The Opportunists E-Book

Vivian Stuart

• Herausgeber: Jentas Ehf
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

The fourteenth book in the dramatic and intriguing story about the colonisation of Australia: a country made of blood, passion, and dreams.   Against overwhelming odds they fought to tame a savage land, now they must fight to keep it.   Dora Lucas, Francis De Lancey, the Yates brothers and Luke Murphy meet in the goldfields near Bathurst. All with different motives, but all drawn to the opportunities of the gold rush. Meanwhile, in Ballarat, trouble is brewing amongst the miners. Will they find riches and reach their goals or will the chaotic tide of the gold rush lead to unexpected places?

Leseprobe

The Opportunists

The Australians 14 – The Opportunists

© Vivian Stuart, 1985

© eBook in English: Jentas ehf. 2022

Series: The Australians

Title: The Opportunists

Title number: 14

ISBN: 978-9979-64-239-8

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchase.

All contracts and agreements regarding the work, editing, and layout are owned by Jentas ehf.

The Australians

The ExilesThe PrisonersThe SettlersThe NewcomersThe TraitorsThe RebelsThe ExplorersThe TravellersThe AdventurersThe WarriorsThe ColonistsThe PioneersThe Gold SeekersThe OpportunistsThe PatriotsThe PartisansThe Empire BuildersThe Road BuildersThe SeafarersThe MarinersThe NationalistsThe LoyalistsThe ImperialistsThe Expansionists

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This book is dedicated to my brother-in-law, Squadron Leader John Chisholm Ward, a seventh-generation descendant of one of Australia’s pioneer families.

CHAPTER I

She had not wanted to take the drastic step of running away with Francis De Lancey, Dora Lucas reflected wretchedly as she watched the rooftops of Parramatta vanish into the gathering darkness. And she had longed to stay overnight at the hostelry in the township, so that she might wash and change her clothing before continuing the journey—a tedious one, in their heavily laden bullock wagon, with no shade from the sun in daytime and no shelter from the night chills or any sudden shower.

But Francis, fearful of pursuit, had insisted that they must go on. Crouched in the wagon behind him, Dora shivered, sharing his fear. Her husband, as she well knew from bitter experience, was a vindictive man, tormented by jealousy, but even he would surely have stopped short of creating a scene, had he found her in the Parramatta Arms, which was always crowded. Whereas on the open road, with only Francis to protect her ... She drew an unhappy, sobbing breath, glancing involuntarily behind her and half expecting to see the dread figure of her husband, galloping after them and intent on vengeance.

But there was no sound of hoofbeats, no other vehicle on the long, winding road to their rear. Yet Benjamin must be aware, by this time, that she had left him. She had penned her note as soon as he had set off for the naval dockyard, and had left it propped up on the dining room mantel, where he would be certain to see it when he returned for luncheon.

Francis had insisted on that, too.

“I want him to know that I am taking you from him,” he had said obstinately when she attempted to argue. “I owe that, at least, to Red Broome. I’ve caused him more trouble than he deserves, one way or another. But he never understood, Dora, he never tried to understand that what I feel for you is not mere infatuation. You are the love of my life, my sweet darling, and ...” He had looked down at her with such tenderness, Dora remembered, holding her in his arms, his strong young body pressed against hers. “Now that you are carrying my child, you cannot stay for a single day longer with that unspeakably vile old man. You are mine, my beloved—you and the child.”

Dora shifted uneasily, seeking relief from the jolting of the unsprung wagon. She had made a grave error, she realized now. She should never have told Francis that the baby she had conceived was his. Undoubtedly it was; Benjamin’s frequent but futile attempts to get her with child had never succeeded and had only filled her with loathing and contempt for his ineptness. But she could have deceived him; he wanted to believe that he was capable of fatherhood, so that it would not have taken much ingenuity to play on his vanity. And she could then have pleaded her pregnancy to spare her from his unwelcome lovemaking, and thus have lived, in reasonable contentment, in the grand official residence allotted to him, freed of financial worries and able to enjoy the social standing she had always coveted.

Benjamin would have been placated, and she could have continued a clandestine relationship with Francis, which, thanks to his father’s eminence and his family’s loyal support, could probably have gone on for years, quite unsuspected.

But instead ... Dora’s small white hands clenched convulsively at her sides. She had been foolish, she chided herself bitterly. She had permitted her heart to rule her head, and, when Francis had run inquisitive fingers over her thickening belly, as they had lain together on a deserted beach in a joyous prelude to their lovemaking, she had told him the truth, quite unprepared for his reaction to it.

“We will run away, darling,” he had decided, in a voice that brooked no argument, for all it trembled with happiness. “I’ll buy a wagon and a tent and supplies, and we will go to the goldfields—Lucas won’t look for us there. It will mean living rough for a while, I know, but we’ll be together, and it is spring ... it will not be too cold in the mountains, and in any case, I will look after you. You will not need to sully your hands, because I will do everything. I will take the greatest care of you, my love, until your time comes, and we will have to seek the services of a midwife. But until then we’ll be free, like travelling folk, with the sky for our roof! Think of it, my sweet Dora ... It will be heaven, I promise you. And who knows?” He had thrown back his handsome head and laughed, like the boy he was, she remembered. “Who knows, we might strike it rich, and then all our troubles would be over. I’d be able to buy you a grand house in Sydney Town, or a squatter’s sheep run in the back country, and like the fairy tale, we should live happily ever after, with our children around us, wanting for nothing save each other!”

He had painted an entrancing picture, Dora recalled, and she had let herself believe in it, despite her better judgment and the sound common sense she had hitherto relied on when it came to making decisions. But the reality—even at this, the outset of their journey to the Turon River—was proving a disillusionment, and at the rate the bullocks travelled, it would take at least a week or ten days to reach Bathurst. From there the way would lead through the Roch Forest, along a steep mountain road that was said to be difficult for vehicular traffic... The wagon lurched, and Dora cried out in protest.

“Don’t worry, my darling,” Francis called back with irritating cheerfulness. “I’ll get the hang of driving these wretched animals soon. Try to sleep, my love, because we have to push on.”

He “pushed on,” to Dora’s increasing discomfort, for day after endless day, never quite seeming to manage the bullocks, despite his efforts. The road, after they had crossed the Nepean River, became heavily congested. Impatient horsemen squeezed past, leaving clouds of dust in their wake, and every variety of dray and wagon and horse-drawn carriage impeded their passage, while men on foot added to the confusion.

They were from every walk of life—doctors, clerics, and ship’s officers rubbing shoulders with clerks, shopkeepers and humble labourers; new immigrants from America, England, and New Zealand mingling with settlers from Adelaide and Perth and deserters from the ships that had brought them to their destination. They were almost exclusively male—Dora looked in vain for the sight of one of her own sex in the motley throng—and for the most part they were friendly, if impatient of delay in reaching the goldfields and the fortunes all were convinced were awaiting them there.

After a while, satisfied that they had lost themselves in the crowd, Francis relaxed his vigilance and, to Dora’s relief, permitted an overnight stay at an inn on the outskirts of Bathurst. The inn was rough and overrun by the travellers, all demanding food and drink and beds in which to sleep, but a hefty bribe to the landlord secured water in which Dora could wash and the doubtful privacy of a curtained recess in his cookhouse, furnished with a single, cramped bunk and a soiled straw mattress.

After that experience, she ceased to complain about spending the night in their tent; but as they climbed higher into the mountains, the cold increased, and the flimsy tent proved incapable of keeping out the first steady rain they encountered. Francis was assiduous in his attentions, deeply distressed by the hardships their elopement had caused her, and anxious, in any way he could, to spare her discomfort, but ... he was not any more fitted for the conditions than she was, Dora came unhappily to realize.

The bullocks were slow and, in Francis’s untutored care, became increasingly intractable, and Dora suggested he exchange them for horses. Francis finally did so, making the exchange with a party of rascally fellows returning to Sydney from Ophir, purportedly with their fortunes made. The gold diggers got the better of the bargain, for the horses were worn-out, half-starved creatures whose progress, hauling the heavy wagon, was little faster than that of the bullocks; and the bullocks’ new owners, to Dora’s distress, slaughtered their purchases, for food, while still in sight and sound of her and Francis.

They reached the township of Sofala, on the Turon River, at last, only to find so many people there that they could find nowhere to stake a claim, save in the dry diggings on a hillside, where, Francis was told, it was necessary to sink a shaft some forty to fifty feet deep.

“Go on to the Meroo River,” he was advised. “It’s not above thirty miles distant. Or the Louisa Creek—that’s where a lot of folk are heading. Carry on northward, and maybe you’ll get there ahead of the rush.”

“We’ll have to go, my dearest,” Francis said, after breaking this news. “There’s nothing for us here.”

They went on wearily, Dora greatly troubled by morning sickness and alarmed by the rugged terrain through which they must travel. She wept bitterly as they ascended what had appeared to be a gentle rise, with a well-defined track running through the box and gum trees, only to find themselves on the verge of a precipice, with a sheer drop of close to two hundred feet to the river below. In the gully there were men at work, their tents and bark gunyas pitched close by, under the swamp oaks at the water’s edge, with still more dotted at intervals on the opposite side, where other men were toiling with picks and shovels to dig into the hillside.

“That’s the Meroo River,” Francis declared, tightlipped and hard put to it to hide his disappointment. “The rush is here before us, alas! Well, there’s nothing for it but to press on, darling. They say that the country round the Louisa is comparatively flat, and there are some farms in the vicinity.” He noticed Dora’s tear-filled eyes and came to kneel beside her in the back of the wagon. “Oh, my sweet love, what have I done to you, bringing you to this wilderness? I ... Dora, heart of my heart, if you say that we should turn back, I’ll do so. I will take you back to Sydney and yield you up to your husband, if that is your wish.”

But that was a prospect Dora knew she could not face. Benjamin, if he consented to take her back, would exact a terrible price for the humiliation she had caused him, and ... there was the baby, her unborn, innocent child, conceived in love, whom he would claim. She looked up at her lover and, blinded by tears, shook her head, finding fresh courage.

“No, Francis, we’ve come too far. We’ve been through too much to turn back now.”

It had all started lightheartedly, she recalled. When she had boarded the Galah at Devonport, she had already been disillusioned where Benjamin was concerned, repulsed by his fumbling lovemaking, resenting the demands he had made on her, and fearful of his uncertain temper and occasional outbursts of violence. She had been—Dora bit her lower lip, feeling it tremble—she had been ripe for a flirtation, even for a clandestine affair, so that, for her own self-esteem and gratification, she might defy the hateful man she had married and assert herself in the only way open to her. Her small mouth twitched into a wry, pouting smile. Initially she had set her cap at the Galah’s commander, but Red Broome had ignored her advances, treating them with cold contempt and adding to her bitter discontent, because he had struck at the roots of her pride.

But Francis De Lancey—handsome, chivalrous Francis— had changed everything. He had restored her self-confidence, made her feel wanted and admired, desirable ... a woman, not a child. She had not intended to fall in love with him—that had certainly not been part of her plan, for she had always been aware of how much she had to lose if she went too far. Yet, unable to help herself, she had fallen in love. The flirtation had become serious, the affair of greater importance than security or the social position she had once wanted so badly.

“We cannot go back now, Francis,” she repeated. “7 cannot!”

Francis held her close, his lips on hers, his arms cradling her stiff and weary body. “I love you, Dora, my dearest girl,” he whispered. “I will love you till the day I die, I swear it by everything I hold sacred! We’ll go on—there must be somewhere for us in this vast wilderness.”

He turned the wagon, whipped the jaded horses into a shambling trot, and they descended the hill to follow a track around its foot. Two more large mining camps lay on their new route, but, when they both were despairing of ever finding it, they breasted a rock-strewn ridge and were suddenly looking down on a green expanse of flat, treeless plain devoid of human habitation, with a creek running through it about half a mile away.

“We’re here, my darling!” Francis exclaimed, his voice elated, waking Dora from a fitful sleep. She joined him on the front seat of the wagon, and he unfolded the rough sketch map he had made, based on information gleaned at their various stopping places. “I think that is a creek called Tambaroora, but I can’t be sure. But there are no tents that I can see and no—” He broke off, swearing under his breath. “Oh, the devil take it, we’re not the first! Look, there are horsemen down below! Three of them, with packhorses!” Dora followed the direction of his pointing finger and saw that he was right. There were three mounted men, each leading a packhorse, trotting slowly toward the head of the creek.

“Does it matter?” she asked, an edge of impatience to her voice. “There are only three riders, and it is a big creek. We cannot expect to be alone, Francis.”

“No,” he conceded. “That’s true, darling. We’ll go down after them.” He plied his whip, and the horses started down the slope, gathering speed as the weight of the wagon impelled them forward. Francis did not attempt to steady them, eager to reduce the distance between the trotting horsemen and themselves, and even as Dora cried out to him to have a care, disaster struck.

One of the horses stumbled, alarming its companion, which kicked over the traces, and then both animals took fright, tearing down the hillside and eluding all of Francis’s frantic efforts to control them. The wheels of the wagon on the off side struck a boulder, and the spokes shattered, causing the wagon to crash over onto its side. Dora managed to hold on to the back of the seat, but Francis was flung forward, to fall, with a sickening thud, several yards away. The wagon shaft broke, bringing down one of the horses, and the other, panic-stricken, struggled free and went galloping off toward the creek.

Badly shaken, Dora slithered down from her seat as the wagon discarded most of its load. Fear lent her strength, and, gathering up her skirts, she ran unsteadily to where Francis was lying. Sobbing his name, she fell to her knees beside him, shocked and horrified when he did not answer her desperate cries. He was unconscious, she realized, lying limp and twisted on the swampy grass, one arm beneath him and his dark head lolling, as if ...

“Oh, dear God,” she prayed aloud. “Dear kind God in heaven, let him be alive! Please, Heavenly Father, do not take him from me! Francis, Francis, my dearest love, speak to me, tell me you’re alive!”

Dora had managed to pillow his head on her lap when, heralded by the thud of hooves, the three horsemen they had seen earlier, approaching the creek, pulled up a few yards from her. The leading rider, a slim, deeply tanned young man in seaman’s duck trousers and a tattered shirt, jumped from his saddle and, letting his horse go, came to kneel at her side. Gently he lifted Francis’s limp, dark head from her knee and, murmuring reassuringly, subjected him to a swift examination.

“I reckon he’s only stunned, ma’am,” he told her. “But we’ll just make sure he’s not broken any bones. Rob—” He addressed one of his companions. “Help the young lady to her feet, will you? And then you and Simon right the wagon, so’s we can bring the two of them down to the creek.”

Dazedly, Dora accepted the helping hand the youth addressed as Rob held out to her, and she let him lead her to the shade of an overhanging rock. He left her there and went to aid in righting the wagon, only to call out, “There’s two wheels busted, Luke. We’ll not be able to get the wagon down the hill until we’ve mended them. And we’ll have to shoot the horse—both its forelegs are broken, poor brute.” Luke, continuing to give all his attention to the injured Francis, grunted an assent, and moments later Dora heard the sound of a shot. She shuddered, and the shorter of the two young men came to her, offering his arm.

“We’re going to set up camp by the creek, ma’am,” he told her sympathetically. “We’ll soon have a fire going and the billy on. I’ll take you down, shall I?” He saw her hesitation and flashed her a friendly smile. “Don’t you worry your head about your husband—Luke and my brother Rob will carry him if he can’t walk. But like Luke said, the chances are he’s only stunned and winded. He came out of your dray at a fair rate when the horses bolted, so it’s no wonder he’s out cold.”

On the way down to the creek, he volunteered the information that he and his brother Robert were from New Zealand’s North Island, the sons of the Church of England mission doctor at Rangihoua, Simon Yates.

“Luke Murphy’s an American, come here from the California goldfields. He was working his passage as a deckhand on the ship that brought us here, the Dolphin, and we chummed up on the way to Sydney.”

“And now you are prospecting together?” Dora suggested.

The boy nodded. “Rob and I are going to try our luck in the fields, yes, ma’am. We’ve taken out licenses. But Luke’s not looking for gold—he’s looking for a man who robbed him, back in California. A Captain Jasper Morgan, who served in Her Majesty’s Twenty-third Foot. We had word that he was in these parts, somewhere along the Turon River, but we’ve not seen hide nor hair of him here. Luke’s going to try Bathurst way, soon as he’s seen us settled on a claim. I suppose—” Simon Yates turned to look at her inquiringly. “You won’t have come across him, will you, ma’am? This Captain Morgan, I mean.”

“No,” Dora denied. “No, I haven’t. We—that is, my husband and I—” She caught her breath, hoping that he would not question her too closely, and then went on resolutely. “My husband and I have come from Sydney, Mr. Yates. We, too, intend to stake a claim up here, but ... there are so many men searching for gold—thousands of them. We could not, I mean we did not want to join a big camp where there are only men. I ... it would not be seemly since I am a—a lone female.”

“No, ma’am.” The mission doctor’s son seemed readily to accept her explanation. “Some of the diggers do bring their wives and families with them, but not many. It ... it’s a harsh way of life for a woman. And for a lady born and bred—” He coloured, evidently fearing that his words might be misunderstood and taken for criticism. “I admire your courage, ma’am, I truly do.”

They reached the creek, a shallow stretch of silvery water bordered by a thick belt of trees and heady with the scent of the mimosa growing on the opposite bank.

Simon Yates, displaying faultless courtesy, bowed Dora to a seat at the edge of the trees, divesting himself of his jacket and spreading it out for her to sit on. Then he excused himself in order to go in search of the packhorses.

“We just let them go, you see, ma’am, when we witnessed your accident, and it looks as if they’ve strayed. Still, I don’t suppose they’ve gone far. You stay right where you are and rest yourself ... I’ll be back as soon as I’ve found our horses.”

He was as good as his word, returning about a quarter of an hour later with the errant animals. Having secured them, he set about building a cooking fire, with what was clearly the skill of long practice, and then, whistling cheerfully, took a smoke-blackened billycan from one of the pack saddles and headed down to the creek in long, loping strides to fetch water.

Dora waited, recovering slowly from the shock of the accident and fighting against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. After a while, the sound of voices caused her to look up to see that, at long last, the young seaman named Luke and the older Yates boy were on their way down the steep hillside. Francis, she saw, to her heartfelt relief, was mounted on one of the horses—slumped in the saddle and with Luke leading his horse, but alive and conscious.

She got to her feet and went eagerly to meet them, biting back a cry of dismay when she noticed Francis’s right arm was suspended in a sling, fashioned from a belt and the tail of a shirt. He looked white and badly shaken, but was swift to reassure her when she reached his side.

“It’s all right, my love. I’m in one piece, thanks to the timely aid these good fellows have supplied. And I don’t think my arm’s broken—just bruised and a mite sore, that’s all. And the wagon can be repaired, they say.”

Luke assisted him to dismount. “We’ve brought your tent down with us, Mrs. De Lancey,” he said practically, gesturing to the canvas draped across the saddle of one of the lead horses. “It’ll take us only a few minutes to set it up and give you some privacy. And when that fire gets going, we’ll cook us something to eat.” He glanced about him with evident approval. “Seems a likely spot for game. I’ll take a musket and see what I can bag for the pot.”

Dusk was falling when, in response to Luke’s hail, they gathered around the fire, on which the skinned carcass of a young kangaroo was roasting on a wooden spit, the old black billycan boiling merrily on the embers of the fire. Dora realized suddenly that she was hungry; during their long journey through the mountains, she and Francis had tasted no fresh meat except in Sofala, where, for an exorbitant sum, they had purchased some beef that had soon become putrid. She had never acquired any skills in the kitchen; at home, prior to her marriage to Benjamin Lucas, her mother had attended to all the family’s needs, and since they had arrived in Sydney, there had been servants to wait on them, and a well-trained cook.

A trifle shamefacedly, she watched Rob Yates deftly making what he told her was damper, from a mixture of flour and water, cooked to appetizing perfection on an upturned spade, while his brother sliced up the kangaroo meat with equal skill and neatness, using a heavy clasp knife, which he took from his belt and sharpened on a stone. Both the meat and damper tasted delicious, and Dora ate well, her nausea gone.

Later, seated companionably around the fire as the darkness closed in, they talked, the Yates boys of New Zealand and their life there, Dora nostalgically of England, and Francis of his naval service, which, Dora was surprised to learn, had encompassed twelve of his twenty-two years and a war with the Chinese, in which he had been wounded.

Luke Murphy was oddly silent, listening with evident interest but contributing nothing to the discussion.

“Don’t you have anything to tell us?” Francis asked him, leaning back, his head pillowed on Dora’s lap and his pipe emitting a thin, fragrant cloud of blue smoke. “About California and the goldfields there?”

Luke’s expression hardened. “I’ve told Rob and Simon all that’s liable to help them find gold out here, Mr. De Lancey,” he defended. “And they can pass it on to you, if you wish. Because I’m moving on, you see, sir, just as soon as I’ve seen them settled on a likely claim. Tomorrow, maybe, if this creek’s as promising as I think it is.”

“He is looking for a man who robbed him, Francis,” Dora put in, recalling what Simon Yates had told her earlier. “That is so, isn’t it, Luke? A man named Captain Morgan, who served in the British Army?”

Luke turned to her, his eyes suddenly bright. “Yes, that’s so. Ma’am, do you know him—do you know where he is?”

His face fell and he looked crestfallen when Dora shook her head. “No, Simon asked me that. I’ve never heard of him, I’m afraid, Luke. I’m sorry if I raised your hopes.”

“He was here—or someone fitting his exact description. He was working a claim on the Turon but has moved on. Toward Bathurst, one man told me, and he talked of going to Victoria because he had not done good here.” Luke leaned forward to poke the fire, the light from it revealing a grim tautness in his pleasant young face. “I have to go after him—to Victoria, if need be.”

Francis eyed him in some bewilderment. “But if he robbed you—in California, I take it—would you not be better off staying here? You say this creek is promising; you could make ... what do they call it? A good strike, which would more than compensate you for whatever Morgan stole from you. If he’s a rogue, rogue enough to rob you, what chance will you have of forcing him to repay you? And if he’s an officer—that is ...” He did not complete his sentence, but its implications were plain enough, and Luke reddened.

“Jasper Morgan did not only rob me, Mr. De Lancey,” he answered, his tone harsh. “My brother Dan and I were in partnership with him and two Australians, working a claim near the Feather River, and we struck it rich—real rich. More than twelve thousand American dollars the Mint in ‘Frisco paid out for the gold we found ... the gold 7 found. Morgan claimed it; he took the money. He—” Frowning, Luke looked from one to the other of the faces grouped around the fire. He went on, addressing Rob and Simon Yates. “I never told you the whole story. I never told anyone on board the Dolphin, not even Captain Van Buren, because I figured it was my business. Mine and Mercy’s, because she was there too, in Windy Gully. But I guess I might as well tell you now, and you’ll understand why I have to go after Jasper Morgan, if it’s the last thing I ever do. He’s guilty of murder, you see, and the miners’ committee where it happened heard and— yes, saw the evidence with their own eyes, and they found him guilty and sentenced him to hang. I’ve come after him to bring him to justice.”

He broke off, and Dora, watching him, saw the glint of tears in his dark eyes.

“Who did he murder, Luke?” Rob Yates asked, breaking the silence. “Your brother Dan?”

“Dan, yes, and our partners, Tom and Frankie Gardener. I went to see Tom’s widow when I came ashore in Sydney Town—his widow and their little kids. It was awful, and it just about broke my heart, having to break it to her that Tom wouldn’t be coming back. I didn’t tell her what really happened, though—I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. I just said our mine caved in and buried the three of them alive, and I gave her a bag of dust. I didn’t have anything else to give her, you see.” Again Luke broke off, his face working.

“Did your mine cave in, Luke?” Francis asked him quietly.

“It caved in because Morgan blew it up, Mr. De Lancey,” Luke told him bleakly. “But he shot all three of them first, and then he took the gold and made off with it to ‘Frisco. But maybe I’d best tell you how it happened from the beginning.”

He told them, in a flat, controlled voice that carried complete conviction, and Dora listened with growing horror as the ghastly tale unfolded. Francis, sensing her distress, reached for her hand and held it.

He said emphatically, “Go after him, Luke. Go after the foul murdering swine wherever he runs to! I don’t know what help I can give you, because—well, my sweet lass and I have some troubles of our own, and there are reasons why we had to leave Sydney Town and come up here with the gold seekers.” Dora felt his fingers tighten about hers. “You’ll need money to pay your passage to Port Phillip, if Morgan has gone there. I haven’t much, but you can take what I have.”

Luke shook his head. “No, Mr. De Lancey, I’ll not take your money. It’s good of you, but—”

“I’m in your debt,” Francis argued.

“No, I—we’ve done nothing that merits reward, sir.” Luke smiled and got to his feet. “I’ll earn what I need, or work my passage, if I find that the bird has flown. But—” He turned to his youthful companions, his smile warm and affectionate as he looked from Rob to Simon. “These two are good, trustworthy lads. Join forces with them, Mr. De Lancey, and stake your claim here with them. The rush will catch up with you if you do make a strike, but you’re here first, and the four of you could look out for each other. What do you say?”

Francis looked in mute question to Dora. She inclined her head without hesitation. It was, she thought gratefully, a wonderful notion and one likely to benefit them all, provided that she could play her part. Gold-seeking was—as Simon Yates had said—a harsh way of life for a woman. But she had chosen it; she had rejected the chance to return to Sydney and the hateful old man she had married.

“I’ll be more than willing, Luke,” she said with conscious gravity, “if Rob and Simon are ... and if they’ll consent to teach me some of their cooking skills.”

The two boys laughed aloud. “I wish our mama could hear you saying that!” Rob exclaimed. “She always reckoned we were useless layabouts in the kitchen, didn’t she, Si? But we’ll teach you what we can and gladly. It’ll be great to have a worn—that is, begging your pardon, Mrs. De Lancey, a lady’s company. It’s been a long time since we even set eyes on a female.”

“Then let us shake hands on it,” Francis suggested. There was admiration in his eyes, Dora saw, as he helped her to rise, as well as the adoration she was accustomed to read there.

The handshakes were exchanged, and Luke said with relief, “Then I’ll be on my way in the morning. I ... there’s just one question I want to ask, Mr. De Lancey, and maybe you can answer it. Jasper Morgan bought a brig, the Banshee, in ‘Frisco. A small vessel of about a hundred and ninety tons burden. She wasn’t anywhere in Port Jackson when we reached there, to the best of my knowledge, and a wharf labourer told me she’d been impounded by the customs and then sold. He wasn’t sure of the buyer’s name, but he thought it was Lewis or Levis—some name like that. You wouldn’t have heard anything about the sale or about the buyer, would you, sir?”

“No, Luke, I’m sorry.” Francis shook his head regretfully. “Not a word.”

“It was just a thought,” Luke conceded. “We passed an outward-bound brig near the Heads, when we entered Port Jackson, which might have been Morgan’s, but she was too far away for me to read her name.” He shrugged. “I expect it was coincidence, or maybe I imagined the resemblance. There are scores of small brigs in the harbour.”

He bent, from force of habit, to scoop up a handful of earth with which to douse the fire. Dora moved swiftly to intercept him.

“Luke,” she said, with a vehemence that surprised even herself, “is that not the cook’s job? Please let me do it.”

Luke stood aside, smiling, and Dora dropped to her knees beside the pile of glowing embers. Her small white hands were coated with dust and her fingernails blackened, but the fire was extinguished when Francis again helped her to her feet.

CHAPTER II

The cattle—about two hundred of them, as nearly as Luke could judge—appeared suddenly through the evening gloom and came charging toward him, an unruly mob, with their great horned heads down, bellowing and raising a thick cloud of dust above and behind them.

He reined in, looking about him for a way to escape from their onrush. They were heading for the river, he realized. The Macquarie, a streak of silvery water, lay half a mile or so to his rear, reduced to half its normal breadth and volume by the recent lack of rain. Either the herd had been spooked, or thirst had driven the milling animals to sudden frenzy, and he would, he knew, be wise to remove himself from their path with what speed his tired horse could muster.

He dug in his heels, but his mount responded sluggishly, not yet conscious of danger. Then a warning shout alerted him, bringing his head around, and he glimpsed a rider on a piebald horse, waving at him frantically. There was a slight depression in the ground, he saw, in the direction in which the rider was gesturing, and he made for it thankfully, reaching it just as the herd thundered past. The leader, a huge brown bull with a moon-white face, clearly knew the ground better than he did, Luke thought, for it jinked right, and the rest followed, a single straggler—a half-grown heifer—the only one to contest possession of his refuge. It scrambled out, leaving him unscathed, and tore on after the rest.