I love them.

The pass ran like a twisted gut through the Drakensberg.

The mountains stood up sheer and black on each side of them, so they

rode in shadow and saw the sun only for a few hours in the middle of the

day. Then the mountains dropped away and they were out into the open.

Open was the word for the high veld. It stretched away flat and empty,

grass and brown grass dwindling to a distant meeting with the pale empty

sky. But the loneliness could not blunt the edge of their excitement:

each mile covered, each successive camp along the ribbon road ground it

sharper until at last they saw the name in writing for the first time.

Forlorn as a scarecrow in a ploughed land the signpost pointed right and

said, Pretoria, pointed left and said, Witwatersrand.

The Ridge of White Waters, whispered Sean. It had a ring to it that

name, a ring like a hundred millions in gold.

We're not the first, muttered Duff. The left-hand fork of the road was

deeply scored by the passage of many wagons.

No time to worry about that. Sean had the gold sickness on him now.

There's a little speed left in these makes, let's use it. It came up on

the horizon as a low line above the emptiness, a ridge of hills like a

hundred others they had crossed. They went up it and from the top

looked down.

Two ridges ran side by side, north and south, four miles or so apart. In

the shallow valley between they could see the flash of the sun off the

swamp pools that gave the hills their name.

Look at them, groaned Sean.

The tents and wagons were scattered along the length of the valley and

in between them the prospect trenches were raw wounds through the grass.

The trenches were concentrated along a line down the centre of the

valley.

That's the strike of the reef, said Duff, and we're too late, it's all

pegged! How do you know? protested Sean. Use your eyes, laddie. It's

all gone. There might be some they've overlooked These boys overlook

nothing. Let's go down and I'll show you. Duff prodded his horse and

they started down.

He spoke over his shoulder to Sean. Look up there near that stream,

they aren't wasting time. They've got a mill going already. It's a

four-stamp rig by the looks of it They rode into one of the Luger

encampments of tents and wagons; there were women at work around the

fires and the smell of food brought saliva jetting from under Sean's

tongue. There were men also, sitting among the wagons waiting for their

suppers.

I'm going to ask some of these characters what's going on here, said

Sean. He climbed down off his horse and tossed the reins to Mbejane.

Duff watched him with a wry grin as he tried in succession to engage

three different men in conversation. Each time Sean's victim avoided

his eyes, mumbled vaguely and withdrew. Sean finally gave up and came

back to the horses.

What's wrong with me, he asked plaintively. Have I got a contagious

clap? Duff chuckled. They've got gold sickness he said.You're a

potential rival. You could die of thirst and not one of them would spit

on you, lest it gave you strength to crawl out and peg something they

hadn't noticed. He sobered We're wasting time. There's an hour left

before dark, let's go and have a look for ourselves They trotted out

towards the area of mauled earth. Men were working pick and shovel in

the trenches, some of them lean and tough-looking with a dozen natives

working beside them; others fat from an office stool, sweating and

gritting teeth against the pain of blistered palms, their faces and arms

burnt angry red by the sun. All of them greeted Sean and Duff with the

same suspicious hostility.

They rode slowly towards the north and every hundred yards with

sickening regularity they came across a claim peg with a cairn of stones

around its foot and the scrap of canvas nailed to it. Printed in crude

capitals on the canvas was the owner's name and his licence number.

Many of the claims were as yet untouched and on these Duff dismounted

and searched in the grass, picking up pieces of rock and peering at them

before discarding them again. Then once more they moved on with sinking

spirits and increasing exhaustion. They camped after dark on the open

windy ridge and while the coffee brewed they talked.

We're too late. Sean scowled into the fire.

We've got money, laddie, just remember that. Most of these gentlemen

are broke, they are living on hope, not beef and potatoes. Look at

their faces and you'll see despair starting to show. It takes capital

to work reef gold: you need machinery and money for wages, you have to

pipe in water and pile rock, you need wagons and time. Money's no good

without a claim to work, brooded Sean.

Stay with me, laddie. Have you noticed how many of these claims haven't

been touched yet? They belong to speculators and my guess is that they

are for sale. In the next few weeks you'll see the men sorted out from

the boys! feel like packing up. This isn't what I expected. You're

tired. Sleep well tonight and tomorrow we'll see how far this reef

runs, then we'll start some scheming.

Duff lit one of his cheroots, and sucked on it: in the firelight his

face was as punt as a Red Indian's. They sat on in silence for a while,

then Sean spoke.

What's that noise? It was a dull torn-torn beat in the darkness.

You'll get used to that if you stay around here much longer, said Duff.

It's the stamps on that mill we saw from the high ground. It's a mile or

so farther up the valley; we'll pass it in the morning.

They were on the move again before the sun was up and they came to the

mill in the morning's uncertain light. The mill crouched black and ugly

on the smooth curve of the ridge, defiant as a quixotic monster. Its

jaws thumped sullenly as it chewed the rock; it snorted steam and

screeched metallically.

I didn't realize it was so big, said Sean. It's big all right, agreed

Duff, and they cost money, they don't give them away. Not many men

around here can afford a set-up like that. There were men moving around

the mill, tending its needs, feeding it rock and fussing about the

copper tables over which its gold-laden faeces poured. One of the men

came forward to offer them the usual hospitality. This is private

ground. We don't want sightseers around here keep on going. He was a

dapper little man with a round brown face and a derby hat pulled down to

his ears. His mustache bristled like the whiskers of a fox terrier.

Listen, Francois, you miserable bloody earthworm, if you talk to me like

that I'll push your face around the back of your head, Duff told him,

and the dapper one blinked uncertainly and came closer, peering up at

them.

Who are you? Do I know you?

Duff pushed his hat back so the man could see his face. Duff! crowed

the little man delightedly. It's old Duff. He bounced forward to take

Duff's hand as he dismounted. Sean watched the orgy of reunion with

amusement. It lasted until Duff managed to bring it under control and

lead the little Afrikander across to make the introduction.

Sean, this is Francois du Toit. He's an old friend of mine from the

Kimberley diamond fields. Francois greeted Sean and then relapsed once

more into the excited chorus of Gott, it's good to see you old Duff.

He pounded Duff's back despite the nimble footwork that Duff was using

to spoil his aim. Another few minutes of this passed before Francois

composed himself to make his first coherent statement.

Listen, old Duff, I'm just in the middle of cleaning the amalgam tables.

you and your friend go down to my tent.

I'll be with you in half an hour, tell my servant to make breakfast. I

won't be long, man. Gott, man, it's you some good to see you.

An old lover of yours? asked Sean when they were alone.

Duff laughed. We were on the diamond fields together.

I did him a favour once, Pulled him Out Of a caving drive when the rock

fall had broken his legs- He's a good little guy and meeting him here is

the proverbial answer to a prayer. What he can't tell us about this

goldfield no one else can. Francois came bustling into the tent well

under the promised half hour and during breakfast Sean was an outsider

in a conversation where every exchange began, you remember -? or what

happened to old so and so?

Then, when the plates were empty and the coffee mugs filled, Duff asked,

so, what are you doing here, Franz? Is this your own outfit? No, I'm

still with the Company. Not that whoreson Hradsky? Duff registered

mock alarm. That, that that's ta, to, terrible, he imitated a stutter.

Cut it out, Duff. Francois looked nervous. Don't do that, you want me

to lose my job? Duff turned to Sean with an explanation-'Norman Hradsky

and God are equals, but in this part of the world God takes his orders

from Hradsky.

Cut it out, Duff. Francois was deeply shocked but Duff went on