give you a good price.’

  Toby smiled thinly. ‘And what price is that?’ he asked again.

  ‘Twenty-five shillings and sixpence an ounce.’ The buyer touched his glasses again as he spoke.

  Toby and Frank had taken the precaution of asking the other diggers around their claim what they were getting for their gold. Most had agreed that a fair price on the diggings would be a little below the going rate in Melbourne of thirty shillings an ounce.

  Frank slipped the tobacco tin back into his pocket and touched the brim of his hat in farewell. ‘Word on the diggings is that Campbell is the man to see. They say he’s buying gold at twenty-nine shillings and throwing in a nobbler of rum to boot. We’ll bid you good day, sir. Thought we could save ourselves a walk, but for a few shillings extra it’ll sure be worth it.’

  ‘Gentlemen, don’t be in a big hurry. I can match the price of Campbell.’

  ‘I don’t know, Frank, a nobbler of rum sounds pretty good to keep the chill out on this cold morning,’ added Toby.

  ‘I can give you a drink,’ Marcevic announced and pulled a half-gallon earthenware jug from beneath the counter, followed by three grubby tumblers. He pushed some of the merchandise aside and lined the tumblers up before pulling the cork from the jug. ‘That is, if we are doing business, gentlemen?’

  ‘Twenty-nine shillings?’ Frank asked, his eyes fixed on the jug. Toby noticed the way Frank’s tongue came out from between his lips for a brief moment.


  ‘Twenty-nine shillings,’ agreed Marcevic, ‘and a glass of ouzo.’

  ‘You can put the liquor away, sir,’ Frank snapped, shaking his head like a man coming out of a deep sleep. ‘We’re just here to sell our gold.’

  Marcevic nodded and took the empty glasses and placed them under the counter with the jug. ‘So,’ he said with a smile, ‘we are doing business, no? Is it dust or nuggets?’

  Frank twisted the lid off the tobacco tin and set it on the counter. Marcevic peered at the contents while holding his spectacles in place with one hand. ‘Very fine dust. Excellent quality. I will be needing a funnel to pour it onto the balance. I have one at the back.’ Marcevic turned and ducked behind the curtain. A few moments later he reappeared carrying a small tin funnel. Both Toby and Frank watched carefully as Marcevic poured their gold dust into the funnel and made a neat mound on one platform of the balance scales. He tapped the bottom of the upended tin a couple of times with his forefinger and handed the tin back to Frank. He then began placing small counterweights on the opposite side of the scale and counted aloud. All eyes in the hut were fixed on the needle in the middle of the scale as it swung back and forth before finally settling on the balance mark.

  Marcevic adjusted his spectacles yet again. ‘Just shy of four ounces,’ he announced. ‘We’ll call it four.’

  ‘Good enough for me,’ Frank said. ‘What do you reckon, lad?’ He turned to Toby, but Toby wasn’t watching the balance. He had his eyes fixed on the tin funnel still in Marcevic’s hand. At the bottom of the funnel one of the coarse grains of gold had stuck to the tin at the edge of the outlet. As Marcevic moved his hand Toby could see more golden grains stuck inside the narrow end of the funnel.

  ‘I reckon this bastard is trying to rob us blind,’ he said through clenched teeth. He snatched the funnel from Marcevic’s hand. The storekeeper jumped back with surprising agility.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Frank asked, keeping a wary eye on Marcevic as he backed through the curtain. Toby held the funnel up for Frank. The inside of the funnel was coated with grains of gold.

  ‘He smeared the inside of the funnel with honey,’ Toby spat. ‘There’s got to be half an ounce stuck inside the bloody thing.’

  Frank’s face reddened. He shoved his way to the back of the hut. ‘We’ve been scratching in this bloody earth for weeks to scrape together that little pile of gold.’ Frank pulled the tobacco tin from his pocket and handed it to Toby. ‘Put our gold back in here. I’m going to have a word with our friend.’

  Toby quickly tipped the gold from the balance back into the tin as Frank ripped aside the curtain. There was a small cot, a table and chair in the space behind. At the far end was a small window covered by a flap of animal hide that Marcevic was trying to climb through, his backside wriggling and legs kicking.

  ‘No you don’t, you thieving bastard.’ Frank’s voice was a low growl. He reached out with a sinewy arm and grabbed Marcevic’s belt, pulling him back into the hut with enough force to send him crashing through the curtain and into the counter.

  ‘No. I’m sorry.’ Marcevic tried to disentangle himself from the curtain, but only succeeded in pulling it down on top of him. ‘I used the funnel to bottle some honey earlier. I forgot to clean it,’ he pleaded. He kicked the curtain free of his legs and scampered past Toby on all fours as he made a break for the door, with Frank a pace behind.

  The storekeeper managed to crawl out the door, but as he tried to stand up Frank kicked his feet out from beneath him and he landed hard on his back. ‘Ten thousand miles in a stinking tub of a boat. Lost my only son on the voyage. Seasick for flaming months on end. Weeks in an immigrant camp in Melbourne before we finally get on the road to this hell-on-earth.’

  Marcevic edged away on his backside.

  The dog pulled at its chain, barking furiously. Toby could see the storekeeper was trying to reach the safety of the dog. He stepped over and placed himself between Marcevic and the animal. The storekeeper backed into Toby’s legs and sank against the ground, resigned to his fate.

  ‘More weeks breaking my bloody back, trying to scratch a pitiful amount of gold out of a hole in the ground. And then what?’ Frank stooped and grabbed Marcevic by the front of his shirt. ‘I’ll bloody well tell you what.’ He lifted Marcevic until his face was only an inch from his. ‘So a little, thieving weasel like you could trick us out of some of our hard-earned gold.’ Frank’s right arm came back and he slapped the storekeeper hard across the face with a crack.

  Marcevic let out a yelp and renewed his efforts to escape. A trickle of blood ran from the storekeeper’s nose and into his moustache.

  ‘Bloody hell, Frank. Don’t kill the cove.’ A few onlookers started to gather along the path, murmuring among themselves. ‘C’mon. We’ve got our gold back. Let’s go.’

  Frank looked at Toby and then at the gathering crowd. He let go of the trembling man. Marcevic made no attempt to move. He lay on his back and looked up at Frank with pleading eyes.

  ‘What’d he do?’ a voice called.

  Without thinking, Frank blurted out, ‘Smeared honey inside the funnel so that it trapped some of our gold dust. The bastard was going to take us for about half an ounce.’

  ‘That right?’ The owner of the voice stepped forward. He was a big man with tattoos on his bare forearms and a huge, bushy beard that hid most of his face. ‘I sold some gold to this cove a few days ago and he used a funnel then as well.’

  Another voice piped up from the back, ‘Yeah, me too. I thought it looked a little short.’ More angry voices rose from the crowd. It seemed a lot of diggers had done business with Marcevic recently. The crowd surged forward.

  ‘Now, gentlemen,’ Frank said. ‘Let’s fetch a constable and let the law deal with him.’

  ‘Like hell,’ the big miner yelled. ‘You’ve had your go. Now it’s my turn.’ He stepped towards Marcevic on legs like tree trunks.

  Marcevic knew where his best chances lay. He rolled onto all fours and scurried behind Frank.

  Frank stood fast. ‘Now, matey, don’t be doing nothing you’ll regret later.’

  Toby knew the words were futile. This mob was going to have their way with the storekeeper. He could hear the big dog barking madly behind him and chanced a quick look. Now focused on the most immediate threat to its master, it reared on its back legs, at the limit of its chain, teeth bared and foamy saliva dripping from its chin. It barked crazily, not taking its eyes off the big man. The animal ignored Toby as he found the catch on the chain and released it.

  It took a moment for the dog to realise it was free. It let out a rumbling snarl as it raced towards the miner, who was pushing Frank aside in an effort to reach Marcevic. The miner stooped to pull the cowering storekeeper off the ground as the dog latched onto his leg. He let out a howl of pain and swung his free leg at the dog in an attempt to get it off. The dog saw the kick coming and twisted away, but kept its grip on the leg. It snarled and growled through clenched jaws, worrying the leg muscle. Screaming in pain, the miner reached down and slapped the dog hard across the neck. It let go and backed away with a piece of bloody linen hanging from its jaws. The miner took a step towards the dog and let fly with another kick, but the dog was too fast. It jumped backwards into the legs of the advancing crowd, which immediately scattered, giving the snarling beast a wide berth.

  The miner looked down at his bloodied leg and bellowed a scream of rage. He stooped and chose a pick handle from amongst the storekeeper’s wares. Gripping the handle in his huge hands, he took two practice swings, the wooden handle singing through the air like a cutlass. Then he advanced on the dog.

  ‘Come to Ivan, poochie. I have something for you.’

  The dog sensed the sudden change of advantage and backed away with hackles raised, growling fiercely. Each time the animal moved, the crowd parted like the Red Sea, staying far enough away to keep safe, but close enough to watch the sport unfolding before them.

  ‘Come, poochie, poochie.’ The miner fe
inted left and swung the pick handle in a swooping arc. The dog fell into the trap. It tried to twist away and almost succeeded, letting out a yelp as the handle grazed its flank, knocking it down for one fatal moment. Seizing his chance, the miner reversed his swing and the pick handle sailed towards the animal’s head.

  Without thinking, Toby leaped towards the miner and threw the full weight of his body against the man’s arms as they came down in the swing. It was like throwing himself against the branches of a river gum, but the force was enough to spoil the miner’s aim. The pick handle slammed into the ground a hair’s breadth from the dog’s head. The animal sprang to its feet and ran off between the tents.

  ‘You little bastard. I’ll kill you for that.’ Ivan took a step towards Toby and raised the handle. Before he could swing, a loud voice erupted from near the storekeeper’s hut.

  ‘That man there! Stand fast in the Queen’s name.’

  A policeman sat on horseback looking down the barrel of a muzzle-loader pistol levelled at the big miner’s chest. Off to his right a native policeman covered the crowd with a carbine.

  Toby recognised them instantly.

  ‘Drop the lumber. There’s a good laddie.’ McTavish used his free hand to point at the pick handle and then at the ground.

  Ivan let the pick handle slide from his fingers and it clattered on the rocky earth.

  McTavish swung from the saddle and stepped towards the group of men.

  ‘Not very nice, was it?’ he said to the big miner.

  ‘What?’ Ivan sneered, making it obvious he had more respect for the pistol than the office of the man holding it.

  ‘Trying to clout young Mr O’Rourke after he stopped you from murdering a poor defenceless animal.’ He touched the brim of his cap to Toby. ‘Mind telling me what started this little fracas?’