Jack & Harry (32 page)

‘OK. We believe you, boss, don't we, Harry?'

‘Yeah, guess so. Thanks, boss, for arranging it for us.'

‘Right you are. There's one other thing though.' He paused waiting for their attention. ‘I'm not your boss any more and I'm sure we'll run into each other again. It may be a big country but life has a habit of bringing friends together out here. Next time we meet I'm not
boss
or
Mr Cooper
…you call me Tom, OK?'

They loaded their gear carefully on Dolly, lashed their blueys to the saddles and checked their saddlebags. Reynold was waiting as they worked, with his meagre belongings tied in a sugarbag to his stock saddle.

Toffy stood by the wagon, watching the boys prepare for the next leg of their journey, knowing he was going to miss these two young lads. He had been on a drove before with Reynold and liked his company also but there was something special about these blokes. They were determined, willing and caught on quick. He had no doubts they would find opal, probably lots of it.

Tom Cooper rode in as they were about to mount up. He told them he had received a message to say that Warri had been airlifted to hospital in Adelaide and was responding well to treatment. This news buoyed their spirits, particularly Reynold who was beaming.

‘Yu 'ear that news? I tol' yu uncle Warri 'e gonna be all right, eh?'

They said goodbye to the team drovers but couldn't see Wandoo. Shaking hands with Toffy and Tom Cooper they climbed into the saddles but found it hard to just ride out, as it seemed so final. Toffy had disappeared somewhere behind the wagon and Tom Cooper walked to his horse.

‘Gotta go,' he said. ‘There's a buyer due shortly from Adelaide. Have a good trip and keep in touch when you can. See ya.' He touched his hand to the brim of his hat in a friendly salute then kicked his horse into a canter toward town without looking back.

The three young riders had only gone some yards when a ‘whooping' figure on a galloping horse came up fast from out of the dunes. Pulling the horse to a slithering stop in front of them, Wandoo said breathlessly, ‘nearly miss yu blokes, eh?'

‘We looked for you, mate, but couldn't find ya. Glad ya turned up.'

‘I bin out on reserve camp, Jack. Got somethin' for yu though.'

Wandoo took two beautifully crafted leather stockwhips from the pommel of his saddle. He handed one each to Jack and Harry. ‘Jus' to say thanks.'

Before they could respond, Wandoo wheeled his horse without another word and returned over the dunes swallowed by the dust, leaving the boys to just stare in wonder at this gift of friendship.

‘Makes ya stop and think doesn't it, Harry? We've lived all our lives in the city and been out here only a coupla months and made more friends, good ones at that, than we ever had back there.'

Jack Ferguson slumped back in the comfortable leather seat of Bill Martin's Ford watching the desert blur past the window as they neared Marree. ‘Not all that different out here to much of the other outback country is it, Bill?'

‘There are certainly similarities. There's not much in the way of trees and plenty of red dust and spinifex out here but that's like a lot of Western Australia country too. We've maybe got more salt lakes though.'

‘Yeah, and there are pockets in Queensland and the back country of New South Wales much the same, the Territory too.'

‘Not far away now. We'll inspect these cattle first then have a couple of beers in the pub and make our offer in the morning if the stock is as good as I'm told they are.' Bill Martin looked at his watch, ‘Made good time, Jack.'

‘At this speed we could go back tonight,' he joked.

‘Marree dead ahead.' Martin nodded through the windshield at the shimmering buildings materialising out of the desert in front of the bonnet. ‘Look at that!' He slowed the Ford to point through the window, ‘Don't see that too much these days.'

‘A camel train!' Jack spotted the line of animals strung out and silhouetted against the sky some distance to the left heading west into the sun. ‘Don't often see riders on horseback with them either,' he said, noticing the three horsemen trailing the camels, leading a pack animal.

‘That's true. Wonder who they are?'

‘Just some silly buggers heading out into the heat.' Jack wiped sweat from his brow. ‘Give me a comfy bed with a couple of coldies anytime, Bill. Don't fancy camping in the open like those blokes have to.'

An image flashed briefly into his mind as he spoke, of his son Jack and young Harry Turner, camped on the ground near some old abandoned mine shaft out of Kalgoorlie or Coolgardie or wherever the hell they were, with not enough to eat and in rags. He quickly dismissed the thought, as blocking these images out when they came was the only way he had learned to survive. Otherwise he would be a mental wreck and no good to anyone, his son included.

‘Let's find this Tom Cooper and check the mob out before the light fails.' Bill Martin swung the big Ford into a park at the front of the hotel. They both noticed one of the front plate-glass windows was boarded up.

The boys soon learned that their first impressions of Ishmo were very wrong. He certainly looked strange and talked differently from anybody they had ever met but he proved to be a wealth of knowledge about many things and two in particular … camels and opal mining. The information on camels didn't interest them too much as they couldn't see how anyone could love these long-legged, awkward-looking animals like Ishmo seemed to do. They had to admit though as the trip progressed that they weren't as bad tempered as they first appeared and when they were on the trek, roped together, were docile and gentle. The animals protested loudly though every morning as they were being harnessed.

The pace was slow. Ishmo explained one night that to force camels to walk fast was a mistake, as the animals would cover more ground if allowed to set their own rhythmical speed of around three miles an hour. They could walk all day, heavily loaded, without stopping at this pace he said.

‘And they don't need to drink because they store water in that big hump don't they, Ishmo?' Harry sounded knowledgeable.

‘Oh, no, no, no!' Ishmo waved his hands emphasising his dismay. ‘Not in the hump, goodness no. Hump is food.'

‘Food?' Harry was amazed.

‘Not food but … how you say it? Yes, yes … fat.' He bobbed his head several times, white teeth flashing from his dark bearded face as he smiled. ‘Camel not drink much all time, no. Camel not wanting much water.'

‘Think I'll stick with horses, Ishmo,' Harry said.

‘Horse good yes … but to ride the camel …' Ishmo shrugged his shoulders without explaining as if words could not describe the experience.

‘Could I have a ride sometime, Ishmo?' Jack asked.

He nodded to Jack then looked at Harry and Reynold. ‘You like ride the camel?'

Harry wasn't too excited about the prospect but Jack urged him on ‘Go on, Harry, it'd be fun. Bet I can ride better than you,' He goaded.

‘You're on, then.' Harry turned to Reynold. ‘Reynold, you in are you?'

‘Yu bloke mad. Rennol 'e not ridin' no camel. That final!' He walked purposefully away from the fire leaving no room for argument. Jack realised then that, although competent on horseback and fearless in the saddle, he was terrified of the camels.

They learned from Ishmo through sign language, broken English and a lot of laughter more about camels than they really needed to know. That their eyes had lashes with brows that kept the sand and sun out and that their noses were just slits with muscles inside so flies or dust couldn't get in. They learned that a camel's two-toed feet were wide and a bit like snowshoes for walking on the sand and had thick pads to walk over stones without damage on uneven ground. The coats were short now in summer but in colder weather, Ishmo said, grew some inches long which was highly valued and that they had incredible eyesight able to see for miles. A camel could survive in 100-degree heat they learned, for more than two weeks without water.

Averaging around thirty to forty miles a day the boys' excitement grew with each sunrise. Coober Pedy, their goal when they left Perth, was now only days away. The route Ishmo followed travelled back over much of the country they had covered coming down from Anna Creek to Marree and although they eventually were on station property they passed many miles south west of the actual homestead.

Ishmo's other favourite subject was opal mining. He explained to them that he wanted to look for opal but couldn't leave his beloved camels that had been his life since arriving as a boy with a load of them many years before. The boys couldn't determine his age but figured he must be well over seventy. He hadn't needed any papers to come to Australia when he did as he was considered just part of the package when the camels were shipped. Ishmo had never married as there were no Afghan brides to be found and he had lived an almost hermit-like existence, shunned by all except a few whites and his fellow cameleers.

‘You know a lot about opal mining then, Ishmo?' Harry asked.

Shrugging his shoulders, an expression he had perfected to aid his limited command of the language, he said, ‘No, no. Little bit, yes.' The boys knew this meant practically all there was to know.

‘How did you learn, Ishmo?'

‘Come Coober Pedy many trip. I watch, I listen.'

‘Have you ever found opal then?' Jack asked.

‘Small chip, off ground.' He acted a charade, walking around eyes searching the sand then stooping to pick up an imaginary stone and examining it. ‘Ahhh good, yes.' His theatrics almost had the boys believing he had actually
found
a stone there in the dunes.

‘So you've never been mining, you know, digging for opal?' Jack was suddenly embarrassed when he found himself imitating digging with a shovel.

‘No, no, no mine. Well yes, yes, small mine.' He looked confused unable to explain clearly then became agitated. Ishmo could understand English but command of the spoken word had eluded him all his life frustrating him incredibly. It was at this point that people usually thought he was an imbecile and walked away so he was surprised when Jack continued patiently.

‘Go on, Ishmo, you haven't done any digging for opal you say.'

‘Yes, no digging.'

‘What about the
small mine
you mentioned? Harry asked.

‘Small mine? No, no digging.' He shook his head in frustration breaking out in his native tongue.

‘Well, Ishmo, you've done better than us,' Jack said. ‘You can understand and speak our language but we can't speak or understand yours at all.'

Overwhelmed by the wisdom of this young Australian boy and his acceptance of Ishmo's speech difficulties without ridicule quite humbled the Afghan. ‘We stop now. Tomorrow I talk better.'

The following night sitting around the small fire with mugs of tea Ishmo put the pannikin down on the sand and went to his bedroll returning with a worn chamois leather pouch secured with a thong. Untying the knot he withdrew some dog-eared pieces of paper and leafed through them. Squinting in the dull flickering firelight he selected one page that he handed to Jack, nodding for him to read it.

Jack examined the document for a minute without understanding but then it dawned on him what it was. ‘This is a claim on a mine at Coober Pedy,' he said, looking up at the Afghan.

‘Yes, yes!' He bobbed his head smiling. ‘Yes, small mine, no digging.'

‘You have a claim on a small mine?' Jack spoke slowly as he thought it through. ‘But you haven't mined it yet. Is that what you mean, Ishmo?'

‘Yes, no mining yet.'

Communicating was difficult so there were a number of times when the boys misunderstood Ishmo's explanations and collapsed in fits of laughter but Ishmo didn't get upset at these times and instead he laughed with them
. You have not laughed like this in many years, Ishmael,
he said to himself.
This is good.