Free East of Outback by Sandra Dengler

newcomers. The two dozen men in this stuffy little pub sat at the tables with their backs turned to the door, or hung off the bar, watching some speaker in the corner. A miner by dress and language, the orator harangued about the shabby way all those t’other-siders treated Westralians, calling them sandgropers and ignoring their unique needs, and how the Perth people made no effort to help. Perth was as bad as Sydney, when it came to support. “Secede!” bellowed the orator. “They claim they need us, but they’re not ready to do anything for us. We abso-bloody-lutely don’t need them!”
    Colin led the way to the only available table in the place, a little round wobbly one in the back corner. He flopped in a chair, grateful to be sitting on something that didn’t require straddling. Lily sat down with her back to the room.
    Dizzy smirked, “Always heard there’s lots happening in Kalgoorlie, but if I knew it was politics I woulda stayed home. I find someone to wait on us.” And he wandered off to the bar.
    Did Lily seem nervous? It looked so to Colin. He took off his hat and hung it on his knee. He ran his fingers through his dirty hair. Tonight he would purchase hotel rooms, a single for each of them—bathing facilities, a comfortable bed with sheets and a real pillow, electric lights.
    Dizzy was back. “They got mutton stew or beef and potatoes. Whatya want?”
    “Beef.” Colin looked at Lily. She hesitated, then nodded. “And tea. Get a big pot of tea.”
    Dizzy grinned. “This is gonna be pretty good; get to eat something I didn’ hafta shoot first.” He walked away. Perhaps Dizzy missed civilization as much as Colin did.
    Civilization. Colin thought of the family camping he had once known; how Mum and Papa enjoyed getting away from town for a while. Colin wondered where they’d come from originally. None of Papa’s current friends had known him as a youth. Either he had cashed in his old friends on a complete set of new ones, or he came from somewhere other than Sydney. Colin didn’t know. He did feel Mum had been a city girl back in Ireland, many years ago—before she knew Papa.
    His family had camped occasionally as a form of relaxation from the busyness of city life. Colin had just spent the last nine weeks camping and now looked forward to a comfortable respite in this city. Fate behaved as weirdly as their animals.
    Dizzy returned with a pint of ale. He settled in a chair to watch the political process that made Australia unique—oratory lubricated liberally with alcohol.
    He finally removed his hat to scratch his head. When Colin mentioned a hotel with a bath, a broad grin spread across Dizzy’s tanned features. He leaned forward. “I asked where all the trees north of town went. They said they all got cut down for firewood to stoke the deesa, deeso—the plant where they take the salt outta the water. All the water here is salty.”
    “Desalinizing plant. Every tree, you say?”
    “Looks so. Tha’s a lotta water to distill.”
    The tea came, and eventually plates mounded high with beef, potatoes and carrots. Colin was not fond of carrots, but right now they looked good.
    As he picked up his fork, his conscience was pricked. He had not asked a blessing on his food—something he never did anymore. Somehow, out on the track, it didn’t seem quite so important. Here at a table, with silverware and plates and the other accouterments of civilization, the sin of omission smarted fiercely. He closed his eyes a moment and hypocritically prayed to a God he was not the least sure existed. Then he dug in, and theological considerations slipped away. Real gravy. Aaahh.
    Presently Colin became aware of a hulking form near his elbow. A burly miner was standing at their table. He stared at Lily. “Don’t I know ye from somewhere?” Irish. He had the same accent Colin’s mum used when she was very tired.
    The huge eyes glanced up and quickly flicked away. Lily muttered, “No, sir. I’m new