Wimmera Gold

by Peter Corris

  Fanshawe was silent then he drew a deep breath. 'You are a strange man, Perry.'

  'Perhaps, but I would not steal from people who have nothing. Half of this gold is for those people and that is the end of the matter.'

  'You are mistaken, Perry. Large amounts of government money have been spent on them over the past thirty years. They have been given land, tools, animals, seed. It comes to nothing. They are a doomed race.'

  'We will see. You accept my terms?'

  'I have no choice.' Perry lifted his hands from the gold and Fanshawe drew it towards him. 'How did you get this? Who had it?'

  'There's no point in pursuing that. The man responsible will say nothing, which is all that matters now. I hope vindictiveness is not part of your nature, Mr Fanshawe.'

  The squatter shook his head, unsure of the precise meaning of the word. 'I seem to have nothing but troubles. My wife … her health is not good and I am facing expenses for my children's education. Not to mention … I beg you to excuse me, none of this matters to you.'

  Perry reached into the saddlebag he had slung over the back of his chair. He took out a notebook, tore out a leaf and scribbled on it with a pencil. 'You will have to make a trip to Melbourne. This man will take the gold off your hands. He will extract a commission and he will try to cheat you, but hold out for nine hundred and fifty pounds. That is what he will pay you if you show him that you are firm.'

  'Nine hundred and fifty pounds.'

  'You hoped for much more. Understandable. Be content, Mr Fanshawe. If you can find Lincoln you may yet get a similar amount again.'

  Fanshawe stared at the name and address on the paper. 'It will suffice. You have already realised on the other piece,' he said wonderingly. 'You could have done the same with this one.' He gestured at the lump of gold.

  'That's so.'

  'This is extraordinary. I'm forced to think that you really will give me half of the value of the remainder.'

  'That is my intention. But I must tell you that it could take a long time. A year or thereabouts. And the odds are against me.'

  'That would be an unwise wager. Will you shake my hand, Perry?'

  Perry stood and slung the bags over his shoulder. 'Not now, Mr Fanshawe. Perhaps at a later date, when I conclude our dealings and I know that you have met the last condition I have put to you.'

  'And what is that, prey?'

  Perry's hand moved quickly and a Colt .45 revolver appeared in it as if plucked from thin air. 'That you do and say nothing about the people of the Hertzberg mission. Nothing! As you say, they are no business of yours. Agreed?'

  'Agreed,' Henry Fanshawe said.

  31

  San Francisco reminded Lincoln so much of Buenos Aires and also Sydney, where he'd spent a few days while the Blue Jacket picked up passengers and cargo, that he was beginning to wonder if the United States of America had changed during his absence. He soon concluded that one booming port town was much like another. Not to his taste, but ideal for the first thing he had to do which was turn his gold into cash. He stayed in a hotel a block back from Fisherman's Wharf and set about finding out how things were done. His enquiries led him to a room behind a warehouse in Chinatown which was the office of a silks importer named Sun Ching.

  'Fascinating,' the old Chinese said after examining the lumps of gold. 'Most fascinating. You say this comes from Mexico, Mr Shelby?'

  Lincoln was seated opposite Sun Ching in the merchant's Spartan office. He had his knife strapped to his forearm and a pistol in his pocket, but the danger he felt was not physical. 'That's right, Mr Sun.'

  'And you yourself are from … .'

  'Kansas.'

  'Ah, and pardon my excessive curiosity, it is born of caution, but supposing we conclude a deal, where would you be planning to go next?'

  'Oregon.'

  The old Chinese's smooth face broke into a series of wrinkles and furrows as he laughed. 'Oh, Mr Shelby, you are a fine liar. This gold is from Australia where you have lately arrived from. Where you come from originally I can hardly guess, but if you say you are going north I can only conclude that your real destination must be south or east, since you can scarcely go further west from here.'

  Lincoln was reassuringly conscious of the weight of his Colt but there was nothing menacing or accusatory in Sun's manner and his amusement was contagious. Lincoln grinned. 'I have to say you seem to know a fair piece about me.'

  'I made enquiries as soon as word of your own enquiries reached me. The Blue Jacket is a fine vessel, is she not? I have often thought of acquiring an interest in her. What line of business are you in, Mr Shelby?'

  'Cattle,' Lincoln said. 'Look here, Mr Sun, I might have spun you a yarn about this and that but a man has to be careful. About the gold … '

  'Always so impatient.' Sun clapped his hands suddenly and the man seated outside the room pulling the rope that caused an overhead fan to flutter increased his pace. The room was hot and the windows were closed against the outbreak of cholera that was causing some alarm in the city. The handclap also brought in a woman who served tea to the merchant. She did not look at the objects sitting on the low mahogany table. Lincoln refused the beverage.

  'Perhaps you would prefer whiskey?'

  'Not at eleven in the morning, thanks.'

  'Wise. You are an interesting man, Mr Shelby. You have good nerves I see. A sudden handclap does not startle you.'

  Lincoln settled back in his chair, reconciled to having to talk before doing business. He decided that he liked the old Chinese but wouldn't trust him an inch. From habit he fished out his tobacco pouch. 'I can be made to jump, Mr Sun. I've jumped some in my time. Would you mind if I smoked my pipe? Bad habit I picked up in Australia.'

  Sun pushed an enamelled dish across the table with a wrinkled, heavily ringed hand. 'Please do. I believe it may be efficacious against the cholera.'

  'Maybe, maybe not. I'd sure like to get out of this city,' Lincoln muttered.

  'In deference to that wish, we will hurry things along. Let me be frank. My enquiries suggest that there have been no reports of major gold thefts in the Australian colonies of late.'

  Lincoln got his pipe drawing, dropped the spent matches in the dish and puffed smoke out into the gently moving air. 'Nothing at all like that. I won't pretend to you that I dragged that gold out of the ground like it is. But there's no one going to come looking for it.'

  'I understand. Even if it were stolen and being sought, that would not prevent us from doing business. The missionaries who educated me would be pained to hear me saying so, but such is the case. It would, however, lower the price.'

  'Imagine it would. My throat's a mite dry. I believe I'll have some of that tea.'

  Sun laughed again. 'You are learning, Mr Shelby. I mention price and you do not bite on the hook. Very good, very good.' Another clap of the hands summoned the woman who poured tea for both men.

  Lincoln sipped from the small porcelain cup and found the cool liquid refreshing. He gazed around the office and noticed that its appointments were a subtle blend of Eastern and Western features—a filing cabinet and an abacus, an ebony and silver pen and ink set and a series of scrolls with broad and fine brushes and pots of paint laid out ready for use. 'I've got a price in mind, Mr Sun. Seems fair to me but I'm in no hurry to spit it out.'

  Sun touched one of the lumps of gold with a painted fingernail. 'As I say, I was educated by British missionaries in Hong Kong. You have been there perhaps?'

  Lincoln shook his head.

  'You should and you will soon be able to afford to do so. I broke off my studies and went to the goldfields in California. I found very little gold myself but, one way and another, much of that found by my countrymen passed through my hands. Also, much of the gold brought back from Australia by the Americans.'

  'You know, after carting this stuff halfway across the world it sure doesn't have any, what was that word you used? Fascination, that's it. It doesn't have any fascination for me. It's just something
to trade. I'll tell you one thing I'm comfortable with, Mr Sun. No one broke his back and no one got killed over these bits of metal. And that's a fact.'

  'I'm happy to do business with you, Mr Shelby. Six thousand dollars.'

  'Near enough to my figure. You've got yourself a deal, Mr Sun.'

  The merchant pressed a button and a young man entered. He carried a small strongbox and was dressed, not in an embroidered gown like his employer, but in a worsted business suit with a high celluloid collar. He opened the box, counted out the money in fifty and one hundred dollar notes, and left with a polite bow to both men.

  Lincoln examined several of the notes to satisfy himself that they were genuine. He put the money in the carpetbag he had used to carry the gold, knocked his pipe out in the dish, finished the tea in his cup and stood. He still had the sense of being, not exactly in danger, but on the defensive, outflanked. He imitated the young clerk's slight bow from the waist. 'Thank you, Mr Sun. I've enjoyed meeting you.'

  'And I you, Mr Shelby. May an old man give you a word of advice?'

  'I'm listening.'

  'Wherever you are going, I would not advise you to travel through the state of Arizona.'

  Lincoln's hand moved fractionally towards the pocket that contained his pistol. 'How's that?'

  A copy of the San Francisco Chronicle was lying on the table beside the piece of calico on which the gold sat. Sun moved the newspaper to reveal a creased and yellowed handbill with smudged, faded lettering. Lincoln looked down at the two crude sketches and the once-bold print. The grotesque depiction of Jubal Bass and his own younger, leaner, face looked up at him. He read the words: 'Wesley Lincoln, about 20 years of age, six feet and one inch tall, 175 pounds, dark complected with fair hair … '

  'Take care, Mr Lincoln,' Sun Ching said, 'and good luck to you.'

  As Perry approached the Hertzberg mission he rehearsed what he intended to say to Pastor Blenkiron. What he would say to Sarah Braun was another matter. She had been on his mind almost constantly since he had returned from Melbourne with the money and he knew that he faced a peculiar difficulty: he did not want Blenkiron to think that he was attempting to buy Sarah and he did not want her gratitude. Perry was no aimless romantic; he knew that he was not only sexually attracted to her as he had been to many women and many women had been to him. Such attractions came down to minutes, perhaps hours, in bed. From Sarah Braun he wanted much more.

  It was a cold clear late afternoon when he arrived and Perry speculated on how the mission would look in a milder season. Presentable, he suspected. His eye ran along the fences and over the buildings. He was carrying £700 in his pocket which, if properly spent, could make the mission productive and prosperous. He passed a rusted, immobilised water pump and a silted-up irrigation channel which only needed wrenches, spades and wheelbarrows to become operational again. The willing hands were here and most likely the skills.

  Adolph came running down the track and Perry lifted him up to sit astride the horse behind him.

  'Make him go faster. Where've you been, mister?'

  Perry urged Jamaica into a trot. 'Melbourne. How is everyone here?'

  'Couple of people died, couple are pretty sick.'

  Perry's heart lurched. 'The pastor and Miss Braun?'

  'They're all right. Old people aren't too good. Can I ride him? Can I?'

  At the pastor's house Perry dismounted and let Adolph slip forward into his place. He unstrapped his saddlebags. He could feel the seething impatience in the boy and remembered his own feelings when he got his first horse. 'Take it easy. Don't skite and don't fall off.'

  'Mr Perry.'

  Perry turned to see Blenkiron coming around the corner of the building. He was shocked at the change that had taken place in the man over a few weeks. The German seemed to have aged and shrunk. His narrow shoulders were bent and his beard, formerly well-trimmed and neat was straggly. He came forward and the two men shook hands. Blenkiron's grip had lost some of its strength and dark patches under his eyes extended down almost to the hair on his cheeks.

  'You've come at a bad time, Mr Perry. There is a lot of sickness here.'

  'So Adolph told me. What is it? What does the doctor say?'

  'No doctor will come here. I do the doctoring myself and my ignorance is great. But come in, come in. We will have some wine.'

  'It's a little cold for wine. I bought something for you from Melbourne.'

  Blenkiron escorted Perry into the kitchen where the wood stove was throwing out a comfortable heat. 'It's the only warm room in the house. The chimney in the sitting room isn't drawing properly. Well, well, what brings you back here?'

  Perry placed a square bottle on the table. The German picked it up and turned it in his hands. 'Wolff's schnapps. Mein gott. It's many years since I've seen it. You're right. This is the stuff for the cold. We'll have a glass.'

  Perry warmed his hands at the stove on which a large pot was simmering and accepted the small glass of spirits. 'The first you drink so!' The German emptied his glass in one movement. 'The next may take me an hour. Do it, Mr Perry.'

  Perry followed suit. The fiery drink sent a warm rush through him and he sat down at the table. 'I'll tell you why I'm here.'

  He talked for almost half an hour, explaining in detail the history of Fanshawe's discovery, attempts to claim the gold, its loss and recovery. Blenkiron took minute sips of the schnapps and listened intently. Perry put the money on the table. 'I hope to be able to get about this much again but it's going to take some time.'

  'This is a miracle. A miracle.'

  'I'll go into Wilding and bring Dr Price back with me.'

  'He will not come.'

  'He'll come, if I have to put a pistol to his head.'

  'Ach, no violence, Mr Perry, please.'

  Perry laughed. 'It won't be necessary. Price isn't such a bad fellow. And please call me John, Pastor.'

  A dark woman came into the kitchen and lifted the lid on the pot. She took a wooden spoon from a rack above the stove and stirred vigorously. A strong smell of meat and onions filled the room. 'Rabbit stew,' Blenkiron said. 'Our main dish these days. You'll eat with me, John?'

  'I'd be pleased to, but what about fetching the doctor?'

  'Tomorrow will do. They are all comfortable enough for now. I'll send for Sarah to have dinner with us. She'll be interested in all this wonderful business of yours. She mentions you often.'

  'That's an excellent idea,' Perry said. 'I think I can safely leave the horse to Adolph.'

  'He will sleep with it. He has a rare talent for animals, that one. We heard of your race in Wilding. The man you beat was Adolph's cousin.'

  'Bobby Kinnear. He's a fine rider, and Adolph could make a professional horseman one day, if he doesn't grow too big.'

  Blenkiron shook his head. 'If he lives. Like so many of the young ones he is not strong in the chest. His sister died a few weeks ago and she was not much older than him.'

  Perry finished the last of his drink. He kept his voice low so that the Aboriginal woman slicing vegetables and busying herself with saucepans would not hear. 'Some people say they are a doomed race,' he said. 'Do you believe that?'

  'No,' the German answered fiercely. 'They are God's creatures and he dooms no one in this life.'

  'I'm glad to hear you say that. What about in the next?'

  The German smiled. 'I think I see a sceptic before me. Well, I'm no longer the believer in hellfire I once was, John. Hell is on this earth, but I am sure it is men who make it so.'

  Over the simple meal, enlivened by a bottle of the mission's riesling, Blenkiron told Sarah about Perry's manoeuvres and successes. For all his wish not to appear solely in the light of a benefactor, Perry was slightly disappointed by Sarah's reaction to the information. She looked at him from time to time with her steady dark eyes and on each occasion he wanted to reach out and touch her face, feel the finely shaped bones under her smooth olive skin and kiss her dark sculptured mouth. He chewed his rabbit, swa
llowed, spoke briefly in response to the German's questions and otherwise kept silent. She wore a plain dark dress and a loosely woven white cotton shawl around her shoulders. To Perry, she seemed more beautiful than women he had seen dressed in hundreds of pounds worth of silks, lace and furs.

  Blenkiron pushed back his chair. 'I will look in on Herman and Eva. I am sure Sarah has some questions for you, John.'

  Sarah smiled and swilled the pale wine in her glass. When the pastor had left the room she said, 'You've done something very good for us. Thank you.'

  'You helped. Without you I couldn't have found the cave and that was a big part of it. I get the feeling that you are a bit disappointed just the same, Sarah. I understand that it's a worrying time with people sick. I'm going to bring the doctor out tomorrow. Is there something else I can do, that you want me to do?'

  Sarah looked at him and did not speak.

  Perry got up and moved around the table. He sat next to her and took her hand. 'I've thought a great deal about you and the pastor says you've mentioned me a few times.'

  'That is true.'

  Her hand was firm and smooth. Perry wanted to kiss her fingers but he could feel her coolness. 'You don't know much about me, but … '

  'You know less about me. I know you are a great rider and shooter and fighter. I know you bought presents for the Fanshawe children and that Adolph thinks you are a god with a magic horse.'

  Encouraged, Perry laughed and held her hand tighter.

  'And I know you are beautiful and good, that you have brains and all sorts of talents. I want to know you better, Sarah.'

  She briefly returned the pressure and then freed her hand. 'In the way you know Mrs Drewe, do you mean?'

  Perry felt as if the roof had fallen in. 'Oh, god, Sarah, no. Not like that. That was just … How did you hear about that?'

  'There are lots more of the Jardwa around Wilding than people realise. There are some who are accepted as white but stay in touch with we dark ones. The news from the town reaches us.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  Sarah smiled. 'You're sorry that I know, not that it's happened. At least you didn't lie about it.'