McCullock's Gold

  * * *

  Frazier and Cadney, meanwhile, had returned to the wagon and continued with their inspection. Around noon they were crossing a low hill on the field’s mid section when a large drilling rig on an eight wheel drive truck came into view.

  It stopped on a broad area of open ground and the driver climbed down from the cab. As they drew nearer a smaller work-battered service truck emerged from its dust and came to a halt alongside, followed a short time later by another big eight wheeled truck.

  The second heavy truck had a water tank and drill rods on board and a large industrial caravan hitched on behind. Frazier turned from the track he was following and drove across to where they’d stopped, pulling up and turning off his engine a short distance from the general activity.

  All three vehicles had logos on their doors showing they belonged to a Company called Drillstar. A little way off a hired front-end loader was standing where a delivery truck had unloaded it.

  One of the men directed the second eight-wheeler onto a large concrete slab – the remnant floor of a big storage and workshop building from a failed mining operation. After helping to unhook the caravan he put the other drivers to work setting up the accommodation arrangements then headed across to the police wagon.

  Frazier’s first impression as he came nearer was of someone able to crush policemen and large rocks with one hand, probably at the same time. The fellow was huge, his scarred thuggish face and eyebrow ridge reminiscent of a Neanderthal boxer – were there ever such a thing, Frazier mused.

  Steve Grundy was his name and he introduced himself in a soft, cultured voice that was utterly at odds with his appearance. He was the driller, he explained, and in charge of Drillstar’s operation there.

  Frazier didn’t know what to say. It was like a badly dubbed movie; vision and audio didn’t connect.

  Cadney and the bemused Frazier were taken over to the caravan and introduced to the others. Grundy then explained how they expected to be drilling on the Jervois field for about six months. They’d be starting north of Reward Hill and would move the drill rig up there in the morning, he said. The project geologist was already on site, pegging out section lines and drillhole positions. Once they’d commenced drilling the Geo would be returning to Mount Isa for a time, he added, then apologised for not being able to offer lunch as they had only just arrived.

  Frazier thanked him and waved the suggestion aside. They were only there sightseeing and to get a few rocks for his garden, he said. After that he’d be heading back to Harts Range. He had his tucker box, he added, but he’d more than likely get a pie from the Community Store and keep going. Grundy then said cheerio and returned to setting up their camp.

  Back in the wagon Cadney directed Frazier to a nearby mullock dump, “…where you’ll get the best looking rocks,” he claimed. “‘Paint’,” he called it. “Waste rock with a thin malachite coating. If you’re lucky we’ll find some azurite paint as well.”

  Frazier was delighted with what they collected, especially the half dozen middling blue ones. Following this the pair continued checking the field’s workings. Later they started back to Bonya.

  As Frazier had expected, nothing was found to suggest Sheldon had ever reached Jervois. In fact, apart from the comment he’d made to Maskell, there appeared to be no connection whatever between Raymond Sheldon and the Jervois mining field.

  But orders had to be followed. Sheldon had told Maskell of his intention to visit Jervois so the lead had to be investigated. And as far as Senior Constable Rick Frazier was concerned, “investigated” it had been – and totally eliminated.

  At the Lucy Creek road Cadney noticed Tyler had turned toward the station. But according to Frazier they’d said they were in a hurry to get to Alice Springs. Typical bloody shonkies, he thought. Say one thing and do exactly the bloody opposite. He said nothing about this to Frazier, though.

  Before long they’d arrived at the Community and were swinging into Cadney’s gateway. As they rolled to a stop Frazier asked when the yellow Holden’s windscreen might be replaced. Cadney said later in the day most likely, why?

  “Then first thing tomorrow I’ll write you a temporary permit,” the policeman replied. “What I want you to do is drive back to Harts Range and see if the Nissan pulled off the highway anywhere. You’d still recognise its tracks, wouldn’t you?”

  Cadney stepped from the vehicle with an air of righteous indignation and slowly but purposefully closed the door. He then drew himself to attention and clutched his fist to his heart. “Black - Man - See - Many - Truths,” he intoned solemnly while glaring at Frazier through the open window, “where whitefellas see bugger-all.” …following which he turned on his heel and marched stiff-armed to the house.

  “Yeah?” Frazier shouted after him. “And if you do get your wreck as far as the Station I’ll bloody inspect the thing, ay; and if it’s not bloody roadworthy mate I’ll bloody do you!”

  “What – call yourself a copper?” came the reply an instant before the screen-door slammed shut.