Aussie Gold

Aussie Gold


There'd better be a lotta gold at the end of this trip, Reuben muttered to himself as he rode in the back of the wagon.  Nothing else would compensate for the inconvenience of the strike's location, the desolate surroundings, and the incredible heat.  This summer was shattering all the records, with daytime highs regularly topping 105 F, far hotter than his native Chicago.  The gold field, located nearly fifty kilometers northwest of Alice Springs, reportedly lacked all but the most basic creature comforts.  It was going to be a very tough dig.  A lotta gold.

From his own seat, Rodney Piet, small-time grifter from the Transvaal, observed the sunburnt American—no mistaking that accent!—considering how he might best separate him from his cash.  Some Three Card Monte, perhaps?  Without partners he'd have to vary things a bit, but how hard could it be to fool this bloke anyway?  He approached his mark at lunch.

"Fancy a game of chance?"

"Sure."

Rodney pulled out a pack of cards and selected three.

"Jack, Queen, King.  Lady for a fiver, right?"

Reuben nodded, and Rodney began rearranging the cards.  The game went back and forth, with the American winning a few, before Rodney came back with a streak of his own.

"Five minutes!" the driver called.

"One last game for, say, fifty?" Rodney asked Reuben.  A nod.

The cards flew back and forth.  Reuben indicated the center one, then seized Rodney's right wrist just after he'd tried a Mexican Turnover.

"No one makes a monkey outta Reuben P. Mastersen," Reuben declared and started swinging.  Confidence men being better runners than fighters, Rodney never had a chance; the American's big fists pummeled the smaller man.

"I grew up in Chicago, chum.  If that's the best you've got, you'd better stick to the Outback."


[300 words]