With the cigar and pipe smoke rising in the dimly lit room adjacent to Mary Flats cat house, Seargent A.R Coster steps towards Andrew Hoist driving another swift sharp blow to check bone of the young diggers face, "ENOUGH" hollows Justice Gray, "how in the devil do you believe to extract information from a man with half his bloody head caved in"
The young diggers mind wanders back some months to when arriving on the goldfields, he rembers the cool misty morning air as the ox cart traversed the top of Mt Alexandera.
The whole time the young digger imagining fortunes found on the fields promised by returning sailors and common folk who were boarding ships for the long sail home, sneaking they're gold in cans and lockers hidden and guarded closely from government officials and thief alike.
Thundering horse hooves crack the still cool air as the gold escort heads toward them, "don't stare at them boy" a husky voice breaks the diggers stare,
"Put a bullet in your eye at a hundred yards before this piss from your pants had time to run down your leg"
Laughter breaks out amount the cart as the older of the group leans forward hand stretched out and states "the names Canadian Jackson" " and who would you be boy"
"names Andrew Hoist sir"
"Sir!"
"Hahaa, you have a lot to learn boy"
The laughter drops off as the gold escort approaches, 1000yard stares await each digger on the ox cart as the escort passes by hands on musket hammers and pistols alike, the two pass each other as the escort picks up pace on its way south to deliver the next load of the Queens gold.
CRACK!!, a swift dig into the ribs, another well delt blow from Seargent Coster re awaking the barely conscious young digger,
"talk lad, or I'll throw you a beating so bad, you'll never step foot out of this piss stained shite hole"
The tall broad shoulderd Seargent standing over the top of the young digger, sweat and saliva running from his whiskery ginger beard, clenches his fists for another hollowing blow,
"Hold", a voice says from the background,
"tell us where it is and you can go"
The young digger lifts his hand opens his mouth to speak, and collapses before being able to utter a word,
"DAM IT MAN" yells Justice Gray, " I bloody well told you a DEAD MAN cannot talk"
"Make still your fists Seargent, he's had enough for the moment"
Four men retire to the rear of the room,
"I tell you sir the boy knows of its location, he's in it up to his neck I tell ya"
" I'm finding it more and more difficult to believe you Seargent, considering the beating you have thrown to the lad"
" I highly doubt continued beating will allow the boy to succumb, but we need to find it"
"agreance with you all I find myself in, but alas, time is running short, shan't we find it by noon tomorrow, Tis our heads that will be piked"
"Our heads indeed" says the shadow'y figure remaining in the dark, "for the secret society that has employed us to recover it, have been well known to cut short contracts" running his finger across the front of his throat.
A flutter of an eye lid goes unnoticed, the reshuffling in the old blood stained wooden chair passes without the attention of the four figures standing in the dimly lit smoke stained room, a smirk appears upon the face of the young digger, as he says to himself,
"You'll never bloody find it, The Britt and The Turk have it now, and they've cut down men ten times your worth"
The smirk dissapears from the young diggers face as the concussive blows from Seargents fists take their toll.
To be continued.......
The young diggers mind wanders back some months to when arriving on the goldfields, he rembers the cool misty morning air as the ox cart traversed the top of Mt Alexandera.
The whole time the young digger imagining fortunes found on the fields promised by returning sailors and common folk who were boarding ships for the long sail home, sneaking they're gold in cans and lockers hidden and guarded closely from government officials and thief alike.
Thundering horse hooves crack the still cool air as the gold escort heads toward them, "don't stare at them boy" a husky voice breaks the diggers stare,
"Put a bullet in your eye at a hundred yards before this piss from your pants had time to run down your leg"
Laughter breaks out amount the cart as the older of the group leans forward hand stretched out and states "the names Canadian Jackson" " and who would you be boy"
"names Andrew Hoist sir"
"Sir!"
"Hahaa, you have a lot to learn boy"
The laughter drops off as the gold escort approaches, 1000yard stares await each digger on the ox cart as the escort passes by hands on musket hammers and pistols alike, the two pass each other as the escort picks up pace on its way south to deliver the next load of the Queens gold.
CRACK!!, a swift dig into the ribs, another well delt blow from Seargent Coster re awaking the barely conscious young digger,
"talk lad, or I'll throw you a beating so bad, you'll never step foot out of this piss stained shite hole"
The tall broad shoulderd Seargent standing over the top of the young digger, sweat and saliva running from his whiskery ginger beard, clenches his fists for another hollowing blow,
"Hold", a voice says from the background,
"tell us where it is and you can go"
The young digger lifts his hand opens his mouth to speak, and collapses before being able to utter a word,
"DAM IT MAN" yells Justice Gray, " I bloody well told you a DEAD MAN cannot talk"
"Make still your fists Seargent, he's had enough for the moment"
Four men retire to the rear of the room,
"I tell you sir the boy knows of its location, he's in it up to his neck I tell ya"
" I'm finding it more and more difficult to believe you Seargent, considering the beating you have thrown to the lad"
" I highly doubt continued beating will allow the boy to succumb, but we need to find it"
"agreance with you all I find myself in, but alas, time is running short, shan't we find it by noon tomorrow, Tis our heads that will be piked"
"Our heads indeed" says the shadow'y figure remaining in the dark, "for the secret society that has employed us to recover it, have been well known to cut short contracts" running his finger across the front of his throat.
A flutter of an eye lid goes unnoticed, the reshuffling in the old blood stained wooden chair passes without the attention of the four figures standing in the dimly lit smoke stained room, a smirk appears upon the face of the young digger, as he says to himself,
"You'll never bloody find it, The Britt and The Turk have it now, and they've cut down men ten times your worth"
The smirk dissapears from the young diggers face as the concussive blows from Seargents fists take their toll.
To be continued.......
