I had just arrived on the evening flight from Perth and looked down at the young woman who was suddenly beside me. She was blonde and suntanned but there was no illusion of fragility about her. I guessed she was in her mid-twenties.

Her cool, gray eyes locked on to mine. "I'm Julia Carson, the administrative geologist out here," she announced without further explanation and led me to a dust-covered land cruiser parked nearby.

The short drive in to Kalgoorlie was even shorter on conversation. I recalled hearing that Julia administered the local office very effectively. It was a tough job to hold down and somehow I'd expected an older woman of overwhelming physical proportions and a personality to match.

Eventually we turned off the well-lit street into a motel parking area. She kept the engine idling. "I booked you in here tonight. What are your plans for tomorrow?"

I controlled my temper with an effort and looked carefully into her oval, expressionless face. "Where the hell is Jansen, the drilling engineer? I want to talk to him. I'm not here for a vacation, you know."

She shrugged. "Jansen is out at Camp Three...where he should be at a time like this. I make the arrangements at this end."

That made sense, but I disliked being told so by this woman who evidently resented my arrival. I knew I was being unreasonable. There was something about her that reminded me of my ex-wife.

A tight, little smile formed on her moist lips. "I came straight from the office to meet you at the airport. Usually things are too lively here to linger over dinner."

"It's settled then," I dragged my suitcase from the back seat. "Give me five minutes to clean up and, over a meal, you can tell me exactly what happened." I was determined to regain the initiative from this self-assured woman who sat there with that irritating Mona Lisa smile on her very attractive face.

While Julia powdered her nose the receptionist showed me to my room. I threw my case on to the bed and glanced at the image in the wall mirror. At forty-nine years of age I still allowed myself the occasional luxury of indulging in vanity. Admittedly, it wasn't exactly a pretty sight. I'd sagged a bit here and there so, to compensate, I smoothed the graying hair around my temples.

The atmosphere in the restaurant was relaxing. I sat in a booth beside a natural stonewall, ordered a gin and tonic and watched the diners around me. They were mostly well-dressed mining equipment salesmen or visiting mining executives, a few tourists and a sprinkling of younger, local townspeople who, evidently, were earning good money.

Finally, I sat back and studied her with interest. A half-bottle of claret had mellowed me considerably and I hoped it had the same effect on her.

The woman's lips parted slightly to reveal the tips of her even, white teeth. It was still the tight, guarded smile, however. Her brown fingers twirled a half-empty glass.

"I knew him too," I said. "We joined the company about the same time and worked together up in South East Asia . He was a bit of a Don Juan...but also a good geologist."

Julia drained her glass and gazed levelly at me. "I imagined you to be someone who was always sitting on your big fat chair in head office."

I chose to ignore this. I had a job to do and now I wanted only facts. Actually I'd never particularly cared for Ross' flamboyant manner but when news of the killing came over the phone to Melbourne I'd been shocked and then angry.

My thoughts wandered back to the previous day in the managing director's suite. "Bad news, Drex," the chubby man had said. "Phillip Ross was one of our best field geologists. It appears that he challenged an intruder hanging around our diamond-drill rig out at Camp Three and was beaten to death for his trouble."

The managing director stood at the window, staring at the glass skyscrapers around him. "I want you to fly over there immediately."

"Dammit!" He swung around abruptly. "Protocol does not come into this. In case you haven't heard, whoever killed our man also stole a couple of metres of our sample drill core."

He returned to the uncluttered desk and slumped despondently into his leather chair. "Our earlier assays showed intersections of up to six percent nickel. Even with the drilling program only half-completed do you realize what will happen on the stock market if that news leaks out prematurely?"

"Exactly!" gritted the managing director. He pointed a thick finger at me. "As you know, we are right in the middle of involved merger negotiations that must not be upset by stock market speculation...that's why I want you in Kalgoorlie by tomorrow."

"Get a good night's rest," she advised. "I'll drive you out to the camp in the morning so be ready at 7 a.m. It's a long, rough journey.

I stood and watched her gracefully wind her way between tables. She was not one to be impressed by a man rushing ahead to open doors for her, I decided.

I strolled back to my room and unpacked a few things. The sleek Browning automatic nestled between my folded shirts. I slipped it into a small traveling bag for tomorrow's journey - just in case.

Morning came too soon. It was cold and clear. A few of the motel guests were scattered among the breakfast tables by the time I'd finished my second cup of black coffee. At exactly 7 a.m. the land cruiser swung into the parking area. I picked up my bag and stepped out to meet Julia. She huddled over the steering wheel, her chin hidden by a thick polo-necked jumper.

There was plenty of activity as we drove through the town. The goldmines, which had made Kalgoorlie prosperous, were still operating and employees were heading for the Golden Mile. Also, there was a new breed of explorer, with seemingly unlimited capital and optimism, who moved further out in to the wilderness seeking new metals and new wealth.

Although a three-hour journey to the camp, Julia insisted on driving all the way. I just sat back and thought about the murder.

We drove northwards through old, abandoned mining towns before turning on to a corrugated, dirt road. The low scrub and red, sandy soil flashed by to be swallowed up in a choking cloud of dust behind us.

Although conversation was restricted as we bounced along at high speed I was pleased to notice that Julia had become just a little friendlier. At least she did not appear, now, to consider me as an interfering egghead from head office.

Mining is a tough game. When I was in the field as a geologist for a big enterprise it all seemed relatively straightforward. Just work hard, mind your own business, prepare reports and let the fairies in head office worry about corporate politics. Life was uncomplicated. It was only when they dragged me in to the city and gave me a substantial raise and an impressive office did I realize I had problems.

"You're a good man, Drex," the managing director had told me, eighteen months ago. "The Board considers that you have the experience and integrity to handle some of the more difficult situations that arise occasionally." He sat deep in his chair and gazed at me with those piercing, black eyes. "You know the kind of thing; confidential negotiations, special project investigations, all the complicated stuff."

I suppressed a grin as I clung to the bucking vehicle. A handsome increase in salary was small compensation for the long hours spent and thousands of kilometers traveled since then - trying to sort out the Ã¢â‚¬Ëœcomplicated stuff.'

And now I was involved in another tricky situation. I had mixed feelings about this one! Phil Ross, the murdered man, had been the senior geologist in this area for some time. He was a competent professional but, as I remembered him, he was also an arrogant bastard.

I sighed. The disappearance of the drill core was now the prime concern. If someone had committed murder for it then they were probably aware of its high nickel content. Even now, somewhere in Melbourne, Sydney, London or New York, an investment syndicate might be perusing results from the analysis and planning to plunge heavily on the shares before the company could make an official announcement on the stock exchange. The added complication of being right in the middle of merger negotiations with an overseas mining corporation would mean that any instability in the share price could ruin the entire deal.

The track, marked occasionally by orange colored strips of plastic tied to stunted bushes, skirted a hill and then I saw Camp Three nestling at its base.

It was similar to many exploration camps that I'd known. Five or six silver-painted caravans were neatly drawn into a semi-circle facing west. In the center of the clearing was a larger caravan and tent that served as kitchen and mess area. Another two caravans on the far side of the clearing were used as an office and a field laboratory for preliminary testing of samples before dispatching the more promising specimens to the Perth laboratory for comprehensive testing. A diesel generator, toilets and shower area completed the camp facilities.

Julia parked the land cruiser beside the other vehicles. She eased her slim body out of the driver's seat, stretching like a kitten in the sun.

I turned to find a tall, bearded man grinning at me. "I'm Felix Jansen the drilling engineer." He extended a scarred and weathered hand. "It's nice to see you again, Julia." His grin became lost in the red hair around his mouth.

"The office radioed that you'd be staying overnight." His teeth appeared through his beard again. "Accommodation is a bit tight. I hope you two don't mind sharing a caravan."

Jansen slapped his thigh and laughed loudly. "Just a joke," he explained unnecessarily and, in a more serious tone, "Do you mind sleeping in Phil Ross' van, Mr Flagg?"

Even though the sun was high in a harsh blue sky, there was a pleasant warmth in the winter's day. The surrounding bush was still - not even the cry of a bird disturbed the silence.

I stood in the clearing and surveyed the peaceful scene. An occasional clatter of utensils in the caravan-kitchen indicated that the noon meal preparations were well underway. It was difficult to believe that a man had been brutally murdered in such relaxed surroundings.

Julia emerged from her caravan and joined me. In jeans and a pale-pink shirt she looked even more attractive. Instinctively, she brushed the unruly blonde fringe from her eyes. "Perhaps I'd better drive back to town. There's a lot of work to do at the office...and besides I hate standing around doing nothing all day."

I grinned, admiring her directness. The inference that I was wasting everybody's time did not escape me. "Just the same I would like you to stay," I said.

Felix Jansen returned to the scene. There was something about his insincere smile and self-assuredness that slightly irritated me. The drilling engineer led us several hundred metres down the rough track and stopped.

"This is where we found him. He was dead, of course. We radioed the police and they arrived about this time yesterday. The body was taken back to town last night."

"Do they suspect anyone?" Julia's voice was unnaturally low and I suddenly realized that she had cared for the murdered man more than she would probably admit.

Felix Jansen shrugged his wide shoulders. "Who knows? Two detectives interviewed us and asked a lot of questions. It's obvious, though, what happened."

"You know how it is these days when an exploration company strikes what is suspected to be a large deposit of a high grade mineral. Speculators, brokers, competitors...they try to find out what's going on. It's a real circus." He paused to scratch his beard. "There have been light aircraft buzzing around and photographing our drilling operations, trespassers attempting to get into the camp and others trying to buy information from our drillers in the town pubs on week-ends. It's a rough game."

We walked towards the drilling rig which was shuddering and screeching as lengths of steel piping were forced deeper into the earth. A couple of tough-looking drillers, in hard hats, were gauging, with experienced eyes, the depth and speed of the diamond-studded drill bit.

"Over here," yelled Jansen above the noise, "is the drill-core shed. After Phil was murdered we discovered that some of the core was missing. He must have surprised someone in the act of stealing it, chased them down the track and was killed in the ensuing struggle."

The long, tin-roofed shed sheltered lengths of divided trays that were stacked tier upon tier. In these trays lay the cylindrical core samples brought up by the drill to be carefully split, crushed, analysed and sent to a more sophisticated laboratory for further analysis.

I grimaced. Whoever had those missing drill-cores might, by now, know more about our nickel discovery than I did. Any major change in the company's share price on the stock markets would soon prove or disprove this.

"This area is riddled with old, abandoned gold mines," volunteered Julia. She had followed quietly behind us, ignoring the whistling from the appreciative drillers. "The white heap is the accumulation of tailings hoisted up from a shaft."

Curiously, I circled the heap and looked down into the blackness of the hole. The wooden windless had long since collapsed under the scorching heat and the winds of fifty summers.

"Not too close!" warned Jensen. "A couple of the boys considered going down to fossick for gold on their days off but it was too dangerous. As you can see the shaft timbers have rotted and there is possibly gas at the bottom."

Apart from an exploratory party away in the bush for the day the entire camp turned out for lunch. I counted fifteen including geologists, drillers and assistants.

Those on the night shift had just rolled out of their bunks. They were usually a rowdy, good-humored lot but the tragic events of the previous day had dampened their spirits. It did not affect appetites though, and they queued at the kitchen for enormous serves of steak and eggs.

By evening I had learned no more about the murder nor the missing drill cores. I'd spent a couple of hours wandering around the camp, questioning the men, but discovered nothing of interest. Back in Melbourne the managing director would be sitting on his well padded behind awaiting my phone call which would tell him that everything had been satisfactorily cleared up. I shrugged. Tomorrow, I would call at the Kalgoorlie police station before leaving but I was not feeling too optimistic about things.

The diesel generator coughed harshly as night closed in and a string of electric lights strung across the camp flashed into life.

I sat with Jansen and Julia by the steps of her caravan and listened to music from a portable radio that carried clearly through the cool, still air.

"You'll be leaving in the morning?" asked the engineer. He crumpled an empty beer can effortlessly, between his firm hands.

"Strangely enough," she said, "and despite Felix's delusion about being a ladies' man, he can't even manage his own wife."

"She's extremely attractive," Julia continued. "I guess that living in a town like Kalgoorlie and seeing her husband once a week is not quite the same as socializing in Toorak."

"Last Christmas, for example, I remember the party we had at the office. After a few sherries she started flirting with a Canadian geologist from one of the other companies. It ended with Felix slapping her and the party breaking up in a fight. Not the sort of thing that goes into the monthly report to head office, of course."

Julia finished her drink. "This life is easy for me. I enjoy it and I'm single," she said slowly. "Some of the wives find it difficult to adjust, coming out here, direct from the eastern states, just sitting around in their little houses, fighting the heat and flies and boredom. It destroys them. Can you understand that?"

I sat quietly, gazing thoughtfully in to the night. The woman had a temper, I decided ruefully. But I knew she had spoken the truth.

I shivered. The temperature was dropping so I found my own caravan and turned in. Someone in the mess-tent cursed loudly as a poker game got underway.

It was almost daybreak when I awoke, aware of the complete silence. It was a silence that leaves a city-dweller feeling uneasy until one learns to adjust and appreciate it.

I stared at the stainless steel ceiling. Today, I'd return to Kalgoorlie , ask a few questions, catch the evening flight back to Perth and then the midnight jet to Melbourne to arrive at 6 a.m. the following day. It now seemed a long, fruitless journey.

I frowned in the semi-darkness. I'd learned to respect my own intuition and something did not seem right with the present situation. I rolled off my bunk and quietly dressed.

Outside, not even a breeze ruffled the slumbering bush. Already there was an electric light on in the kitchen and, further out, floodlights shone on the drilling rig as the crew prepared to finish their night shift.

There was a long pause. "He'd been spending a lot of time in town lately...with Felix Jansen's wife, I think." A note of resentment crept into Julia's voice. "Now go to hell."

I returned to my caravan and found a torch among the murdered man's belongings. The sun had not yet risen but a pale, pink glow on the eastern horizon assisted me in locating the old gold mine shaft.

Leaning cautiously over the edge, I shone the torch directly down but the light beam failed to penetrate the black depth. I discovered a used boarding pass in my pocket, which I lit and dropped into the shaft. Before the flame fluttered out I judged the depth to be about twenty metres.

The wooden ladder, although partly rotted, seemed secure enough to support my considerable weight as I slowly eased myself into the darkness. The deeper I descended the fouler became the air. My searching foot finally sank, ankle deep, into slime at the bottom.

Somewhere in Melbourne , a fat, well-rested managing director would probably be enjoying a substantial breakfast and deciding how he was going to face another crisis-driven day. Life is tough for some.

The torch beam flickered over the scarred walls of the shaft. Far above, the opening was a small, dark-blue circle of light in which several pale stars still flickered. I tried not to breathe too deeply as my boot explored the oozy floor until it touched something solid. I stooped and picked up a piece of the missing drill-core.

A vague suspicion had now been confirmed. With the disappearance of the vital core it had been too easy to blame an outsider for the murder. That motive was now eliminated.

I'd had my own ideas of the killer's identity but my first reaction was one of relief that the security of a potentially spectacular nickel strike was still secure.

"Phil Ross was a louse. He carried on with my wife in town while I sweated out here in this godforsaken country. He got what he deserved."

I licked my lips and quietly explored the wall of the shaft. The horizontal drive which led off the shaft had long since collapsed. There was no escape - except up the ladder.

I swore silently, remembering the Browning automatic that still lay safely in my overnight bag. It was cold at the bottom of the shaft but perspiration began to form on my forehead.

"You should have stayed in Melbourne ," mocked the distant voice. "Now you have a custom-made grave. A few sticks of gelignite will make this look like a natural cave-in."

A rectangular object hurtled down and plopped in the sludge at my feet. I flinched, then snatched up the neatly bound package with the forlorn hope of ripping out the fuse before the gelignite exploded. The fuse was unlit!

A muffled scream echoed in the confined space. I instinctively flattened my large frame against the wall before a body hit the bottom with a splattering thud. It was Felix Jansen and he was very dead.

When I climbed out of the shaft the warming sun was just rising above the stunted scrub. It looked very good to me. Julia stood a few metres away, sobbing quietly.

"Of course," she said, quickly. "It was just. . .well, I saw you leave the camp and then Felix follow you. I guessed something was wrong. That's why I dressed and followed both of you."

I nodded. "He must have known I'd get around to inspecting this shaft sooner or later...and prepared a nasty little package for the occasion."

"He was about to light the fuse when I came up behind him." Julia tried to retain her composure. "There was not time to think. I just pushed. What else could I do?"

"Unless there are complications in Kalgoorlie I should be on tonight's flight back to Melbourne . My boss will be pleased that there's no security breach over the nickel assay." I glanced sideways at Julia who had remained silent for most of the journey. "It might be a good idea if we transferred you out of this area. How would you like to work in head office? You could find it more challenging than you think. You might even get to like it."

Malcolm Reid is retired after a career in mining and finance in Melbourne and overseas. Over the years he has had numerous short stories and articles published in Australian and overseas magazines. Also, thirteen books (including two novels) successfully published by major publishers. He is currently working towards spending more time in writing fiction.

This is the second Drexell Flagg story to appear in The Outpost. You can also catch up with him in The 24 Hour Affair.