Ironbark (37 page)

Gem's eyes flashed. ‘You're hot to tumble her yourself!'

‘Nah, I've got plenty of women of my own to keep me busy in bed, thanks very much. Your wife's just a mate but she saved my life once. I don't fancy being in a woman's debt.'

Gem's voice was thick with hatred. ‘I wouldn't let that whore touch me in my coffin!'

‘Fair enough, mate,' Jake agreed. He struggled to conceal his anger
at hearing Keziah labelled a whore. Passing the bottle back to Gem he remained silent until Gem returned to the offer of the fight.

‘So. You agree to pay me thirty pounds when I beat you senseless, pal.'

‘Hang on! I said twenty.'

‘Twenty-five!' Gem said quickly.

‘Do you think I'm made of money? This is all I've got.' Jake removed his left banking boot and emptied the pouch on the swag.

Gem was impressed. ‘So, it's no bluff. But if, in your wildest dreams, you beat me, what's
your
reward?'

‘If you win, you cop the purse. You lose, you cop
half
the purse, but I want your handshake on a promise.'

‘What's the trick?'

‘No trick. If
I
win, either you take Keziah back as your wife, like she wants, or else you let her go once and for all.' Jake weighed up his words. ‘In which case you make me your witness when you two jump backwards over the broomstick.'

Gem looked stunned. ‘What are you? A
didikai
?'

‘Jesus wept. What the hell's that?' asked Jake.

‘A man with a Romani grandfather. Are you?'

‘Not that I bloody know of, mate.'

Gem offered his hand. ‘If you're so eager to lose twenty-five pounds—'

‘Twenty!'

‘All right, twenty, for me to give you a boxing lesson. I accept.'

When Gem wrapped his hands around Jake's right hand, Jake grinned. Gem had not guessed that Jake was a southpaw – he'd discover that little surprise in the ring.

‘Choose the time and place,' said Jake.

Gem sprang into the saddle. ‘The day of the Coronation Races. Enjoy your women while you can, pal. They won't recognise you after two rounds with
me
!' He added coldly, ‘But leave
my
whore alone!'

‘She's all yours, mate. Not my type. I fancy redheads small enough to fit in my pocket.'

As the sound of horse hooves faded, Jake lay back, covered his face with his hat and heaved a sigh of relief. Done!

• • •

In Goulburn, Jake pushed his way down Market Street through the milling crowd to the post office to collect his mail.

Two Sterling blokes ahead of him in the queue were discussing the upcoming Coronation Races. They bemoaned the delay in celebrating so many months after the Queen had been crowned, ‘the curse of living down here, cut off from events at Home'.

‘I hear tell Ogden will play host to the vice-regal party,' said one. ‘No doubt he's out to cut quite a dash.'

‘Quite. He's donated a silver cup for the race. Expects his own horse, Jupiter's Darling, is bound to win it. His rival Thomas Icely won't be entering any of his thoroughbreds so there'll be no real competition from the local nags, what?'

Jake realised why Ogden had ordered that expensive saddle. Jupiter's Darling was Ogden's pride and joy, a horse descended from Sky Prince, the first thoroughbred he'd imported from England.

Jake took delivery of a letter written in an unknown hand. He crossed to the Travellers' Home Inn and laboured over reading it:

A friend is writing this for me. Here's a yarn you will enjoy. I bolted soon after arriving in the colony, borrowed a horse from Ogden's estate. Sky Prince. I returned him but the damage was done. Here's the joke. I've entered a colt in the Coronation Races sired by Sky Prince out of a brumby I'd stashed away. Sarishan will beat all those horses with impeccable bloodlines. I'm counting on you to find him a jockey and collect the silver cup for me. I'll be there to watch him romp home!

Your pal

Jake roared with laughter. What a glorious trick on the world of Exclusives if a bushranger's horse beat their thoroughbreds!

He raised his Albion Ale to toast Gem. ‘I'd pass up my own funeral before I'd miss the silver cup.'

Jake's glass of amber froze in midair.
You bugger, Gem. Now I've got to train your horse for the Coronation Races and train myself for our grudge match! And you made bloody sure they're both on the same day!

Jake left the public house and stopped dead in his tracks. Tethered to his wagon was a magnificent black colt pawing the ground. Gem Smith had left his calling card.

The day of the Coronation Races dawned hot and humid. In Mac Mackie's hut in Tagalong, Jake was woken by the raucous peal of kookaburras laughing. It sounded like the birds were mocking his chances of beating Gem.

Naked, Jake seated himself on a bench by the open doorway to collect what little breeze there was. He felt unsettled. What was the matter with him? He just wanted to win this fight for his mate. Give Keziah what she wanted – Gem.

Mac hovered like a mother hen intent on calming a nervous chick as he cooked Jake a huge breakfast.

‘What's eating you? Never seen you so rattled before a fight.'

‘Get lost, Mac.' Jake tackled the half-raw steak. ‘How's about another cuppa?'

Mac poured two pannikins of tea and added a dash of whisky. He tried again. ‘Sarishan's looking great, mate. You've done wonders training him.'

‘I reckon
his
chances are pretty bloody good.' Jake switched his concern to Sarishan. ‘I ain't worried about Dick Gideon. To watch that kid riding Sarishan is a thing of beauty. Nerida swore by her kinsman, trouble is he's only twelve. Some of the older jockeys ain't famous for playing fair 'n' square.'

A second beefsteak was tossed onto his plate and Mac scratched his beard. ‘Do you reckon we're pushing our luck a bit? First a public prize fight with a wanted bushranger, then we're racing his horse in the biggest horse race this county's ever seen! If we're not bloody careful the traps are gunna cop
us
under the Bushranging Act.'

‘Quit worrying. Gem's using an alias. Jim Romani.'

‘Yeah? What's he using for a new face?'

Jake tried to sound confident. ‘He'll be so battered by the end of round one, his own mam won't know him.'

‘You're the best southpaw in the country, on a good day, but why are you fighting Gem to help some woman? Even if you win you only get half your own money. You don't even get Gem's woman. Or do you?'

Jake snapped. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? For the rest of my life I'm only ever gunna pay for a woman and walk away. God's truth!'

Mac was like a dog with a bone. ‘I know nothing about women, mate. You know me. Never been with a woman longer than the ten minutes I pay for 'em at the Red Brumby. But something's up. I reckon you and Gem are fighting some kind of duel. Like them Prussian military blokes. Fists instead of swords but. What does Gem's woman think of all this?'

‘She doesn't
know
, mate. And she'd better not find out or my life ain't worth a farthing. She hates prize fights. Her father was killed in a fight in prison!' Jake added quickly, ‘What does a bloke have to do to get another cuppa tea around here?'

• • •

A crowd had gathered outside the Shamrock and Thistle Inn. The bush grapevine had worked its magic. Jake recognised faces from forty miles away, drawn by the lure of a prize fight. Carts and wagons were parked everywhere. The most colourful was Sunny Ah Wei's emporium on wheels. Garbed in his traditional Chinese robe with his pigtail hanging down his back, Sunny paused in the act of making a sale to raise his thumb to Jake in a sign of solidarity.

Jake saw Mac hand the prize money to the referee. ‘Count it, mate. It's all there.'

‘You'd be bloody silly if it wasn't,' said the referee. ‘You'd have a gang of bushrangers shooting holes in you!'

Clearly Jim Romani's true identity was an open secret.

Jake limbered up. He stripped down to his moleskin breeches tucked into knee-high boots then buckled on the lucky brass belt he'd worn in the bout with Ned Chalker he'd
almost
won. His hair was tied back in a pigtail at the nape of his neck.

It was then that Jake saw Jim Romani.

‘Some bloody disguise!' he whispered to Mac.

Gem sprang down the steps of the Shamrock and Thistle Inn, acknowledging the cheers of the faithful. Draped around his shoulders was a purple satin Chinese robe and a single gold earring glinted against his curly hair. Around the top of his black silk breeches was an elaborate silver belt that made him a self-proclaimed champ.

Gem was introduced to the crowd as Jim Romani. He flashed Jake a confident smile. ‘May the best man win, pal. Me, of course. And may the second best man recover his wits!'

The crowd roared approval. The Irish ratio was close on half – the vocal half.

Jake felt oddly uncomfortable to see the K for Keziah written inside Gem's tattooed heart.

Ernie the referee yelled out the old-style Broughton rules of the game and the fight was on.

In round one Jake knew he had an excellent chance to beat The Gypsy. His southpaw stance was dangerous at the best of times. He was pleased to see Gem's eyes flicker when he realised the trick Jake had pulled.

By round three Jake was still confident he'd take Gem, but decided it would be wise to end it soon. Gem had a slight advantage of height and reach, and a mean right hook.
Jesus, I'll need to keep ducking that or it's curtains for me.

At the end of round five, Mac advised, ‘Go in and finish him off, mate. He's tiring.'

Jake spat out a trace of blood. ‘Yeah? I hadn't noticed.'

By the eighth round he knew it could go either way. He had
endurance on his side and a bush fighter's tactics. When he delivered a series of aggressive headbutts sending Gem into temporary retreat, Jake drew a thunderous roar from the crowd. They loved rough and dirty old-style tactics.

In round ten Gem locked him in a wrestling hold.

‘You're a liar, pal,' Gem hissed in his ear. ‘You
do
want my whore.'

Gem shifted his hold to a headlock. A mistake. Jake broke free, slammed a haymaker into his gut and told him, ‘No bloody way!'

In answer, Gem's next punch sent Jake's head shuddering on his neck.

Somewhere in round eleven Gem danced out of range, pointed at his tattoo and taunted Jake. ‘Can't bring yourself to hit Keziah can you, eh?'

Startled that Gem had recognised the truth, Jake tried to call his bluff. ‘She got under
your
skin, mate. Not mine. No woman will ever leave her brand on
me
!' He delivered a barrage of jabs to emphasise his words.

At the dawn of round thirteen Jake hoped he still had a fifty-fifty chance. His dirty tricks only drew gutter tactics from Gem.
Got to find the right moment. Land the killer punch I've got in reserve. Trouble is I'm flat out keeping clear of his bloody right hook.

At the end of the fourteenth, Mac said hopefully, ‘He's fading fast!'

‘Nah. He's as fresh as a bloody daisy,' said Jake.

‘Watch his right hook. It looks like a jaw-breaker.'

‘It
is
!' Jake bounced back into the fight, dredging up the confidence that had sunk to his boots. He thought of Keziah and tried to fake it.

‘What? You still here, mate?' he called out to Gem.

‘Couldn't miss your last round could I, pal?' Gem gave him a series of telling blows that sent Jake reeling to finish the round in a blur on one knee.

Was it only the fifteenth round? Jake knew he was fighting on sheer
instinct. He liked Gem but only one of them could win. Jake was groggily determined it would be Keziah.

Just then he sighted an enemy in the crowd. Trooper Doolan. The trap was frowning at Gem as if trying to place him. Jake lost concentration – Gem's blow sent blood into his eye, pinking his vision. He knew the signs.
Both of us are labouring. I need to buy time.

Jake grabbed him in a wrestling hold, then gave a sudden jerk designed to topple them both. They rolled over with such momentum that the crowd stumbled to jump clear of their path. Under cover of their noisy barracking, Jake hissed a warning in Gem's ear.

‘Watch out! Trooper Doolan's wise to you.'

‘I'm too old for that trick,' said Gem.

‘God's truth! I'll grab the crowd's attention. You check him out. He knows you!'

Jake broke his hold and danced around, cocky as hell. The crowd enjoyed the free bit of theatre. Gem met Jake's eyes, acknowledging the truth of the warning.

When Gem's best punch connected with his jaw, Jake knew he was virtually out on his feet but he kept crawling back up for more. Gem stopped baiting him and held him in a tight clinch to disguise his words. No trace of sarcasm this time.

‘You've got guts, pal, but give up. Now! I don't want to beat you to pulp.'

Jake tried a show of bravado. ‘Want to throw in the towel already, you piker?'

Gem hissed at close quarters. ‘You're the best I've ever fought but today's not your day. You know it! Stay down. I promise we'll fight again.'

Drunk with fatigue, Jake spat blood out of Gem's range.

‘Nah! Got to win fair and square.'

Gem began to pull his punches. ‘No shame in a draw, pal.'

‘Won't solve nothing, will it!'

‘You want it bad enough to die for? Stay down. I promise I'll meet the whore.'

Jake staggered, but he was in no condition to accept a gift-horse.

‘That's cheating. We said last man standing. Well, I'm still bloody standing!' Jake rocked on his feet, blood trickling from his mouth. Time was running out.