Free Kiwi Wars by Garry Douglas Kilworth Page B

fine, mind you, but I accept that, to clear my name. Why would I want to besmirch it again? Not on your life. I’m a man with gold in his pocket, but I like somethin’ to do, in the way of business, see, gold or no gold.’
    ‘I can understand that. A man should be busy in this world or he feels useless. By the way, what happened to your two partners? Are they in New Zealand?’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘You told your brother you had two pals with you . . . when you discovered the gold . . .’
    Abe Wynter stuck two fingers up at the waiter and, having made his order, bent down close again.
    ‘Ha, there’s a sad tale, to be sure. You see, after we sold the nugget we didn’t know about this fine business. The navy was after us and they came to the goldfield, looking for deserters. We didn’t know what to do. We was scared if we turned ourselves in we’d be lashed or hung and the money took from us. So we did the only thing we could do – we run. We run off into the outback of Australia.’ He paused. ‘We went what the natives there call
walkabout.
’Cept we run instead of walked. Truth to say, we was lost almost afore we started. That there outback country is the very devil. It all looks the same. I swear I saw the same white broken tree a thousand times, yet it was different ones. There’s nothin’ but dry creeks, dust holes and bloody snakes and lizards out there, I can vouch for that. Water? We didn’t see a drop for days. We roasted under a blisterin’ cruel sun, our skins as red as soldiers’ coatees. Our mouths cracked and slimed over. Danny, he went stone blind with the sheer hard whiteness of the light comin’ off the sand.’
    Abe Wynter licked his lips and looked longingly towards the doorway through which his cool beer would appear.
    ‘Then one day some Abos found us. They took us to a creek and dug us out some muddy water. It was a bloody blessin’, I’ll tell you that, Cap’n. We drunk our fill, but the Abos vanished the same way they come, and though we stayed a week by the waterhole, we was startin’ to starve. I tried catchin’ them lizards, but they was quicker’n roaches when they wanted to be. Anyways, we knew we couldn’t stay there for ever, so we started walking again, this time usin’ our canvas hats to carry some water with us. 01’ Danny, he didn’t make it though. Died of the sun on his neck, he did. Went down like a felled tree and cracked his head open on a rock. We left him there, Striker an’ me not knowing if we was next for the Lord’s back pocket. He was on our side, though, Cap’n, ’cause we found a dirt track that led to a farm, and so providence delivered us two poor unfortunates back to the livin’.’
    Jack recalled that Abe’s brother Harry had walked from the Crimea to India, to help quell the Indian Mutiny. A hellish, desperate march that had cost the lives of most of those who had started out. But Harry Wynter had survived, and once again he marvelled at the Wynters’ fortitude and resilience. This was obviously a family of survivors. Not without complaint though, because Harry at least never ceased complaining. The stamina in these two brothers was nothing short of remarkable. Others fell away, but they dug in, carried on, refused to go down. Both were scarred and ravaged men, with haunted eyes, but they were very much alive.
    ‘That’s an extraordinary story, Mr Wynter. And where is Mr Striker now?’
    ‘Striker’s his nickname. His proper name was Strickland. Oh, he’s back in England somewhere. He don’t like this part of the world and who can blame him. It’s not a place for home-lovin’ men.’
    The beer came and Abe Wynter immediately ordered two more, despite Jack’s protests.
    Jack said he would send Abe Wynter a map of the region he preferred for his farm. Wynter said he could not promise anything, for many Maoris were ‘dead reluctant’ to sell. Jack repeated his warning that he wanted nothing that was illegal or even illicit. He might