Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron
When the door had closed behind Will Jones, and he was visible through the window crossing the yard and striding back towards his lease with his chin up and arms swinging, Henry Sutton grinned at Johnson.
‘You can let go of the butt of that revolver. Jones is going to play along.’
Johnson took his hand from the pocket of his jacket. ‘Will Jones is a rogue pigeon – and I’ve said it right from the start. He won’t fly with the flock.’
‘I agree with you. That’s why I sent you over to work on the lease with him.’
‘Seems like I’m not wanted there any more in any case – and that’s fine by me. But who’s gonna keep an eye on him now?’
Sutton shrugged, ‘Five pounds a week will keep him quiet until after the float.’
‘I’m not so sure.’
‘Trust me. Will Jones will take the money and shut his mouth.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
Sutton stabbed the butt of his cigar into the cut-glass ash tray, ‘In that case, there are plenty of old mine shafts around, that a careless larrikin like Will Jones might fall into.’
***
When Will returned from the meeting, Sam and Lainey were sitting in their places near the fire, with quart pots of tea and slices of oatmeal and honey cake, still hot from the camp oven. Will took a seat, and passed on everything that Henry Sutton had told him, talking between mouthfuls of cake and gulps of tea.
‘We’re to be paid five pounds a week for five weeks, until this company thing floats on some stock exchange, whatever the devil that means.’ He looked at Sam. ‘I guess you’d know what it’s all about.’
‘I know enough,’ said Sam. ‘They tryin’ to make a lot of money out of nothing. Rich men makin’ more money from poor fellows like us.’
‘Five weeks,’ Lainey repeated. ‘Joe should be back by then an’ we can ride off together. Where’s Johnson?’
There was a loud arrrk, arrrk from above, and they all looked skyward as four or five red-tailed black cockatoos flew over from west to east. The graceful birds had always seemed like good luck to Will, but now he wasn’t so sure.
‘Johnson ain’t comin’ back,’ said Will when the birds had receded over the hills. ‘I told ‘im not to show ‘is face here again – I’ll bet a penny to a pound that ‘e was only ‘ere to spy on us fer Sutton. Oh he knew how to work, I’ll give ‘im that, but ‘e was prob’ly tellin’ Sutton every word we said.’
‘Ah bugger that,’ spat Lainey. ‘Spies and all. Come on Will, what d’ya reckon? Can’t we just ride off?’
Will shook his head. ‘Five weeks of digging a wee bit of rock for five pound a week is better than we’ll get anywhere else. Let’s keep on until the cheques stop, then if Jim’s back all well an’ good. We’ll go find somethin’ better.’
Lainey clamped her lips together and gave an emphatic nod. ‘Well I say we should live it up while we’re here. There’s that little tavern down at Wilga. We can get ten ton a week out of this barsted shaft without hardly trying, an’ have a good time whole we’re at it.’
Will grinned back at her. ‘You ain’t had a flash a’ brilliance in five years, Lainey, but that’s a fine thought.’
Sam heaved a sigh and came to his feet. ‘Drink, work, yeah orright, but I wish Jim was back here. Things ain’t the same without that fellow.’
Will looked down at the smouldering fire. Sam was right. They needed Jim back.
© Greg Barron 2022
New chapter next Sunday.
Image credit: State Library of South Australia
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