The Publicity Push

by Christopher Cummings

  For a second they all looked at her, not understanding what she had said. Then it dawned. Peter explained: “That is the speed of movement of the whole system. As a category two cyclone it will have wind speeds of around one hundred and fifty kilometres per hour.”

  Allison bit her lip. “Sorry. I didn’t understand. I’ve never been in a cyclone.”

  “We have,” Graham replied, “and it is no fun.”

  “So home we go. Let’s eat and get packed up,” Uncle Bill said.

  “Oh Uncle Bill. Can’t we just search for a few hours? It will be hours before the cyclone has any effect on this area, even if it is more than a hundred ‘K’s across,” Graham replied.

  “At ten kilometres per hour that means it won’t be hitting this area till late this afternoon,” Peter added. “We can walk back to the cars in about three hours.”

  Graham took this up. “That’s right. We could spare the morning to have a look and still be safely out by three or four O’clock.”

  “Not if the cyclone speeds up,” Uncle Bill said. “They do you know. Speeds of fifteen and even twenty kilometres per hour are common when they get moving. And the weather people said it was liable to intensify.”

  “Oh please Uncle Bill! Just a couple of hours,” Graham pleaded.

  “The girls could start walking out now and we could catch them up,” Stephen added.

  “Oh poo to you, you sexist pig,” Kylie snapped. She hated it when boys suggested that girls were weaker.

  Uncle Bill wasn’t impressed either. “The party stays together. We all go or nobody goes.”

  From the tone of his voice Kylie sensed that Uncle Bill was wavering. She puzzled over how to turn the argument. Suddenly the radio gave another repeat of the last Cyclone Warning. As they listened an awful thought came to her.

  “I wonder if the old prospector knows there is a cyclone coming?”

  That set them thinking. “I didn’t see a radio,” Roger said.

  “We must warn him at least,” Graham added.

  Uncle Bill let out a big sigh. “Yes, we must. OK. Get packed up and we will go, but only for three hours. We are leaving here by ten O’clock at the latest.”

  “Oh Uncle Bill! Thank you!” Kylie cried.

  After that it was twenty minutes of frantic preparation. Breakfasts were wolfed down and washing up was only perfunctory. The tent was taken down and camping gear packed. The packs were then lined up beside the track.

  As they did this light rain began to spatter on the leaves. Kylie looked up and bit her lip. She could not see the sky but from the way the light had suddenly reduced she knew it must be from clouds coming over. For a moment she feared that Uncle Bill would cancel the expedition but apart from looking up and frowning he said nothing.

  At 7:40am they set off. Uncle Bill took his pocket radio and insisted they all carry a spare meal and raincoat. The boys set off at such a speed the girls had to almost run to keep up. Uncle Bill called on them to slow down but this had little effect. The group hurried along the track. No time was wasted on sightseeing or navigation. They just walked quickly past the ‘Golden Hope’, crossed Reward Creek and hurried past the turnoff to the track they had searched the previous morning. As they walked the drizzle stopped, easing one worry.

  By 7:55 they were at the old prospector’s camp. He was busy cooking his breakfast. As the group walked across to the shelter he raised a hand in greeting. He was removing a ‘damper’ from the fire.

  “Morning all. Would you like some damper?” he asked.

  “No thanks. We’ve just had breakfast,” Uncle Bill replied. “We came to warn you that there is a cyclone out in the Coral Sea and it is headed this way.”

  The old prospector nodded thoughtfully. “Oh aye. Cyclone eh? I suppose I’d better pack up and get out of here. When is it due?”

  Uncle Bill took out his pocket radio. “Tonight or tomorrow I’d say. We should get another cyclone warning at eight.”

  He turned the radio on and adjusted it. The reception was very poor, with lots of static, but they were able to hear the news report. The cyclone warning was very detailed and even gave the latitude and longitude of the storm’s eye.

  “Pity we don’t have one of them grid maps with the lat and long on it,” the old prospector commented. “We could plot its position more accurately then.” As they listened he broke off a piece of the damper. It looked very well cooked and was a crisp golden brown on the outside. He opened a bottle of syrup and used a tea spoon to drip some onto the damper.

  He held this out to Kylie. “Try this lassie. Have ye ever had damper before?”

  Kylie wasn’t really hungry but out of good manners took the piece. “Only one we cooked at Guides,” she replied. “And it wasn’t a success.”

  She took a mouthful while the old prospector broke off another piece which he passed to Margaret. To Kylie’s surprise the damper was hardly more solid than ordinary bread. It had none of the heavy doughyness she associated with such bush cooking.

  “This is really good!” she said. “Thank you.”

  The old prospector smiled his appreciation. He passed another piece of syrup coated damper to a hesitant Allison. Kylie noted her reluctance and said: “Go on Allie. It is really good.”

  Margaret wiped syrup from her chin and agreed. “It is too. You are very good cook Mr Donaldson.”

  “Thank you missie.” The old prospector said. He broke off another piece and held it up towards the boys. “Anyone?”

  Graham and Peter shook their heads but Roger accepted. The old prospector tore off another piece and dripped syrup on it. “Anyone else? Oh, by the way, did your friends find you?”

  For a minute the comment did not register. When it did Kylie felt a sharp stab of concern. “Friends?”

  The old prospector nodded. “Three men. They came here yesterday just after you had left. They told me they were your friends and were supposed to join you.”

  “What were these three men like?” Kylie asked. The others all looked worried as the same thoughts crossed their minds.

  “All young fellas about twenty. One solid, square faced sort of chap, a big fair-headed chap with real pale blue eyes; and a thin, dark haired chap with acne,” the old prospector replied.

  “Those men!” Margaret hissed, her face creased with worry.

  The old prospector looked sharply at her. “Not your friends eh? I thought it was a bit odd that they weren’t with you. Who are they?”

  Margaret acted as spokesperson. She told the story of the two men and how they had bashed Kylie, then secretly watched the farm. While Margaret talked Kylie’s brain felt as though it was squirming with maggots. ‘Three men he said; and one of them about twenty with a squarish face.’ The only person she could think of who fitted that description was Victor. ‘Surely he wouldn’t be associated with those thugs?’ It was an awful thought.

  The same idea had obviously occurred to the others. Stephen said: “I’ll bet that is the men we saw, and your cousin Victor.”

  Allison was appalled and shook her head. “Oh no! He wouldn’t be with those horrible men.”

  “Victor was with one of them on New Years night,” Peter pointed out.

  “But Bert’s not like that! He wouldn’t associate with people like that,” Allison cried.

  “How do you know?” Stephen said. “How well do you really know him? He was probably just leading you on to see if he could squeeze information out of you Allison.”

  Kylie was appalled at Stephen’s cruel comment. She saw that Allison was very upset. She choked back tears as she cried “No!”

  Kylie leapt to Bert’s defence: “You are just jealous Stephen.”

  “Am not!” Stephen replied with a sneer that was nearly as hurtful.

  “That will do!” Uncle Bill snapped. He turned to the old prospector. “Which way did these men come from?”

  The old prospector pointed down the track beside his shelter. “From the ‘Erin’, across the Mulgrave. The
y went on the way you people just came from.”

  At that Kylie felt quite sick. “They didn’t come to our camp,” she said.

  “They might have watched us,” Graham said.

  That was another sickening and worrying thought and it brought another, equally upsetting. Allison voiced it. “The cockatoos!”

  The girls looked at each other in horror. Kylie shook her head but replied: “Oh I hope not!”

  “What cockatoos?” Graham asked.

  “When we were swimming this morning,” Kylie replied. “A flock of cockatoos suddenly took fright and flew away.”

  Stephen laughed. “That’s because they saw you without any clothes on,” he said.

  “That’s enough of that,” Uncle Bill said. “Mr Donaldson, did you see these men after that?”

  “Nope, not a sign. I assumed they joined you at your camp,” the old prospector replied.

  Uncle Bill looked thoughtful and rubbed his jaw. Then he said to the old prospector: “Would you please not tell those people where we have gone if you see them again?”

  “Aye, if they’re the villains ye say then I’ll not say a word,” the old prospector replied.

  Peter interrupted then. “Can we get going please? It is ten past eight already.”

  The group stood up and thanked the old prospector. He called good luck and waved as they set off. They went the same way as the previous afternoon, west across Nugget Creek to what they assumed was Franks Claim, then right up the track which went up the spine of the low ridge. They walked mostly in silence but all the while Kylie’s mind was turning over ugly thoughts about the three men who were stalking them.

  As they reached the mossy rocks it began to drizzle again. Uncle Bill looked up and muttered. Without pausing Graham led the way on along the track below the rocks. The track had been bench cut into the side of the slope but was only wide enough for one person to walk along. The ridge became steeper and the jungle on it thicker. A hundred paces past the rocks the track curved back up onto the crest of the ridge.

  At this point the track forked. That cheered Kylie enormously. ‘That is what should happen,’ she thought, her spirits lifting slightly. They stopped briefly at the junction while the instructions and map were checked. As they did a gust of wind shook the tree tops and heavy drops showered down. Kylie noted that Uncle Bill looked worried and checked the time. 8:30 am. She bit her lip. ‘We will have to start back in about an hour.’ She felt a sharp stab of concern. ‘To be so close to success and to run out of time!’

  “Come on!” she said. “Hurry up! We are running out of time.”

  Graham nodded, folded his map away and set off along the right fork.

  CHAPTER 25

  TO THE LETTER

  The track went down around the right side of the ridge. It was easy to follow, with hardly any undergrowth. Only an occasional rotting log blocked the path. Down to the right Kylie began to get glimpses of Nugget Creek. With every step her hopes rose. She kept glancing at the copy of the letter which she clutched in her left hand. ‘Only two more things to do: second creek and upstream fifty paces,’ she thought.

  Graham still led, snipping an occasional vine or wait-a-while. He had his map in his other hand and Peter had the photocopy of the old diary in his. A fierce sense of urgency gripped them all. This was added to by concern over the weather. As they walked along the drizzle became heavier. Kylie found she had to shake drops off the plastic bag in which she had placed the letter to be able to read it in the wet.

  After several minutes walk they came to a flat area on a small spur. Graham stopped and they looked around.

  “What is it?” Kylie asked.

  “I reckon this was Grandad Hector’s campsite,” Graham replied.

  Kylie studied the place. It looked big enough for a tent. Peter agreed with this. “This area has been levelled. It isn’t natural.”

  “Here’s the fireplace,” Graham said. He walked over and knelt at some stones which showed through the leafmould. Carefully he lifted the leaves aside to expose a circle of stones. At the sight of the blackened earth and stones Kylie felt her chest tighten up with emotion.

  ‘This where my great grandfather cooked his meals just before he died,’ she thought. It was the most tangible thing yet to link her to that long dead ancestor. Somehow it was much more moving than the old diary or the letter or even the photos.

  As they stood there a heavy shower of rain swept across the valley. “Time to move,” Uncle Bill said, glancing at his watch again.

  The track led on around the side of the spur and into a small re-entrant. The creek was only a pace wide and was a mere trickle. “Great Grandad’s water supply,” Graham commented as they stepped across it.

  “That is the first creek. We go on to the second creek,” Kylie said. Now she began to feel really excited.

  After the creek the track deteriorated. It was still plain to follow but was not cut out of the hillside. Soon after the creek the track went around the end of a small spur. At this point it passed over sharp rocks and there was a very steep drop down through jungle to Nugget Creek. Kylie could clearly see the creek about ten metres below.

  After scrambling over the rocks the track went downwards to the bed of the creek. It then went along beside the water, weaving through the trees. By this time it was no longer an identifiable track and only an occasional old blaze mark on the bigger trees indicated they were still on it. The vegetation along the creek bank was much thicker and they had to stop to cut away several clumps of wait-a-while.

  These delays made Kylie fret with impatience as she was very aware that time was slipping quickly away. 9am came and went and they still had not reached the second creek. Worse still the overcast had thickened up to make it quite gloomy and the drizzle was turning into steady rain.

  At ten past nine they reached another creek. This flowed downhill from the left along a large re-entrant. The creek was nearly as large as Nugget Creek. Its bed was choked with rocks and large boulders and ferns and wait-a-while grew thickly on the banks.

  “Second Creek,” Graham said. “The instructions say go downstream for fifty paces, so we must go upstream.” He gestured to Nugget Creek which was only five paces on their right.

  “Let’s hope our reading of the clues is right,” Peter said. “And that it doesn’t mean the first creek or the third.”

  Kylie shook her head. She was now so excited that she was feeling slightly giddy and nauseous. She pushed past the boys and began walking up the second creek, counting her paces as she went. The others all followed, several of them also counting paces.

  This was hard to do because the creek bed was so irregular they had to step or jump from rock to rock. Graham simply walked in the water, ignoring the resulting wet boots. Stephen tried to go along the bank but the vegetation was too thick. After thirty paces the creek levelled out and flowed along a straight section with a mostly sandy bed. The sides of the re-entrant closed in and became steeper, so that rough rocky slopes went almost straight up from the bed. On the left the rocky cliff even overhung the creek bed. Further up the creek were a small waterfall and some small rock pools.

  As she went Kylie’s eyes were flicking rapidly around, searching eagerly for any sign of gold. In reality she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for but knew that quartz was the rock that generally carried gold. It was now quite dark and she looked anxiously for any glimpse of white on the dark rocky slopes.

  “Fifty. It should be just around here somewhere,” she said. She looked at the rocky slope on her left. It was some sort of layered rock with lots of overhanging shelves. Ferns and moss festooned it, making everything look black and green. There was nothing obvious to be seen. The others joined her and began to eagerly search the bed and both banks.

  Kylie felt a wave of sharp disappointment, coupled by nagging urgency as she noted it was 9:20. “Ten minutes,” she muttered. “Oh where is it?”

  The others obviously felt the same as they be
gan turning over stones, sifting sand and digging up the leaf mould on the banks. Kylie moved closer to the rock wall beside her and scanned it carefully. Was that a band of white? She put up her hand and rubbed at a film of moss on the rock face.

  The green slime came away easily and exposed a clear band of quartz. A dyke, she knew it was called, where a volcanic igneous rock had forced its way up through a crack in another layer of rock. And what was that? She bent closer and felt her heart skip a beat.

  ‘Is it? Surely it can’t be that easy?’ she thought. Her fingers rubbed the rock face, touching the dull, yellowish metal that was embedded in the quartz. She shook her head in disbelief and hesitated, not wanting to make a fool of herself. She looked and saw more streaks and tiny nodules of yellow metal with the same dull gleam. Biting her lip she used a sharp stone to scratch at one of the protruding nodules.

  ‘Gold!’

  Without a shadow of doubt. As soon as she scratched the tarnished surface and exposed the metal she saw it gleam brightly.

  “Gold!” she cried. “I’ve found it!”

  The others raced and splashed across to join her. She felt so excited that she was giddy. Her heart pounded and she had trouble focusing her eyes. With an effort she shook her head and bent to study the rock face.

  She now saw that the whole seam of quartz for several metres was studded with small nuggets the size of a pea and that there were streaks of gold in the rock which looked for all the world like caramel topping swirled into white ice cream.

  Uncle Bill touched the rock face further along and muttered to himself, then said: “Gold alright. Just look at it all. This must be it, the famous ‘Jeweller’s Shop’.”

  The others were now searching every square metre of the rock face in either direction. After a minute Graham let out an exclamation: “Look! This rock has been chipped away.”

  The others crowded round to look. Uncle Bill ran his fingers over the rough edges of another vein of quartz. “This might be where Grandad Hector broke off his samples.”

  Kylie bent closer to look. That vein seemed to have even more gold in it than the one she had found. She shook her head in disbelief and gently touched a large nugget almost the size of a hen’s egg which was protruding from the rock.