Anybody who has ever watched a drilling operation will understand the fascination. But to see this single rig operating in the immense loneliness of the Pilbara, the twin mountains of Coondewanna and Padtherung blocking our view to the west, and all to the east the country stretching out into infinity, not a sign of life, a flat emptiness of antediluvian antiquity blistered with heat, arid as a desert — what hope had we, flying thus in the face of nature? But the drillers did not see it that way. To them it was just another job, accustomed as they were to the country, and the climate. Watching the drill go down foot by foot, I could barely face the huge steak Kennie grilled for me. At this rate we’d be down to 700 feet with the prospect of the dust sample piles showing the glitter of gold in quartz inside of three days, and if we did strike the reef, then I could get a good price out of Freeman or anybody else, or we could lease on a royalty basis that would give the Garretys a stake in the mine. I could even form a company, operate it myself.
Strange how you dream in the heat. Or was it nervous exhaustion? I had finished my steak. I had had two beers, but I didn’t feel sleepy. The tension in me was too great and at that moment I wasn’t thinking of anybody else, how they might react, or the pitfalls that lay ahead. Even Rosalind’s presence meant nothing to me any more. I had picked her up the day before on my way into Mt Newman to meet Duhamel, and having seen her on to the MMA plane to Perth, had wiped her right out of my mind. All I could think about now was the success of the operation, and I sat there, watching, my eyes on the drill.
Then Kennie’s voice: ‘Alec. Somebody coming.’ I turned to find him buttoning up his flies as he emerged from a patch of mallee. ‘Down in the gully. A ute by the look of it.’
It never occurred to me it would be anybody but Ed Garrety. He still hadn’t returned from Port Hedland when I had picked Rosalind up at Jarra Jarra and I had asked Janet to tell him what I was doing so that he could come up and see for himself as soon as he did get back. We watched as the ute appeared on the back of the spur, bumping its way slowly along the track we had cleared. It stopped on the rim of the hollow and Chris Culpin got out. His face was brick red in the sun, the same hat pushed back on his bullet head, his stomach bulging over the broad leather belt as he came towards us.
‘Thought I’d come and see how you were getting on.’ He was smiling.
‘Who told you where to come?’
‘Girl at the homestead. That’d be Garrety’s daughter, eh?’ His eyes shifted to the rig. ‘Looking for my son, see, so she told me where he was.’ He didn’t even glance at Kennie, his eyes all the time on the rig.
‘There’s nothing for you here,’ I said.
‘Not yet perhaps. You’re still drilling.’
‘Nothing at all,’ I repeated.
He was standing close to me now. ‘Have you told Ferdie what you’re up to?’
‘It’s nothing to do with him.’
‘Suits me. But it may not suit him.’ He leaned closer, the stubble on his chin dark against the sun-reddened skin. ‘An’ he’s got you, pal. Got you cold if ever they rumble the Blackridge deal.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘You can think that out for yourself. Meantime, I’ll hang around for a bit, see how you’re making out. Mebbe collect a few samples for myself.’ And when I told him to get the hell out, he was on private property, he just laughed. ‘This isn’t the Old Country. This is Crown land and I got a prospector’s licence, see.’
‘Golden Soak belongs to Ed Garrety,’ I said.
‘That’s right.’ He nodded. ‘He owns the mine and all the flat land below it. But not up here. Not according to Smithie. This is leasehold, and leaseholders don’t own mineral rights. You got to claim.’ His small eyes narrowed. ‘You registered a claim? I don’t see no claim pegs.’ He stood there, staring at me, waiting for me to say something. ‘You ain’t even got a prospector’s licence.’
‘I don’t need one,’ I answered angrily. ‘Not here.’
‘We’ll see about that. I’ll be in Nullagine this evening and I’ll check just what Garrety does own. An’ if Smithie’s right, then I’ll go in to Marble Bar and have a look at the Mining Register. I don’t reckon Garrety’s put in a claim, ‘cause if he had he’d be required to spend money on development.’ And at that moment Duhamel appeared at my elbow.
‘We’re through the soft stuff. It’s hard rock now.’
I thought of Balavedra, all those weeks hoping against hope, the luck gone sour on me. And now here. Only a few minutes ago I had been dreaming of a strike in two days’ time. I watched Culpin go back to his ute. He drove it under the shade of a mulga and set about preparing his lunch. Nothing I could do about him. Nothing I could do about the hard rock country the drill had entered. And Rosalind in Perth, waiting. I went over to the Land-Rover, tugged the ring seal off another can of beer and stood there drinking it, watching the percussion drill, its progress imperceptible now, and Kennie clearing up on his own, white-faced and unhappy. His father hadn’t said a word to him, not a single word. He had behaved as though the boy didn’t exist.
I finished my beer, went over to the shelter we’d built with branches of gum brought up from the gully and lay down. Nothing to do now but wait — and hope. The noise of the drill was like the drone of a huge insect, a solid roaring hum in the heat, and I dozed off. When I woke Culpin had gone and Kennie was sitting beside me, smoking a cigarette.
‘Where’s your father?’ I asked.
He shrugged.
‘Gone to Nullagine, has he?’
‘He was down at the rig talking to Georges, then he loaded up and drove off. He didn’t tell me where he was going.’
And from Nullagine he’d go on to Marble Bar. I knew damn well Ed Garrety hadn’t pegged the area. I got to my feet, watching the drillers busy about the rig, sweating in the afternoon sun as they added another rod. ‘How far are they down?’
‘Seventy — seventy-five maybe.’
At that rate he had all the time in the world. ‘He’ll be back,’ I said.
‘Oh, sure. He’ll be back. Pa wouldn’t miss a chance like this.’ Kennie looked at me. ‘What are you going to do? You can’t stop him corning here, and if he thinks you’re on to something …‘He hesitated, and then, his voice barely audible: ‘You want to watch it, Alec. He’s a real bastard when he smells money, and he doesn’t give a damn about people. That’s the trouble with Australia — men like my father, and that man Kadek, they don’t care who they hurt, what they destroy, s’long as they get what they want. I tried to tell him — that night. But it’s like I was speaking a different language. It’s a free country, they say. Christ! I’d rather it was Communist.’
‘Then you’d have bureaucracy. And that’s just as soulless.’
‘So what’s the answer?’
‘Same as it’s always been,’ I said. ‘You fight. To survive in this world you’ve got to be a fighter.’
‘And you think I’m not? He was staring at me very directly.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘No, but you implied it.’ His gaze wandered to Coondewanna, the escarpment of red rock like a battlement. ‘And you’re right. I’ve never stood up to him. Not really. I’m not a fighter. I’m a bit of a coward, I suppose.’ And he added, softly, ‘Mum, now — she’s a fighter. All her life she’s struggled to make a go of it. And the strange thing is she still loves him.’
I walked out into the sunshine then. The boy was very near to tears, ‘You stay and look after the drillers,’ I said. ‘I’m going to Jarra Jarra. If Ed Garrety’s back, I want a word with him.’ And I left him and went over to the Land-Rover. ‘Anything you want out of the back?’