Australian Heist

JAMES PHELPS

Yep. King of the Road. Prince of Thieves. Australia’s greatest bushranger. And again he smiled, for now this old man was young. Frank ‘Darkie’ Gardiner was back in Forbes, no longer seventy-two, no longer on his Nevada deathbed. Frank was thirty-three, gun in hand, bum in saddle, galloping through gum trees after losing the law. On his way to drink beer at the sly shanty, bounty divided, bellies full. A hero’s welcome in wait. A coughing fit brought him back to San Luis Valley. A young man rushed into the room. ‘Dad, are you okay?’ He wasn’t. Gardiner hacked, heaved and spat. His throat smoked, his lungs burnt. Gardiner’s son smacked him twice in the middle of his back. The coughing continued. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ Lilburn looked to his mother. ‘You didn’t tell us he was sick.’ She didn’t have to answer. ‘It’s the old man’s friend,’ said Gardiner, gritted teeth and a gulp of hot air killing the cough. ‘He has come to take me home.’ At that moment Lilburn’s twin brother entered the cramped room. ‘Pneumonia?’ William asked. ‘The captain of death?’ Gardiner nodded before slumping back into his pillows. ‘Should have been a bullet, boy,’ he said. ‘I have been bloody blessed. Always thought it would be a bullet …’ Cough subdued, Gardiner summoned his strength. He grabbed William’s elbow, his hand a vice.

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