Chapter 7

Mitchell’s Creek, Sunny Corner, New South Wales, Australia:7

The first thing we did was get out; that rock had to go somewhere.

We played embarrassed cat ... you know ... the cat does something particularly stupid and immediately checks the area to see if anybody noticed ... and then starts grooming... I meant to do that.

We both walked ... not the action we took getting out of the crack ... down to the high banker to check our spoils. Jim even videoed it ... twice. The first go-round he was stuttering. He did well on the retake.

I reached over and shut off the pump. The silence was deafening.

“Fools ... both of us,” Jim said.

“Waiting for the rumble?” I asked.

“No dust cloud,” He said.

“You stay here,” I said ... feeling brave. “I’ll sneak a look.”

To cover my shaking, Jim started the wash pump. I thumbs-up him. It never took so long for me to step to the crack.

I one eyed it ... the rock was back ... stuck in a tree ... okay ... a bush. I tiptoed back to Jim.

“Ever remember any bushes on that slope?”

“Nope, starkers ... the whole face.” He said, “The right hand slope has brush, small trees and grass.”

“Well ... there’s one there now and the rock is stuck in it.”

A face peered around the crack. Well ... a rather bovine structure ... a sorta face. Long and narrow with protuberant nose set between heavily browed brown eyes ... with a cowlick for a head of hair. Ears of a lop ... long, mobile and bashful. The eyes were predator; both faced forward, alert but curious. His? her? clothes covered a long lanky stringy body. Not exactly pants or skirt. The shirt was dusty white, the sleeves were rolled to the elbows ... or what passed as such. The vest was almost black and well worn ... not that it was worn well. A green patch of cloth protruded where a pocket would be ... if I was wearing it. If I was wearing that the first impression would be a shopkeeper carrying a bag of ... something?

Behind the first ... thing ... came several more. Each one was alike but different ... like cousins.

“G’day mate,” it said ... In perfect Australian English.

Jim couldn’t help it, “Day-ee.” He greeted the thing. It’s the polite thing to do.

“This gets in our way,” He dropped the bag at Jim’s feet, offered a paw, “We usually dump it in the water.” Jim shook the paw and the first thing stepped aside.

Each follower stepped up, “G’day mate.”

“Day-ee” said Jim as the thing dropped its bag. They shook ... like it was an every day occurrence.

One is one, Two is a couple, Three is a few, Four is some, Five is several. More than several is many.

When they finished dropping bags, they made a shuffle ... nervous like. The first thing said, “More of your kind come, they trash the water. You come back this time and get what we usually throw away. If they find nothing they will not come. G’day.”

The rest said, “Day-ee.”

“Day-ee,” Jim said.

They disappeared into the crack.

Jim looked in the last sack.

“Gold ... not quartz and gold ... just gold ... like in the river.” Jim lifted the sack ... it was a struggle. “This is going to be hell getting it back to the truck.”

A small craft appeared in the air next to Jim. “Go back ... bags will be waiting.”

We broke down and packed. We took the clean out back without panning it.

“First time I didn’t show the end,” Jim said.

We settled in for the hike.