left to introduce himself, however, as on arrival the other two had immediately fallen on his previous evening's pizza leftovers. As Mirage Resources' Company Secretary it was his job to handle any necessary paperwork, he explained, but as we shook hands it became apparent the fellow was in a state of some anxiety, so I asked was he feeling all right.
He was fine, he said apologetically, then confessed, as he stuffed his belongings into a bag, that the legal teams from two separate junior companies had spent much of yesterday pressing him vigorously over the Golden Windle deposit. Yet despite their strong arguments and aggressive demands he'd managed to maintain my right of first refusal until ten o'clock this morning, he assured me, adding, as he vacated the room, that precious little time remained if I wanted to secure the property.
A hastily arranged board meeting was then convened in the Land Rover as we raced out to the airport, with Mr Isaac driving the old dear flat out and Mr Sligh and myself crammed into the rear - him with the documentation all drawn up and ready for signing.
Mr Actinides opened the meeting by querying if there were some way they could review the asking price perhaps, what with me being such a jolly good fellow and all.
Mr Sligh countered by saying that as Company Secretary it was his unpleasant duty to inform the board that, because of BHP Billiton's hostile takeover attempt and yesterday's unfavourable reassessment from the Tax Office on the value of their vast Pilbara tenements and other mining interests, the company was having to revalue their various holdings upward by twenty-two and a quarter percent. Regrettably, he explained, this revaluation would have to include the Golden Windle.
But Mr Isaac argued strongly against its revaluation, saying that inasmuch as the tenement's asking price had already been agreed upon it would be a breach of faith on the company's part not to honour it, and the company should wear the consequences. He then put a motion to that effect, which was seconded by Mr Actinides. A vote was then taken and, to my surprise and delight, the proposal was carried two to one.
This was certainly fortunate, as even with my pickle jar of loose change thrown in there was no way my finances could have been stretched by another twenty-two percent - never mind any twenty-five points.
Following this the documentation was signed and I handed over my previously organised bank cheque for the agreed amount.
Once in the terminal, however, there came an unexpected problem: the airline company seemed to have no record whatever of my associates' bookings. Also, due to Mr Actinides' secretary having overlooked, somehow, any need for contingency funds (and credit cards at that time not being universal), it fell on me to cover the immediate cost of their fares, "Until such time as we can get back to the company office, of course," Mr Actinides explained reassuringly. Subsequent to this my financial position comprised just the cash in my pocket pretty much, but sometimes one has to step up and do these things.
From there we headed off to the departure gate, where, before separating, I informed my friends that I'd slept so well on the return leg of our odyssey I wouldn't have known how far we might have come during the night. Had I not known better, I chided jokingly, it would be easy to imagine that our return was either via a shorter well maintained arterial road or we'd not driven around in as many circles.
We all had a good laugh at this, after which we parted company on the very best of terms.
A number of weeks then passed without any contact from MRI's office and reimbursement for the three first class fares I'd helped with, so I decided to call them - a minor matter such as this having been overlooked in the light of bigger things, presumably. But there must have been a mix-up with the telephone lines, because when I rang Mirage's number I found myself talking to a garage proprietor's ten-year old son at some place called Mudbuggery Wash on the Mornington Peninsular.
The men who'd been looking after the place while he and his parents were in Melbourne for three weeks had left, he said, and the telephone extension to the old caravan they'd stayed in behind the house had been rolled up and the phone put back in the workshed.
I pressed him for further details but could make no sense of his answers. Apparently three fellows had been occupying a caravan there while he and his family were away. He'd only ever known them as Uncle Sid, Uncle Laurie and Uncle Isaac.
I saw immediately that the similarity of their names to those of the Mirage International executives was simple coincidence, of course, for there was no way the trio he described could have been connected in any way with a Company the likes of Mirage Resources International.
Then, a few days later - being unable to disabuse myself of a feeling that something untoward had happened to them - I contacted the company's Melbourne solicitors, Fellows, Schiftie and Sligh. Their Mr Schiftie advised me that the affairs of Mirage Resources International Proprietary Limited (No Liability) had been wound up, due to the entire board of directors (and coincidentally all of the shareholders) mysteriously disappearing somewhere en-route to an exciting new resource discovery near Surfers Paradise.
Tragically, he said, to the best of his knowledge, no trace of them had yet been found. And how trivial my concerns over a few airline tickets seemed then, in the light of such a tragedy.
As I said earlier, it wasn't as if I hadn't tried my best to locate the Golden Windle, especially having outlaid my entire savings to acquire the property. In fact I was determined to find the place and continue with my development plan as best I could, and the twenty six thousand four hundred and eighty two dollars I'd paid for it was the driving force behind that determination. Yet, so far, whenever I've attempted to follow the map provided by Mr Actinides, my efforts have met with failure.
Nothing I saw ever made any sense - including, in many ways, the map itself. The flood had completely changed everything, somehow, with the floodwaters even obliterating a windmill and a large range of hills I'd observed not five kilometres from where the Golden Windle prospect was situated.
Nor have the locals been of any help. All claim they've never heard of the place, let alone a company named Mirage Resources International. What really galls me, however, is the way everyone seems to regard the affair as some sort of private joke - with no few of them bothering even to hide their mirth at my predicament. I mean how would they feel if their run-down bloody cattle stations simply disappeared one day in the waters of a major flood? ...stock, fences, homesteads and everything.
As for the mining industry mailing list thing... Well, I've been on it for years now. And being offered fleets of hundred-plus tonne haul trucks etc certainly makes interesting reading. More importantly, though, I have become quite leery about putting up my personal details any more. On ANYTHING! Especially with all this identity theft and hacking and email scam stuff you read about, like where people take up invitations to assist some Nigerian Government Treasury bloke transfer money somewhere and then lose all their savings somehow, or get hassled into purchasing cheap Viagra or inflatable dolls and the like.
Ah no. They won't catch out this little wood duck so easily. No way!
And I'm certain, too, that one of these days, someone, somewhere - an exploration geologist or a station hand perhaps - will rediscover the Golden Windle, and when that happens those who found it amusing to scoff at my efforts to rediscover and develop the prospect will be put firmly in their place. It will also prove to the world how the business of making brass, like so many other things, was achieved by the processes of nature millions of years prior to mankind even existing.
Also, one day, when I have a bit more time on my hands and the urge takes me, I might try Googling "Windles", just to see how the Cornish mine workers used to play the game.
Oh yes. And before I go, old feller, a tip. I was talking to this company Geo in the pub the other night. Keep your eyes on marbles futures, he says. It appears there's a problem with output from the mine in Brazil that produces the special glass they use for making those "cat's eye" ones.
So and all the best, old
mate, and cheerio for now. And I'll look forward to having a coupla beers with you if we ever meet up again.
Yours, Dud Punting.
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