Into the pan, carried it out to the corrugated iron water tank beside

the front door and filled the pan from the tap.

Sean followed him and they sat together on the front step. Duff worked

the pan, using a practised dip and swing that set the contents spinning

like a whirlpool and slopped a little over the front lip with each turn.

He filled it again with clean water.

Suddenly Sean felt Duff stiffen beside him. He glanced at his face and

saw that his hangover had gone; his lips were shut in a thin line and

his bloodshot eyes were fastened on the pan.

Sean looked down and saw the gleam through the water, like the flash of

a trout's belly as it turns to take the fly. He felt the excitement

prickle up his arms and lift the hair on his neck.

Quickly Duff splashed fresh water into the pan; three more turns and he

flicked it out again. They sat still, not speaking staring at the

golden tail curved round the bottom of the pan. How much money have you

got? Duff asked without looking up.

little over a thousand. As much as that. Excellent! I can raise about

five hundred but I'll throw in my mining experience. Equal partners, do

you agree? Yes. Then why are we sitting here? I'm going down. to the

bank. Meet me on the edge of town in half an hour. What about your

job? Sean asked.

I hate the smell of coal, the hell with my job. What about Charlie?

Charlie is a poisoner, the hell with Charlie. They camped that night in

the mouth of the pass with the mountains standing up before them. They

had pushed the pace all that afternoon and the horses were tired they

turned their tails to the wind and cropped at the dry winter grass.

Mbejane built a fire in the shelter of a red stone outcrop and they

huddled beside it brewing coffee, trying to keep out of the snow-cold

wind, but it came down off the mountains and blew a plume of sparks from

the fire. They ate; then Mbejane curled up beside the fire, pulled his

kaross over his head and did not move again until morning.

How far is it to this place? Sean asked. I don't know, Duff admitted.

We'll go up through the pass tomorrow, fifty or sixty miles through the

mountains, and then we'll be out into the high veld. Perhaps another

week's riding after that. Are we chasing rainbows? Sean poured more

coffee into the mugs.

I'll tell you when we get there Duff picked up his mug and cupped his

hands around it. One thhing is certain that sample was stinking with

gold. If there's much of that stuff around somebody's going to get

rich. Us, perhaps? I've been on gold stampedes before. The first ones

in make the killings. We might find the ground for fifty miles around

as thick with claim pegs as quills on a porcupine's back.

Duff sipped noisily at his coffee. But we've got money, that's our ace

in the hole. If we peg a proposition we've got capital to work it. If

we're too late we can buy claims from the brokers. If we can't, well,

there're other ways of getting gold than grubbing for it, a store, a

saloon, a transport business, take your pick. Duff flicked the coffee

grounds out of his mug. With money in your pocket you're somebody;

without it anyone can kick you in the teeth. He took a long black

cheroot out of his top pocket and offered it to Sean. Sean shook his

head and Duff bit the tip from the cheroot and spat it into the fire. He

picked up a burning twig and lit it, sucking with content. Where did

you learn mining, Duff? Canada. The wind whipped the smoke away from

his mouth as Duff exhaled. You've been around? I have, laddie. It's

too damn cold to sleep; we'll talk instead. For a guinea I'll tell you

the story of my life. Tell me first, I'll see if it's worth it! Sean

pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and waited. Your credit is

good, agreed Duff. He paused dramatically. I was born thirty-one years

ago, fourth and youngest son to the sixteenth Baron Roxby, that is, not

counting the others who never made it to puberty Blue blood, said Sean.

Of course, just look at my nose. But please don't interrupt. Very

early in the game my father, the sixteenth Baron, dispelled with a

horsewhip any natural affection we may have owed him. Like Henry the

Eighth he preferred children in the abstract. We kept out of his way

and that suited everybody admirably. A sort of armed truce. Dear

father had two great passions in life: horses and women. During his

sixty-two glorious years he acquired a fine collection of both. My

fifteen-year-old cousin, a comely wench as I recall, was his last and

unattained ambition. He took her riding every day and fingered her most

outrageously as he helped her in and out of the saddle. She told me

about it with giggles. However father's horse, a commendably moral

creature, cut short the pursuit by kicking father on the head,

presumably in the middlle of one of these touching scenes.

Poor father was never the same again. In fact so much was he altered by

this experience that two days later, to the doleful clangour of bells

and a collective sigh of relief from his sons and his neighbours who

owned daughters, they buried him. Dufford leaned forward and prodded

the fire.

It was all very sad. I or any of my brothers could have told father

that not only was my cousin comely but she had the family sporting

instincts developed to a remarkable degree After all who should know

better than we?

We were her cousins and you know how cousins will be cousins. Anyway

father never found out and to this day I feel guilty, I should have told

him. He would have died happier . . . Do I bore you? No, go on.

I've had half a guinea's worth already, Sean laughed.

Father's untimely decease made no miraculous changes in my life. The

seventeenth Baron, brother Tom, once he had the title was every bit as

tight-fisted and unpleasant as father had been. There I was at nineteen

on an allowance too small to enable me to pursue the family hobbies,

gathering mould in a grim old castle forty miles from London, with the

development of my sensitive soul being inhibited by the undiluted

company of my barbaric brothers.

I left with three months advance allowance clutched in my sweaty palm

and the farewells of my brothers ringing in my ears. The most

sentimental of these was

"don't bother to write!

Everybody was going to Canada: it seemed like a good idea so I went too.

I made money and spent it. I made women and spent them also, but the

cold got to me in the end. Duff's cheroot had died; he re-lit it and

looked at Sean.

It was so cold you couldn't urinate without getting frostbite on your

equipment, so I began to think of lands trropical, of white beaches and

sun, of exotic fruits and even more exotic maidens. The peculiar

circumstances that finally decided me to leave are painful to recall and

we will not dwell upon them. I left, to say the least, under a cloud.

So here you see me freezing slowly to death, with a bearded ruffian for

company and not an exotic maiden within a day's ride. 'A stirring tale,

well told, applauded Sean.

One story deserves another, let's hear your tale of woe. Sean's smile

slid off his face. Born and bred here in Natal. Left home a week or so

ago, also in painful circumstances! A woman? asked Duff with deep

compassion. A woman, agreed Sean. The sweet bitches, sighed Duff. How