Australian Heist

Australian Heist

‘We are going to make it up to you,’ Hall had said. ‘That is what it is all about. We will get the station running again, just wait and see.’ So McGuire had got himself ready, stocked his kitchen with gin, made spare beds and pitched tents. ‘You know Bow, right?’ Gilbert had inquired as he walked through the door. McGuire did. An accomplished stockman who could both read and write, the Penrith-born kid had met Gardiner when he was just fourteen. Wowed by Gardiner’s charisma and Robin Hood–like tales of stealing from the rich to give to the poor, John ‘Jack’ Bow became a ‘bush telegraph’ for the outlaw, tipping Gardiner off about the movements of police and vouching for him where he could. Now, at twenty, he was a fully-fledged member of Gardiner’s gang, and a heavy drinker with a temper and a gun. ‘G’day,’ he’d said. ‘Where’s the plonk? I’m as parched as a parrot.’ Gardiner had been third to arrive, letting himself in. He needed no introduction. ‘G’day gents,’ he’d said, tipping his hat. That was all. He’d just walked to the kitchen and unbuckled his belt to dump a python-sized serving of leather on the table, complete with holster and revolver, then taken his book to the chair. He did not look up again until a stranger emerged from one of McGuire’s guestrooms. ‘And who is this?’ Gardiner asked as the man walked to greet McGuire.

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