Australian Heist

JAMES PHELPS

Gardiner had watched from his shop as 160,000 ounces of gold was gathered from the Lambing Flat goldfields over the next two years. He’d had a butcher’s at Spring Creek – mostly a front for his real business of cattle stealing – and he’d stood outside it on Sundays when the gold was loaded into boxes and put in a wagon to be dragged to Sydney. The traps would boast about the size of the load, the crowd hanging on their every word, while the returns were even published in the paper every week. And Gardiner would watch on. Only four traps? That much gold and just four traps? ‘Some of you know that I have been planning this for a while,’ Gardiner said, looking at Gilbert and Bow, his loyal lieutenants. ‘Some of you don’t. Anyway, I am going to bail up the gold escort. And I am going to do it this Sunday.’ The room was suddenly quiet, all eyes on Gardiner. ‘I followed the escort last week,’ Gardiner said. ‘It was guarded by only four traps: that Condell, Moran, Haviland and some fresh bloke. Two of them rode in the wagon, two on top. They had no forward flank, nor a rear.’ Gardiner winked. ‘It gets better,’ he beamed. ‘The only horses they had were the ones pulling the wagon. Old mules. They couldn’t catch a cold.’ There was laughter around the table. Gardiner lost the smirk. ‘But they were armed,’ Gardiner continued. ‘Shotguns, rifles and revolvers. And they will shoot.’ Gilbert slapped Gardiner on the back. ‘Not if we shoot them first,’ he yelled, ‘and I never miss. Let’s kill us some traps.’ He laughed and then sculled, his drink slammed down in a second.

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