Page 91 of Stockman's Sandstorm

‘Nah. A few crumbs. Just enough for a good drink and a brag at the pub,’ said Charlie. ‘Darcie’s dad used to fossick a bit. But Darcie’s son had some smancy geologist come out and take a stickybeak with all this technological what-not. They reckoned there wasn’t any gold here.’ The old stockman craned his neck to gaze at the maze of stone that framed a clear cobalt blue sky.

‘Was that the same guy that sold off all the cattle?’ Ash frowned at the thought, grateful to Bree and Charlie for hiding the herd they had.

‘The same …’

Side by side, they rode beneath the cool shadows of the towering stone walls. The horseshoes became muffled under the dust and sand, until the walls opened to a tall, wide cavern.

‘It’s a car.’ Ash poked up his hat’s brim. ‘How did that get here?’

‘It looks old, like some vintage gangster car,’ said Bree.

‘No way.’ Charlie swung off the saddle, tearing off his hat, his eyes wide, as the colour drained from his cheeks.

‘Pop?’ Bree jumped off her horse, putting the calf on the ground. She followed Charlie, concern heard in her voice. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s …’ Charlie brushed off the pile of sand to reveal the number plate and a long, domed hood. He gasped with a hand to his chest.

‘What is it, Pop?’

‘Help me open it.’ Charlie frantically dug away at the thick layer of sand that covered the car to expose the driver’s door, covered with thick grime. He struggled with the door handle. ‘Help me.’ Panic was clear in his voice. ‘This is my brother’s car.’

‘What’s it doing out here?’ Ash asked, moving to help.

‘I don’t know—but he’s been gone sixty years.’ Charlie tugged on the car’s door handle. ‘It’s locked.’

‘And you think he’s inside?’ Bree asked.

‘What are you doing?’ Ash asked the redhead, who was removing her hat. ‘Now is not the time to adjust your hat.’ It had this girly stuff wound around its hatband, even a playing card, the queen of spades.

‘I’m getting some fencing wire to pick that car lock.’ Beneath the twine, leather, and cloth strips that held match heads she’d used to start their campfire, she unwound a thick piece of fencing wire, which she bent into a hook. At the driver’s door, she pushed the wire down in the gap between the window glass and the doorframe, wiggled it around, then in a matter of moments she’d popped the lock.

Ash arched one eyebrow at the redhead. ‘Done that before, have we?’

‘Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.’ The door screeched loudly of metal on metal. It spooked the horses, with the calf skittering to hide behind them.

‘What’s inside?’ Ash asked, with Charlie fretting beside him.

Bree poked her head in, waving her hand in front of her face. ‘Besides being hot as an oven, nothing. It’s empty.’

‘Let me see.’ Charlie climbed behind the steering wheel to sit on its long bench seat.

‘Are you sure it’s your brother’s?’ The car’s interior was in immaculate condition, as if preserved in a time capsule. However, the outside had been sandblasted back to bare metal, and the tyres were flat.

‘I’m positive this is Harry’s car.’ Charlie dragged out an old black-and-white jumper. ‘This is my brother’s footy guernsey.’ The back of the old football shirt displayed the name Splint across the top.

‘So where is your brother now, Pop?’ Bree pointed to the car. ‘Why did he leave his car out here?’

Thirty-nine

‘Is Ruby okay?’ Harper asked Ryan as she held Mason’s hand inside the vet’s surgery. They were the first to arrive.

Ryan rubbed his eyes, with his hair a mess, and clothes all crumpled. ‘Well …’

‘Did you get any sleep?’

‘I napped.’

‘Here, I brought coffee.’

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