The Prospector of Granite Creek - part 4

The morning after Wally’s humiliating retreat from Boomerang, Silas was back at Granite Creek, dipping his pan with the weary motions of a man who knew futility well. He had barely found enough colour to dust a flea. Meanwhile, Kevin, perched high on a dead snow gum, was performing a particularly energetic and mocking laugh-a-thon, his head thrown back with theatrical glee, all pointed directly toward Wally’s hidden burrow entrance.

Silas, after months of bad luck, finally saw the pattern. Kevin was not laughing at the creek or the sky; he was laughing at something near the base of that tree—the same place where Silas had lost his nugget collection months ago. The old prospector’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the sturdy, unmarked ground, then back at the hysterically cackling bird. Silas did not believe in fairies, but he did believe in stubborn, clever animals.

He hiked back to Boomerang, not to pan, but to visit the General Store. Silas, operating on a hunch bordering on madness, purchased the gold sovereign coin from the display case—the very coin Wally had coveted. It cost him half his savings, but he had a theory to test.

Silas returned to Wally’s patch of creek. He waited until the sun dipped low, painting the granite pink. Kevin was already settled in the gum tree, silent now, but watching with intense, beady eyes. Silas approached the burrow entrance, knelt slowly, and held the gleaming coin out on his open palm, catching the last of the light.

“Alright, you stubborn little dust-eater,” Silas murmured to the earth. “I know you are in there. You have been panning my claims and stealing my finds, and you are better at it than I am. But I need a break. I want a tip. I want to know where to pan next. And you want this.”

Wally, already tense after his night out, slowly pushed the compacted clay from his escape tunnel. He peered out, his eyes fixing instantly on the magnificent, polished sovereign. It was perfect. It was everything he had dreamed of. He looked from the coin to Silas’s earnest, tired face, then up at Kevin, who, for the first time, was absolutely silent, watching the transaction unfold with uncanny focus.

The wombat gave a low grunt—a sound of supreme calculation. He cautiously shuffled forward, took the coin with a swift paw, and tucked it into his cheek pouch. He then turned and, using his nose, nudged a small, insignificant seam of milky quartz that ran down toward a shallow, overlooked bend in Granite Creek, far from his own chamber.

The tip was not the monster nugget, but it was honest.

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Silas smiled, a genuine, weary smile. He had paid his fee and gotten his tip from the world's most unlikely prospector. He stood up, gave a slight nod to the wombat, and walked away. Kevin, still perched above, finally let out a single, sharp, satisfied chuckle—a laugh of acceptance, perhaps, rather than mockery. From that day on, an unlikely, silent agreement settled over Granite Creek: Silas had his small, steady claim thanks to the wombat, Wally had his perfect coin, and Kevin was the silent, cackling keeper of the secret, ensuring the new, peculiar gold rush of the High Country remained strictly a three-party affair.

-The end-

An ABC Radio interview with Silas is linked

The book dust cover is linked

Reviews are linked.

Shalom,

Ozhamada