‘No,’ I replied. ‘Is it supposed to be big?’
‘Judging by the price, yes. Harmer says it’s under offer to them for fifty thousand pounds, and that other people are ready to take it up when his option expires. He’s had a report on it, and it’s so good he wants me to confirm it.’
‘Whose report was it?’
‘Manning’s. He says it’s a two-ounce show with unlimited quantities of ore proved.’
‘Do you know Manning?’
‘Only by reputation, and that says he’s very straight but not very smart.’
‘And you’ve got to confirm in four days?’
‘Yes. Do you feel inclined for a trip? It’s not a nice day but there’s only fifty miles of it.’
‘I’ll come, certainly.’
‘Right, old man. I’ll get the buggy round.’
Late that night we drove up to the mine – a mile or so beyond the grogshop of galvanized iron roof, salmon gum wallplates and rafters, and hessian sides – having been directed to the track to the mine by the owner of the shanty. A great blow of quartz, a mountain in size and of precipitous steepness, loomed grey and mysterious at our right, but the light of a camp to the left bore us away from the mammoth outcrop. At the sound of buggy wheels the door of the camp opened, and the white rays of a kerosene lamp invaded the darkness, except where it was broken by the figure of a man who appeared in the doorway.
‘All right, Mr Pagan,’ said the man. ‘Jim’ll take care o’ your horses.’
‘H’m,’ said Billy Pagan to me, and I saw that he was not pleased at the meeting, although he replied, ‘Hullo, Swainger. What are you doing here?’
‘Just come along to measure up for the contractor tomorrow, Mr Pagan.’
‘H’m.’ We had alighted and entered the hut when Billy Pagan spoke again. ‘Sinking the shaft on contract, are you?’ he said.
‘Yes, Mr Pagan. Sit down here. I’ve got a bunk ready for you. Didn’t expect your mate.’
‘Never mind troubling about the bunk,’ said Billy Pagan. ‘We’ve got our blankets and I’d rather camp outside.’
There were three men at the rough table – two of the usual type of young Australians, very tall and spare, very silent – their faces wrinkled by blinding suns to the semblance of middle-aged men, whereas they were little more than youths. The third man was short, broad and black-bearded – every hair of him gave the impression of the immense strength of their owner. He received us sullenly, as if we were men he was forced to meet and would be glad to part with. Peculiar glances as of enquiry on one side and of warning in reply passed between this pocket Hercules and Swainger.
‘Have a drink, mates,’ said the Hercules almost commandingly, and although neither of us desired it, we could not be guilty of a refusal – which is a serious infraction of bush law. But after we had drunk the whisky and the hot water, which proved that it had known the condenser only a few minutes before, Billy Pagan said that we were tired and would talk in the morning. Without waiting for a reply, he said ‘Goodnight,’ and led the way out to our buggy, and I followed him.
In silence we spread our blankets near the buggy, filled the last pipe for the night, removed our boots, and turned in. We smoked for a few minutes in silence – a silence broken by the first of the questions that tormented me.
‘Why don’t you like Swainger, Billy?’
‘S-s-sh – not so loud… I don’t know anything against him except indefinite hearsay, but I don’t like him on sight, and I trust to my instinct.’
‘But how can your likings affect this business?’
‘He was in Coolgardie when we left. He was loafing about the post office when I drove down Bailey street… looking as if he were at rest and likely to stay so. Yet he turns up here to receive us.’
‘How could he know where we were going?’
‘A cable from whoever is trying to sell this mine in London, or leakage in the telephone office here.’
‘I see, but -’
‘S-s-sh -’
A quartz splinter cracked under a heavy boot. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw two figures so indefinite as to appear mere shadows. They had approached from the back of the camp.… now they stood motionless.
Billy Pagan’s whisper came to me, ‘Talk – laugh – so they can go away again.’
I took the cue.
‘Hang this pipe… It’s foul. Got your knife, Billy?’
‘No,’ replied he as loudly. ‘There’s saltbush growing near you – get a twig.’
He continued talking advice as to pipe cleaning while I turned over to pluck the saltbush, and I heard the quartz splinter crepitate as if its broken edges were relieved of weight. I looked up and the two shadows had vanished.
The midnight winds sprang up and ruffled the plain; the night showed fever stars and darker than usual.
‘What’s their game, Billy?’
‘S-s-sh – no more talking tonight… It’s risky.’
There were sounds as of shovels being moved from the ground behind the camp. Then the noise of retreating footsteps.
‘But what are they doing?’
‘They’re going to the shaft. It’s none of our business, though.’
‘What shall we do then?’
‘S-s-sh. When in doubt, keep quiet – go to sleep.’
He rolled over, his face set from the dawn. In a few minutes his deep and regular breathing told me that he had followed his own advice. For myself, I was too excited by the mystery I felt afoot, and by turns dozed and awakened to every sound from the camp, the shaft and the plain.
Morning showed us the great outcrop of quartz that had been grey mystery in the starlight, a white crystalline mountain glaring and eye-wearing in the sun. In the centre it had weathered to fragments that strewed the plain – rising again in towers and pinnacles of whiteness, showing only the infrequent discoloration of millions of years of moss.
‘H’m,’ said Billy Pagan, chipping a boulder as if with his prospecting hammer – hungry as a swamper.’
Swainger interpolated hastily, ‘She’s not all brick quartz like this. She’s better below – and she’ll get richer with depth.’
‘H’m,’ said Billy, as Swainger and the sullen Hercules walked before us to the shaft. ‘Same old lie, Harry – the stone will get richer with depth. Will it? I’ve never known a reef that did – it’s always the other way.’ We reached the shaft, and the engineer, addressing Swainger, said, ‘What’s the depth?’
‘Two hundred and twenty; we’ve opened out and driven at the hundred and the two hundred. I suppose you like to do the sampling alone?’
‘Yes, my friend and myself will go.’
‘Right you are – we’ll lower you then’. As he spoke he looped and knotted the end of the windlass rope as a foothole.
‘No thanks. We’ll go down the ladders. Will you lower the sample bags, Harry, after I’ve got down? There’s a connection between the hundred foot level and the two hundred, isn’t there, Mr Swainger?’
‘Yes, there’s a winze through and ladders in it.’
‘Right. Is your friend here’ – he indicated the sullen Hercules – ‘the leaseholder?’
‘I’m one of ‘em, mister,’ replied Hercules, answering for himself, and truculently, as if he expected opposition and wanted to anticipate it.
Swainger silenced him with a look.
‘And you, Mr Swainger?’ pursued Pagan imperturbably, as if he had neither heard nor seen the truculence nor its correction.
‘I’ve got the option,’ replied Swainger, flushing uneasily.
‘And who has given the option to my people?’
‘Coakley -’
‘He’s in London, I think?’
‘Ye-e-es – he’s in London.’
‘H’m… Lower away when I call, Harry.’
I sat in the hundred foot level, looking at a glistening mass of quartz. Billy Pagan’s candle burned steadily in its spider-socket driven into the soft slate of the reef-enclosing rock. I held my candle in my hand and the tallow guttered to my fingers.