I've ever worked for.

Nothing personal, but I'll be vragtig glad to see the last of this load.

Duff was wrong, it took much longer than a month. The rust had eaten

deep into parts of the machinery and each bolt they twisted open was red

with the scaly cancer.

They worked the usual twelve-hour day chipping and scraping filing and

greasing, knuckles knocked raw against steel and palms wet and red where

the blisters had burst.

Then one day suddenly and miraculously they were finished. Along the

ridge of the Candy Deep, neat and sweet smelling in its new paint, thick

with yellow grease and waiting only to be fitted together, lay the

dismembered mill.

How long has it taken us so far? Duff asked. It seems like a hundred

years. Is that all? Duff feigned surprise. Then I declare a holiday,

two day's of meditation. You meditate, brother, I'm going to do some

carousing. , That's an excellent alternative, let's go! They started

at Candy's place but she threw them out after the third fight so they

moved on. There were a dozen places to drink at and they tried them

all. Others were celebrating, because the day before old Kruger, the

President of the Republic, had given official recognition to the

goldfields. This had the sole effect of diverting the payments for

mining licences from the pockets of the farmers who owned the land into

the Government coffers. No one worried about that, except possibly the

farmers. Rather it was an excuse for a party. The canteens were packed

with swearing, sweating men. Duff and Sean drank with them.

The Crown and Anchor boards were doing a steady business in every bar

and the men who crowded around them were the new population of the

goldfields. Diggers bare to the waist and caked with dirt, salesmen

with loud clothes and louder voices selling everything from dynamite to

dysentery cure, an evangelist peddling salvation, gamblers mining

pockets, gentlemen trying to keep the tobacco juice off their boots,

boys new-flown from home and wishing themselves back, Boers bearded and

drabsuited, drinking little but watching with inscrutable eyes the

Invaders of their land. Then there were the others, the clerks and

farmers, the rogues and contractors listening greedily to the talk of

gold.

The coloured girl, Martha, came to find Sean and Duff on the afternoon

of the second day. They were in a mudbrick and thatch hut called The

Tavern of the Bright Angels. Duff was doing a solo exhibition of the

Dashing White Sergeant partnered by a chair; Sean and the fifty or so

other customers were beating the rhythm on the bar counter with glasses

and empty bottles.

Martha skittered across to Sean, slapping at the hands that tried to

dive up her skirts and squealing sharply every time her bottom was

pinched. She arrived at Sean's side flushed and breathless. Madame

says you must come quickly, there's big trouble, she gasped and started

to run the gauntlet back to the door. Someone flipped up her dress

behind and a concerted masculine roar approved the fact that she wore

nothing under the petticoats.

Duff was so engrossed in his dancing that Sean had to carry him bodily

out of the bar and dip Ins head in the horse through outside before he

could gain his attention. What the hell did you do that for? spluttered

Duff and swung a round-arm punch at Sean's head. Sean ducked under it

and caught him about the body to save him falling on his back. Candy

wants us, she says there's big trouble. Duff thought about that for a

few seconds, frowning with concentration, then he threw back his head

and sang to the tune of London's Burning, Candy wants us, Candy wants us

We don't want Candy, we want brandy.

He broke out of Sean's grip and headed back for the bar.

Sean caught him again and pointed him in the direction of the Hotel.

Candy was in her bedroom. She looked at the two of them as they swayed

arm-in-arm in the doorway. Did you enjoy your debauch? she asked

sweetly.

Duff mumbled and tried to straighten his coat. Sean tried to steady him

as his feet danced an involuntary sideways jig. What happened to your

eye? she asked Sean and he fingered it tenderly; it was puffed and

blue. Candy didn't wait an answer but went on, still sweetly:Well, if

you two beauties want to own a mine by tomorrow you'd better sober up.

They stared at her and Sean spoke deliberately but nevertheless

indistinctly. Why, what's the matter? They're going to jump the

claims, that's the matter.

This new proclamation of a State goldfield has given the drifters the

excuse they've been waiting for. About a hundred of them have formed a

syndicate. They claim that the old titles aren't legal any more; they

are going to pull out the pegs and put in their own. Duff walked

without a stagger across to the washbasin beside Candy's bed; he

splashed his face, towelled it vigorously then stooped and kissed her.

Thanks, my sweet. Duff, please be careful, Candy called after them.

Let's see if we can't hire a few mercenaries, Sean suggested. Good

idea, we'll try and find a few sober characters there should be some in

Candy's dining-room. They made a short detour on their way back, to the

mine and stopped at Francois's tent; it was dark by then and Francois

came out in a freshly ironed nightshirt. He raised an eyebrow when he

saw the five heavily armed men with Sean and Duff.

You going hunting? he asked.

Duff told him quickly and Francois was hopping with agitation before he

had finished. Steal my claims, the thunders, the stinking thunders!

He rushed into his tent and came out again with a doublebarrelled

shotgun. We'll see, man, we'll see how they look full of

buckshotFrancois, listen to me, Sean shouted him down. We don't know

which claims they'll go to first. Get your men ready and if you hear

shooting our way come and give us a hand, we'll do the same for you. Ja,

ja, we'll come all right, the dirty thunders. His nightshirt flapping

around his legs Francois trotted off to call his men. Mbejane and the

other Zulus were cooking dinner, squatting round the three-legged pot.

Sean rode up to them. Get your spears, he told them. They ran for

their huts and almost immediately came crowding back.

Nkosi, where's the fight! they pleaded, food forgotten. Come on, I'll

show you. They placed the hired gunmen amongst the mill machinery from

where they could cover the track which led up to the mine. The Zulus

they hid in one of the prospect trenches. If it developed into a

hand-to-hand fight the syndicate was in for a surprise. Duff and Sean

walked a little way down the slope to make sure their defenders were all

concealed.

How much dynamite have we got? Sean asked thoughtfully. Duff stared at

him a second, then he grinned. Sufficient, I'd say. You're full of

bright ideas this evening He led the way back to the shed which they

used as a storeroom.

In the middle of the track a few hundred yards down the slope they

buried a full case of explosive and placed an old tin can on top of it

to mark the spot. They went back to the shed and spent an hour making

grenades out of bundles of dynamite sticks, each with a detonator and a

very short fuse. Then they settled down huddled into their sheepskin

coats, rifles in their laps and waited.

They could see the lights of the encampments straggled down the valley

and hear an occasional faint burst of singing from the canteens, but the

moonlit road up to the mine remained deserted. Sean and Duff sat side

by side with their backs against the newly painted boiler. How did

Candy find out about this, I wonder? Sean asked.

She knows everything. That hotel of hers is the centre of this

goldfield and she keeps her ears open. They relapsed into silence again

while Sean formed his next question. She's quite a girl, our Candy.

Yes, agreed Duff. Are you going to marry her, Duff? VGood God! Duff

straightened up as though someone had stuck a knife into him. You going

mad, laddie, or else that was a joke in the worst possible taste. She

dotes on you and from what I've seen you're fairly well disposed towards

her. Sean was relieved at Duffs quick rejection of -the idea. He was

jealous, but not of the waYes, we've got a common interest, that I won't

deny but marriage!

Duff shivered slightly, not altogether from the cold. Only a fool makes

the same mistake twice. Sean turned to him with surprise. You've been

married before? he asked. With a vengeance. She was half Spanish and

the rest Norwegian, a smoking bubbly mixture of cold fire and hot ice.

Duff's voice went dreamy. The memory has cooled sufficiently for me to

think of it with a tinge of regret. What happened? I left her yWe only

did two things well together and one of them was fight. If I close my

eyes I can still see the way she used to pout with those lovely lips and

bring them close to my ear before she hissed out a particularly foul

word, then, hey ho! back to bed for the reconciliation. Perhaps you

made the wrong choice. You look around, you'll see millions of happily,

married people Name me one, challenged Duff and the silence lengthened

as Sean thought.

Then Duff went on, There's only one good reason for marriage, and that's

children. And companionship, that's another good reason. Companionship

from a woman? Duff cut in incredulously. Like perfume from garlic.

They're incapable of it.