Hammond Innes - Golden Soak

That drive in the starlight was beautiful. And with a girl — even a stocky, snub-nosed kid like Janet — it could have been idyllic. But the spark was gone now. She was only concerned about her father and she drove with hard concentration, the tinny vehicle bumping and slithering on the loose surface. In less than half an hour we were under the shadow of Mt Robinson, with The Governor to the west of us, and looming up ahead the twin shapes of Padtherung and Coondewanna. Golden Soak was at the foot of these two, in rough hillocked country with the stony beds of dry watercourses and nothing much growing there but mallee and spinifex. We came to it over a rise, round a big outcrop of red rock, a single tall chimney sprouting from a huddle of tin roofs and a gully that ran back up into the gap between the two mountains.

That was how I saw it first, at night, with Janet beside me, taut-faced and anxious, both of us staring urgently through the fly-specked windscreen. No sign of lights, the place deserted and the corrugated iron hanging in rusted sheets. She drew up beside the main building and we got out, standing there uncertain what to do. ‘Perhaps he took another route back,’ I suggested.

But she shook her head. ‘There’s only the one track.’

I was looking up at the gaunt decayed building. The roof had partly fallen in and there were gaps in the tin walls, the iron framework showing through. She had left the headlights full on and it was still possible to read the faded lettering on the board above the gaping doorway — GOLDEN SOAK MINE; OFFICE. A piece of loose corrugated iron was tap-tap-tapping in the breeze. Otherwise, there wasn’t a sound. She had a torch in her hand and she shone it in through the open door — a long bench desk, a high-backed chair lying broken-legged and the walls lined with shelves full of rock specimens, everything covered in a thick layer of red dust. The floor, too, and the dust undisturbed, no footprints.

She got back into the ute and we drove right round the building and out as far as the old shearing shed. But the Land-Rover wasn’t there. She started searching for tracks then, found where a vehicle had turned and headed east. ‘That must be the Toyota.’ She was peering down at the treadmarks.

‘So they’ve left.’

‘Looks like it.’ She was standing, undecided, with her back against the door of the utility. ‘We can’t have missed him.’

‘What about the mine?’ I said. ‘Where’s the shafthead?’

‘Up there.’ She nodded towards the shadowed flanks of Coondewanna. ‘Halfway up the gully. There’s a tunnel driven into the mountain.’

We drove back then, past the mine buildings, picking up the rusted traces of old tramlines half-buried by dust drifts, following them up the gully till we came to a series of shallow trenches or costeans. It was here, where the outcropping quartz had first been mined, that we found the Land-Rover standing empty.

That was when I discovered she had a gun with her. She was scared and she got it out of the back of the ute. It was an old-fashioned repeater with the gleam of silver on it and the sudden click as she worked the breech was disturbingly loud in the hot stillness of the gully. We started to walk then, skirting the open mine pits, still following the old tramlines, and halfway up the quiet was shattered by the sound of somebody hammering on wood.

I don’t remember climbing the rest of the way. I only remember that we were suddenly at the entrance to the mine, an arched cave-hole between two outcrops with the tramlines disappearing under a door of rough boards. The bolt with its big padlock had been forced and Ed Garrety was hammering a piece of axed timber across the entrance of the adit. The Alsatian moved towards us, a gliding shadow, her tail waving.

He jerked round, the axe gripped like a weapon. ‘Who’s that?’ Blinded by the torch, he couldn’t see us and his voice was sharp and high. The beam of the torch dropped and Janet spoke. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said, his voice still strained, but a note of relief in it. And when she asked him what had happened he said, ‘Two of them. They’d forced their way in and the — ‘ He checked himself. ‘One of them was just about to lower himself down the shaft.’

‘Who were they, do you know?’

But he didn’t answer, standing very still, the axe gripped in his hand. ‘He had a rope ladder.’ His voice shook with anger. ‘If the boys hadn’t spotted the Toyota, he’d have been able to explore the lower levels without anybody knowing.’

‘I thought the lower levels were flooded?’ I said.

‘Who told you that?’

‘I’ve just been reading your father’s Journal.’

‘I see.’ He was staring at me, and even now, when I know the cause, it’s difficult to describe the expression on his face. It was a shut look, the blank stare of a man on the defensive, and there was a strange intensity about him. He stayed like that for a moment, staring, and then he turned abruptly, without a word, and began hammering again with the back of the axe until the timber was wedged firmly across the adit entrance. ‘I’ll fix it properly in the morning.’ He bent down, picked up his rifle, then turned to his daughter. ‘Why did you come? I told you I didn’t need any help.’

‘I was worried. We walked down to the paddock gate to meet you. We waited there about half an hour and when you didn’t come …’

‘Quite unnecessary.’ He slung the rifle over his shoulder and then, with a quick jerk of his head in her direction, he turned and led the way down the tramlines to the vehicles. When he reached the Land-Rover he held the door open for me. ‘You’ll ride with me, Janet, you follow us in the ute.’

We were out of the shadowed confines of the gully now, starlight pale on the rocks and Janet standing there like a rebellious child, her mouth sulky and those rather promiment eyes brilliant with anger. But she didn’t say anything, just turned abruptly, calling to the dog and getting into the ute. The slam of the door was loud in the stillness.

Ed Garrety backed the Land-Rover, turned and drove down to the mine buildings, swinging left and climbing to the rock outcrop and the track leading back to Jarra Jarra. He didn’t speak, driving furiously and in silence. I couldn’t make up my mind whether it was the mine he was worrying about or his daughter. ‘You were a long time,’ I said.

‘We had a bit of an argument, that’s all. And then they had to break camp and load up.’

‘You knew them, did you?’

He didn’t answer, the silence stretching uncomfortably between us. Suddenly he said, ‘What are your plans?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You’re a mining consultant. Golden Soak’s finished. It’s not only worked out, it’s dangerous.’ He glanced at me quickly. ‘There’s nothing for you here.’

‘In the present climate of Australia there’s always the possibility of some mining company taking a gamble on it.’

‘No.’ His voice, hard and flat, had an undercurrent of violence.

‘I could at least give you an opinion.’

‘No,’ he said again, his voice trembling. ‘I’m not having anyone risk his life down that mine.’ And he added, ‘Jan should never have invited you. She knew very well how I felt about it.’ He looked at me again. ‘I think it would be best if you left in the morning. Jan’s got work to do, and so have I.’

So it was his daughter he was worrying about. ‘As you wish,’ I said.

He nodded and I could see he was relieved. ‘I’m sorry, but with this drought and the cattle … we’re in no state to entertain visitors.’

He relapsed into silence then, his driving erratic and a barrier of tension between us. He didn’t speak again until he nearly turned the Land-Rover over avoiding a kangaroo caught in the beam of the headlights. ‘Silly buggers,’ he muttered, adding, ‘That’s why we have roo guards on our vehicles. You get a damaged radiator in this country …’