Published: 6 May 2021

The trip home was lengthened by a few hours as a sudden rain storm flooded a creek a short distance beyond Ballan but it soon lowered enough to allow passage with the coach reaching the Eureka Lead just before the turning of the night.

“Righto lads – home,” the coach driver called into the cabin after taking a detour to drop them at their door.

“Thank you Robert, I won’t complain about the delay or the ride,” Logan made light as he descended from the coach.

“At least no bushrangers this time, Timothy Blunt at the booking office told me about the ordeal you had on the up journey.”

“Has there been any repeat elsewhere?” Logan asked.

“Not as such but a farm house over near Buninyong was held up, they tied the husband to a verandah post and barricaded his wife and kids in a side room while ransacking the house and made of with two horses and a pittance of savings. I believe they gave the husband a right going over for his trouble.”

“What about the police?” Chance asked.

“I suppose they can’t be everywhere at the same time, I’ll say goodnight then.” The driver slowly led away towards town and the staging station.

For a while the boys looked after the coach pondering on their own hold up and that of the farmer and his family. Logan gave a huff.

“What’s that all about?”

“What’s the world coming to when bushrangers steal from the poor?”

“More that likely escaped convicts,” Chance suggested.

“Only a handful of convicts were sent here to Victoria,” Logan corrected.

“True, I would say most come across Bass Strait from Van Diemen’s land.

“Umm, come on let’s get inside and have some supper.” Logan drew the door key from his waistcoat pocket and reached for the lock. The door was open. “Hello, something is amiss here,” he quizzically issued and gave the door a gentle push to open further.

“What’s up?”

“Didn’t we check the door lock before leaving?”

“Yes you had me do so and I gave it a rattle. It was definitely locked.”

“It’s not locked now,”

Once inside a lamp was quickly lit and the extent of the problem was apparent. A side window had been smashed and they had been robbed, the perpetrators making their exit through the front door. Fortunately the hotel takings had been banked while in Melbourne but the drawer they used as a cash retainer had been smashed open, only a few pennies were there in and now missing.

“I did suggest leaving that drawer unlocked,” Chance said as he found one bent penny to the back of the damaged drawer.

“You did, I will take your advice in future,” Logan promised.

“Twice lucky,” Chance gave an ironic tut.

“Why say twice?”

“Firstly no money in the drawer, secondly you didn’t have the takings on you when the coach was robbed.”

“True Chance but they have taken the half dozen bottles of Irish I had stashed away under the bar.”

“Peter Lalor will be most annoyed,” Chance said as he discovered other spirits were also missing.

“Thirsty lot,” Logan cynically commented.

“Let’s get this place cleaned up.” Chance righted an upturned chair.

“No leave it until the morning, it won’t go away.”

On visiting the police station Logan was met with usual indifference. Firstly the duty officer let him stand for a good five minutes before rising from his early morning cup of tea and scrutiny of the Star Newspaper. Eventually when Logan made his presence obvious with a light cough and scraping of boot across the bare floorboards, the office lifted his eyes from his reading making it obvious any consideration would be at his leisure.

“Interesting reading?” Logan sarcastically asked as his impatience built.

Finally the office came to the desk, bringing his newspaper with him. He folded it to the second page and placed it down.

“You appear to be in a hurry Mr. McGregor.”

“I am a little busy yes.”

“I guess that make you and me both, what appears to be the problem?”

On explaining the situation the officer shrugged it away. “I was only now reading about your bail-up in the Star,” the officer pointed to the story in the newspaper with the leading headline, ‘local hotelier robed while attending entertainment in the city’.

“I am more concerned with the break-in at the hotel while I was away and what you will be going to do about it?” Logan demanded.

“Write it up and that’s about the extent.”

“That’s not good enough,” Logan became obviously irate.

“What can we do Mr. McGregor, we are few on the ground and do surveillance to midnight; we can’t be everywhere. In future when you are enjoying yourself down in the city you may remember to lock your doors before you leave.”

“They were locked and they broke in through a side window.”

“Then pay for a watchman,”

Logan drew in a deep breath in ready to retaliate but realised it was useless. He released his breath of irritation.

The officer commenced to write; “How much cash did you lose?”

“Naught but a few pennies.”

“A few pennies,” the office repeated and made entry.

“It was more the Irish whiskey I had for special customers.”

“Irish whiskey,” the office repeated and added it to the report, “anything else?”

“Some bottles – it was more the damage, a good twenty pounds worth of breakage and the window, glass isn’t cheap you know and hard come by.”

“Breakage to a window,” the officer wrote.

“I’m really not getting anywhere here am I?” Logan complained.

“The report has been made and will be filed for further reference.”

“What flaming use is that?”

“Will that be all Mr. McGregor?” the officer asked somewhat dismissively.

“I can see I’ve wasted my time reporting it.”

“Not at all, if there are further robberies across the Lead than it will help towards forming a pattern.”

Logan gave a final huff and departed.

On returning to the hotel Logan was met by Peter Lalor, “I was on my way to visit you,” Peter said and followed through the door.

“The hotel was robbed while we were in Melbourne,” Logan shared.

“Did you lose much?”

“No cash, except for a few pennies but,” Logan paused as Chance joined the conversation.

“Yes but -,” Chance parroted Logan’s pronoun.

“Don’t tell me,”

“Yep all the Irish whisky is gone.”

“By the love of leprechauns, that’s a bugger.”

“Beer or local brew?” Chance offered.

“Beer will have to do,” Chance poured three tankards of beer.

“I’ve come about local support in a bill I’m putting up to Spring Street and will need every signature I can gather.”

“What would that be about?” Chance asked.

“Voting rights for all men over twenty-one with or without property.” Peter explained.

“You have our support. You can post your partition here at the Shovel.”

“Now about the robbery,”

“Not worth worrying, except for the Irish. I suppose you did hear of the coach being robbed on its way to Melbourne?”

“That I did Logan, were you on it?” Lalor asked.

“We were,”

“That’s another point that needs attention. I have managed to push a bill through both houses to have a mounted police officer travel with each coach but only in the short term.”

“It’s a start but after that what?” Logan asked.

“One foot in front of the other lad.”

During the following week Logan again canvassed for a barmaid and cook. Again there were many applications, this time he was less particular as he had been earlier, realising there would be need to trust people more. Chance was considered more logical and a better judge of character, so quickly Logan left the hiring to him and Chance had filled both positions by the second day. To Logan’s surprise the cook was Chinese.

“What’s his name?” Logan asked while they waited for the cook’s arrival.

“Wu-Liang,”

“Wat-Lin?”

“No like this Wu-Liang,” Chance corrected while over pronouncing the name.

“You were always better than me at language even with the natives back home. I’ll call him China.”

“You don’t mind him being Chinese?”

“No I trust your judgement, if left to me you would be cooking forever – can this fella’ speak English?”

Chance laughed.

“He can’t – can he?”

“A little but he is learning.”

“Umm, what about the barmaid?”

“A woman from town, married with children whose husband was injured when he fell down a mineshaft.”

“Righto as I said I trust your judgement.”

Wu-Liang arrived soon after in a fluster of apology and clatter of pots, “wok,” he said holding up a lage metal bowl shaped implement from his collection.

“We have plenty pots,” Logan discouraged in broken English.

“No need pots; Liang has wok; Liang cook everything in wok. You see wok very good.”

“You can’t use that thing to cook a steak,” Logan loudly protested.

“Liang use wok; Liang cook steak you see very good steak.”

“Well he’s all yours Chance I’m off to see what your barmaid is all about,” Logan paused, “can she speak English?’

“Very much so,”

“I’ll introduce myself.”

“Betty Atkinson is the name,” was the greeting when Logan entered the bar, finding her dusting. She pulled a face as a cloud of dust descended upon her head.

“Betty,” Logan said noting her flame red hair and well developed breasts. ‘Perfect for the punters,’ he thought but kept it quiet.

“You could grow potatoes on these shelves,” she complained, “and who would you be?” Betty Atkinson asked as she removed more of the dust that had been settling there since Kathleen O’Brien departed shortly after the stockade rebellion.

“Logan,”

“Ah Mr. McGregor, who am I answering to you or Mr. Wilcox?”

“Mr. Wilcox I guess, I’ll try not to interfere.”

“Very well; I’ll get the bar ready for opening.”

“Have you done bar work before Betty?”

The woman gave a dissatisfying glance, noting Logan had already commenced to interfere. “Not in Victoria but on the docks, the Isle of Dogs in London and in Sydney.”

“Then I’ll say no more and leave you to your work.”

“That would be most appreciated Mr. McGregor.”

During the first day of offered meals to the public Logan waited impatiently to see how Liang’s cooking was accepted by the steak hardened miners, who could have meat for every meal and hold the green stuff. As for fruit, it was scarce and even rarer to be accepted by the diggers. Out of curiosity Logan placed a large bowl of locally grown grapes on the bar for anyone who wished to try and after a week they remained where he placed them, only then turning to mould and juice.

“Has China made up the menu as yet?” Logan asked Chance as the evening meal approached.

“He can’t write in English and issued it to me in some strange lettering that appeared as if a spider crawled over the paper.”

“Then how in hog’s heaven are the customers gunna’ read that?”

“Don’t panic, he told me what it meant and I wrote the menu in English.”

“With your spelling,” Logan unkindly scoffed.

“Logan stop the worrying, Betty corrected it for me.”

Chance passed a copy of the revised menu to Logan who quickly became concerned, “Butter beans, what the hell are butter beans.”

“I guess we will find out if anyone orders them.”

“Steak and eggs, that appears fine but I’m not sure about that thing he calls a wok and serving greens, that may upset the locals.”

Logan read on, “Lamb chops cabbage, peas and what’s that?” Logan pointed to a word on the menu, “bok-choy – again explain.”

“I guess we will both find out when it arrives but Betty said it’s quite palatable something like a cross between cabbage and lettuce – and don’t you go near the kitchen, Betty is giving him help and with you’re bull-at-a-gate attitude, I don’t want him leaving before the first meal arrives.”

“No I promised I wouldn’t interfere.”

“Good you can make yourself useful and go down to the store for a couple of things.” Chance gave Logan a small list.

Logan viewed Chance’s list appearing somewhat mused, “do you think Morris will have this stuff?”

“You won’t know until you ask.”

“We need Tom back,” Logan complained.

“You’ll do – off you go.”

That evening there were only a few in for dinner, four locals who had accustomed to Chances hit and miss meals, Jack Mack, the tailor and his wife and a couple of the coach who booked in for the night for the following morning’s connection to Bendigo.

The miners were quick to grumble and not understanding most on the menu simply ordered steak and eggs. The Mack’s were more adventurous and ordered the lamb chops and vegetables while the two of the coach appeared quite impressed with the cuisine and ordered something with the bok-choy.

First to arrive was the steak and eggs. One of the miners peered hopefully at his plate before giving a pleasing smile. It looked like steak, the eggs like eggs but was somewhat dissatisfied with the green stuff accompanying. He pushed the vegetables aside and found his knife ran through the meat as it would through butter, allowing the slightest amount of red to extract while proving the steak to be medium rare. He was more than satisfied and commented to his mates.

The second at the table did likewise and with a mouth crammed with tender steak called across to Chance, “you didn’t cook this?”

“We have a new cook.” Chance answered.

“About blood time, your steak could sole a man’s boot.”

Logan approached the men’s table and peered down at their meal. He returned to Chance at the bar, “so it appears you can cook steak in that thing he calls a wok.” As Logan spoke the bell at the reception desk sounded, “I’ll go.”

Logan encountered a man with a lad waiting for attention. The lad in his later youthful years appeared somewhat nervous, keeping his head turned from catching one’s eye while he fiddled constantly with his untucked shirt tail. The gentleman, although roughly dressed accepted Logan’s approach with an overconfident smile.

“Good evening,” Logan greeted.

“I would like a room.”

Logan turned the hotel registry for signature and the man scribbled his name in such a fashion it could have been almost any of a dozen names, he added a second name for the kid that appeared to be John Smith. Logan closed the register without further thought.

“If you are in need of a meal the kitchen is about to close.”

“No need, just the room and we will go right up.”

Logan passed the man the key and noticed there wasn’t any luggage except for a small carpetbag he kept close and tight, “will you be for tomorrow’s coach for Bendigo, if so I can give you an early call.”

“Just the room for two nights; possibly three.”

The lad flinched and looked away, still avoiding eye contact.

“Room five up the stairs and second on the left,” Logan directed and without further the two departed for their room.

‘Strange,’ Logan thought, then again strange occurrences were normality about the Eureka Lead.

It was closing when Constable Len Kemp arrived and found his way to where Logan was working at reception.

“Evening Len,” Logan greeted.

“Looks like rain,” Kemp said as Logan turned the hotel register for the policeman to view.

“Do you see anyone interesting?” Logan asked as it suited both hoteliers and police to keep an eye on who was passing through.

“John Smith, that looks a little covert,” the policeman announced reading the very last name.

“He is but a kid, do you want a beer?”

“You could twist my arm.”

“Come through, Chance is just about to close the bar.”

“Quiet night,” Kemp mentioned as they approached the bar.

“Somewhat but Lola Montez is in town, I guess many are at the theatre.” Logan filled a tankard for Kemp.

“I don’t approve of that sort of nonsense,” Kemp growled.

“What nonsense would that be Len?” Chance asked as he cleared the last of the tankards from the tables.

“These women showing their underwear and being suggestive.”

“It’s only a little fun Len,” Chance made light.

“Even so it brings out the deviant element.”

“That reminds me Len, have you had anything further on our break in?” Chance asked as he passed by with a tray of empties.

“Not as such but we are working on it.” Meaning it had been noted, filed and forgotten.

“Like the bail-up of the coach,” Logan offered in support of Chance’s question.

“There was another recently, the stage between the city and Geelong, this time there was a shooting and a passenger wounded,” Kemp offered.

“Badly,” Chance asked.

“No,” the policeman commenced to laugh.

“Where’s the humour in being shot Len?” Logan asked.

“It was Harold Link the undertaker and a bigger skinflint and pile of misery you will never find. One of the bushranger’s was so trigger happy he accidentally discharged his weapon.”

“I still can’t find the humour,” Logan asked.

“It blew away Harold’s big toe, right through his boot.” Kemp lowered his hilarity to a wide grin.

“Ouch,” Logan responded and gave a sympathetic cringe.

“The sergeant told him to stop winging as he still had a perfectly good big toe on the other foot.”

“Not enough work to keep them occupied,” Chance suggested in reference to the number of bushrangers being reported.

“There is enough work alright, the cockies are shouting loud for farm hands and shepherds but they are too flaming lazy to do an honest day’s work.”

The constable was about to depart for his final rounds when he remembered why he visited the Shovel other than for a couple of free beers, “that reminds me, there has been two hotels in the area robbed over the last week and they appear to have been inside jobs.”

“What’s been stolen?” Logan asked.

“Mainly money, the bar float and from some of the rooms jewellery and the likes.”

“You say inside job; do you think it was staff?” Logan asked.

“It is my job to suspect everyone but as in both cases the doors were bolted and there were no signs of a break in, it could only be so.”

“We will be vigilant.” Logan said.

“You do that; I’ll be on my way – goodnight and here comes that bloody rain.”

The following morning while Logan was at the reception desk the couple for the Bendigo coach had a light breakfast and booked out for their connection. That left only two rooms occupied, firstly room three by a representative of the Lands Office and the two in room five.

As the representative of the Lands Office approached the desk and asked for directions the two from room five quickly passed by without speaking. Logan thought nothing of their silent departure as many in those times were quite secretive, especially when carrying valuables. As the Lands Office representative departed, Chance came in from the kitchen, “Are you ready for breakfast,” he asked.

“Almost, I’ll tidy up here first.”

“I’ll go arrange it with cook.”

“That’s strange,” Logan spoke somewhat rhetorically while remembering the two who arrived the previous night.

“What is?”

“The two in room five,”

“I didn’t see them, they weren’t in for breakfast,” Chance answered.

“No they came in late last night, said they were staying two nights and went out earlier without a word.”

“What is strange about that?”

“They didn’t have any luggage and the kid,” Logan paused.

“Possibly they left their luggage at the coach station.”

“No they weren’t catching the coach.”

As Logan spoke two gentlemen arrived off the early morning connection from Maryborough and as they had business in town would not be travelling on to the city until the following day. Logan booked their room and returned to conversation with Chance.

“You can’t say they didn’t have luggage and they looked important.” Chance made light.

“They are gold buyer from Melbourne,” Logan offered.

“And you got all that from a minute’s conversation at the desk?”

“No from their conversation as they signed the register,”

“Again what about the guests without luggage, why strange?” Chance asked.

“The luggage was but half of it, he was quite rude and evasive as for the kid, he didn’t appear connected and come to think of it I would suggest strained.”

“What do you mean by strained?”

“Nervous, pressured – I don’t know.

“Possibly his son,” Chance suggested.

“I doubt so, the man was but early thirties, even younger and the kid was knocking on eighteen.”

“Brother,”

“Dunno’ – don’t matter; I’ll finish up here and then breakfast.”

“Possibly they are at it.”

“Huh, than again. Even so it is possible I guess.”

“We will have to make up room three as it’s a full house tonight, we have some well to do’s from Melbourne up for the Ballarat races.

“You like horse racing, would you like to go, it’s the Ballarat Cup and your mate Clive Price has a horse in it,” Logan asked.

“That would be knuckles,” Chance suggested.

“I guess so but he does have a couple, knuckles is fast but isn’t named so for nothing.”

“Why is it named knuckles?” Chance asked.

“It is short for knucklehead as it is as dumb as toast.”

“Toast isn’t dumb,”

“His horse is,”

“Na, we have too much to do here.”

“I can manage it.”

“The best way to win on the horses is to take your money out of one pocket and put it in the other,” Chance surmised.

“You don’t have to bet,”

“Thank you for the offer but I’ll give it a miss.”

During their night’s meal with Logan complementing on the cooks culinary skills with a wok and how he gave good English cuisine flair and taste, Betty knocked on the door to their private dining room behind the bar. Chance called her in.

“Mr. Wilcox I thought I’d let you know that gentleman from room five is back, if I didn’t know better I would say he was casing the place.”

“Where is he now?” Logan asked.

“He is at a table in a dark corner; the kid was with him but has gone up to their room and didn’t appear happy.”

Logan rose to investigate.

“I’ll go you finish your meal,” Chance offered and followed Betty back to the bar where they pretended to be inspecting a small rum barrel.

“He’s over there,” Betty nodded to the dark corner. As she did so the man stood and approached the bar.

“Beer,” he demanded and offered up his empty tankard.

As Betty poured the beer Chance’s eyes and the stranger’s met. It was instantaneous recognition; for the stranger it was from the hold up on the Melbourne road, to Chance those wanting eyes.

“Forget the beer,” the stranger said and moved away quickly towards the stairs.

“Betty, go and see if Constable Kemp is doing his early rounds,” Chance whispered once the guest was out of hearing.

Betty hesitated.

“Quickly, I think he’s the one who robbed the coach.”

Fortunately the constable was close by and noticing Betty’s fluster he was soon at hand. “What seems to be the matter?” Kemp demanded as he entered and approached the bar.

“I believe we have our bushranger upstairs.” Chance pointed to the upper floor. As Chance spoke the stranger descended the stairs alone, carrying his carpetbag tucked firmly under his arm. Spotting Chance with the policeman he hurried his departure even more.

“Excuse me,” the constable demanded bringing panic as the man attempted to blot for the door. He had only taken two steps before Chance tripped him to the floor, the carpetbag sprung open displaying a gun similar to that what was used in the bail up of the coach. The constable with the help from Chance soon had him restrained.

Manacled and secured to a chair the constable again approached Chance as Logan arrived to investigate the commotion.

“What’s going on?” Logan demanded.

Chance quickly explained.

“What room was he using?” the constable asked.

“Five at the top of the stairs,”

“Is he with anyone?”

“Only a kid,”

“Better if you come with me in case there is bother and Logan would you keep an eye on this one.”

The officer with Chance approached the stairs together. Once on the landing found the door to room five closed but not locked. With caution the constable pushed the door open. The kid was seated on the bed and by his expression expecting the return of his friend. On spying the constable’s uniform he panicked, “I didn’t do it he made me,” he blurted out. By his eyes he was at fight of flight but could do neither, instead he fell to his knees crying, please he made me do it; he made me do it. Oh please sir, please.”

Once down stairs with the lad, Kemp sent Chance to the station for reinforcements while he questioned the two. Firstly the man who, except for giving his name, remained silent but the kid was a different matter. It appeared they had been booking into hotels from Geelong to Bendigo then in the dead of night the nimble fingers of the kid would rifle the rooms.

On the arrival of two more constables both man and kid were taken away.

Early the following afternoon Constable Kemp returned with further information. The man’s name was Jerry Rowe and was in on the coach robbery, while he had chosen the Shovel for the next heist as the Melbourne gold buyers and a number cashed up for the races had been booked in.

“A job well done Chance,” Kemp congratulated.

“What will happen to the kid?” Chance asked showing his softer side.

“Seeing he is only fifteen, not a lot, besides I think he only did so under duress.”

“Only fifteen, I thought he was older,” Logan admitted.

“He was also Mr. Rowe’s boy.”

“Do you mean?”

“It appears so, or that’s what the kid is saying. He was an orphan and fell in with the gang while looking for work and was all but a prisoner.”

“And Mr. Rowe?”

“With the help from the kid we found his stash from the other hotel robberies and at least know the names of his accomplices, we will be sending him down to Melbourne for further investigation as much of his activity was in that jurisdiction.

“What will be done with the kid?” Chance asked.

“There lays a problem, as he has been introduced to crime, there is concern he may continue to do so and seeing he has no family it would best we send him to reform, there is such a place in Bendigo.”

That evening and alone it was time for consideration, admitting they were lucky not to have been robbed for a third time in a month, thus fortunate Chance remembered those wanting eyes.

“Yet you must agree with the bandanna removed he has a handsome face,” Chance admitted.

“Nice body as well, with the lean and hungry look but I’m surprised he didn’t recognise me while booking the room.”

“And it was you who he fancied,” Chance recollected.

“Obviously not, while his attention was on me, his thoughts most likely were on you.”

“I feel sorry for the kid; I didn’t even get to know his name.” Chance gave a sadden sigh.

“Someone else for you to mother Mr. Wilcox,” Logan laughed.

“I don’t think so. It did cross my mind we could turn him away from crime but it was only a passing thought.”

“It’s like this Chance, you can befriend a snake and do the world for it but eventually it will bite you. I wouldn’t be fooled by his appeared innocence, with familiarity that would soon wear thin”

“I suppose you are correct, come on that’s enough excitement for one day.” Chance closed down the bar.

“I don’t know; I reckon I could get you a little more excited.” Logan grinned broadly.

“Come on why not.”

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