By Ron Bunney
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It was the first time Martin had seen her disconcerted. It didn’t take them long to learn the area’s short history. The exodus had taken place with the announcement of Hannan’s Find, twenty-five miles to the east. Those who remained either worked for wages on the new deep-shaft mines or plugged along on their own, content to glean the occasional ounce on their lease rather than chase the elusive bonanza. The heady days of surface fossicking around Coolgardie were all but over. ‘Let’s go and see what’s happening at the Bayley’s mine,’ Martin suggested to Beth.
Sorry. ’ Even in the fading light he could see Beth’s hackles were rising. He hastened on. ‘Place had a 96 funny feel about it. ’ Beth had her stubborn-horse look about her. ‘This is as good a place as any. ’ Martin shrugged. Perhaps he was being over-cautious. He had started to unload the horses when the scuff of horses’ hooves jerked his head up. Four horsemen were ranged in a line across the track. The soft ground had masked their approach. Each teamster had a coiled stock whip in his hand.
Martin tried to keep her walking stages short, but he should have known better. Beth insisted she would do her share, and he suspected it was because she did not want to be beholden to him for anything. Embarrassed and feeling guilty, Christine offered to take her turn, but on this, Martin and Beth were in complete agreement. Perhaps after a night’s sleep she could try it in small bursts. Darkness had descended by the time they came upon the next waterhole. Martin called a halt while they were still some distance away.