Lasseters Legacy

By Steven Elliott

The Lasseter legend is well known in Australia, or at least it was when I was a younger man. The story goes that a man named Harrold Lasseter whilst journeying across the desert from Alice Springs to the west coast around 1900 reportedly discovered a fabulously rich reef of gold. Nothing was done about the discovery until many years later in the 1930’s when Lasseter mounted an expedition to relocate the fabulous reef, an expedition that resulted in his death and no reef. Since that time many people have ventured into the desert in search of the reef with no success. This book details a geologists quest for the reef and his own fabulous gold find which become embroiled in criminal conspiracy and action. Of course the hero geologist triumphs and a World class series of gold mines is established. It should however be noted that the author believes that Lasseters gold reef never existed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Oct 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781504322980

Steven Elliott

Steve Elliott is an exploration geologist with over forty years experience exploring in Australia, United States of America, Canada, Malaysia, Brazil, South Africa, Zimbabwe and Madagascar. Steve is an inveterate reader consuming on average two to three books weekly, the books including fiction thrillers, science, biography and history. In addition to reading Steve is also a prolific writer although as of yet only two books have made it to print, “Desert Dreaming” and “Bullshit”. Steve lives in Perth, Western Australia with his wife Sally, dog ‘Florence’ and cat ‘Smudge’. Steve loves the ‘bush’, as it is known in Australia, particularly the desert regions and goes out to camp in said bush at any opportunity, both to observe the bush and its denizens and to prospect. Steves family have a long association with Australia and are proud of their lineage, even the convict forebears! Steve hopes that you will enjoy this work and makes no apologies for making the hero of the story a geologist, of which Steve is one.

Book preview

ONE

1897

Harrold Bell Lasseter was a young man who had jumped ship in Australia to go and seek his fortune. Lasseter was only seventeen years old with a lean build and a mop of shaggy brown hair that he had let grow long to cover his collar. His features were even and some would consider him to be handsome in a rather plain fashion. He had always been a confident young man but now that confidence was being tested.

Lasseter had left home young to find his fortune and was still looking. His latest venture had been a failure but perhaps he would have better luck in Western Australia. Perhaps he might find gold! Plenty of good men were finding gold in the western colony and perhaps he might be similarly blessed.

He had once been a pale man but now, in the desert, he was burnt brown by the unrelenting sun. And the sun that glowered around him on this day was fierce.

Harold Lasseter straightened in the saddle and turned forward so he again faced to the west. He had previously twisted in the saddle to look behind to the east, the way he had come, and now he looked forward again to what lay ahead. The view behind was desolate, the view ahead even worse.

Ahead of him and his horses all he could see was red dirt in a seemingly endless plain with only an occasional clump of spinifex or saltbush and the occasional rock, and in the distance what appeared to be large yellow sand dunes. No people. No animals. No water. Truly the end of the World.

How on earth did I come to this pass?, he thought. Here he was sitting astride his horse in the middle of a desert when at the beginning of his journey he had anticipated mountains and lush pastures and flowing streams. However, he had left the mountains and their streams behind several days previous, such as they were, and now all he had was desert, with no water and very little game for the pot. And if the dunes were any indication it looked as though the situation was about to get even worse. Nothing ever seemed to go as it should, he thought dejectedly.

He had originally trekked to central Australia from Queensland when he had heard that rubies had been discovered in the desolate and mostly unoccupied interior of Australia, to the east of the transcontinental telegraph line. He was sorely disappointed when, on arrival, he learnt the stones that had been found were not rubies but common garnets, worth nothing. His thoughts of an easy fortune had vanished in an instant. Unemployed and drifting he had examined other opportunities and finally decided to head to Western Australia where there was a gold rush currently creating great excitement. Many men had gone to the gold rushes and quite a few had become rich. Perhaps that was where he would make his fortune?

Lasseter had learned from the locals and the available poor maps that a mountain range was supposed to extend all the way from the centre of Australia where he was to the west coast. He was advised that if he followed that range then he would almost certainly find water spilling from the ranges and probably game to hunt and eat before he hit the west coast and civilization again. Mountains always had streams with water and the wild animals that survived on its presence. And of course the streams would provide feed in the form of grass for his horses. But of course if there were no mountains then there would be no streams and if there were no streams how good game, much less his horses, hope to survive?

Charged with enthusiasm he had set off with two horses to make the crossing and two weeks later here he was. The promised mountains had disappeared to be replaced by searing desert with not a hill in sight, and certainly no water. Still, he thought dejectedly, he had made the effort to get this far so he would go on. Perhaps the desert would stop to be replaced by mountains again although he could see no rises in the land ahead, only what appeared to be the monstrous sand dunes. With a click of his tongue and a light tap of his heels he urged his mount on. His packhorse followed obediently behind, tethered on a lead.

Coming to a halt an hour later and sighing wearily Lasseter got down from his horse, hobbled it with a strip of leather, and set up his camp which consisted only of a piece of canvas and a single blanket.

That night Lasseter made camp on a stony plain near a shallow dry creek bed. He made some damper which he ate ravenously and then sat staring at the small fire. He felt abandoned, as though he was the only man left on Earth. He knew that it was unlikely that there was another man within a hundred miles. No white men at least, but almost certainly Aborigines, the permanent denizens of the country and of the desert. But how they survived in this desolate wasteland was a mystery to him.

One of his horses was hobbled nearby grazing despondently on the scarce tufts of coarse, dry grass whilst the second had hobbled down to the dry creek in a forlorn search for water. He had not thought to carry feed for the horses, and only a little water, as he thought it would not be necessary with flowing streams and lush mountain pastures. What streams and what pastures?

He had given each of the horses a small pannikin of water the previous evening but he knew that it was not enough and they wanted more. But here in the desert water was precious and he had very little to spare. The horses would just have to make do until he could find more water. And if he could not find more water then probably both they and he would die, forgotten in the desert. No one would ever learn what had happened to him.

Lasseter knew that there were tribal Aborigines in the area but had seen none of them. Several times during his ride he had seen smoke to his north and had assumed that they indicated Aboriginal camp fires. Once he had diverted from his course to check one of the smokes in the hope that it indicated Aborigines and possibly water. He was quickly disappointed when he had arrived at the source of the smoke to find a deserted, almost extinguished camp fire. And no water. There were probably Aborigines examining him from the cover of the low bushes but he could see no one. How did the Aborigines survive out here with no water? But of course there was water but cunningly concealed both by nature and the Aborigines.

Several other times during the journey he had also felt as though he was being watched by invisible eyes. Although he had a rifle he hoped that the Aborigines were friendly and not in a belligerent mood. He did not want to have to fight for his life so far from civilization. And he had nothing against the black fellows.

The next day Lasseter was up at daybreak and soon had his horse saddled and his limited swag and cooking implements loaded onto the pack horse. Before moving out he gave each of the horses another small drink of water from his pannikin, feeling guilty that the previous night he had thought that they would get no more. Luckily he had found a small pool in an otherwise dry creek the day before and so had a reasonable supply of water, enough to last for a few days anyway, if he was careful with it. He knew that he had to treat it carefully and dole it out only in small amounts when absolutely necessary. Turning back to the east he could still see the mountains that he had left behind several days previous. To his front there was only dry red soil in a seemingly endless plain and then the sand dunes.

The second day after leaving the mountains lasseter figured that he had probably left the Northern Territory and was now in Western Australia. On the fourth day he had entered the desert proper with endless sheets of yellow sand and large yellow sand dunes. Many times he thought he should turn back away from the desert but onward his horses trudged as if they knew something that he did not. Perhaps they could smell water? Lasseter had always been an optimist and his optimism was not going to desert him now. Besides which there was nothing for him back in Stuart but there might be a fortune ahead in Western Australia!

He hoped to find water soon as his supply was limited and he required water both for himself and for his horses. He did not want to die of thirst alone in the desert.

On the fourth day out from the mountains he was slowly traversing a shallow valley between two sand dunes when he saw something glittering up ahead. As he drew closer he saw that the glittering object was a ragged lump of a white stone. Drawing up to the stone he was almost blinded by a flash reflected from by the stone from the fierce sun above. He was about to bypass the stone when he thought he saw a flash of gold. With a gentle command he bought the horses to a stop and climbed down from the saddle. With some disinterest he picked up the stone and was about to toss it aside when he saw another gold flash. Looking more closely he saw that the rock was studded with small specks of a golden colour and there was a small vein of the same material. Looking even more closely he saw that the flecks, and the vein, were in fact gold. Gold! He had found gold in the middle of the desert!

Lasseter knew what gold looked like as a friend in Queensland had shown him samples from a small gold mine that he operated. So what he was looking at was definitely gold. And it appeared to be very rich. Scanning the area around about he spotted about ten yards ahead another rock largely covered by sand in the sand dune to his right. Leaving the horses he strode forward and saw at once that this second rock was quartz, like the first, and was also studded with gold. He went down on his knees and began removing the sand covering with his hands. He soon found that this second occurrence was not a loose rock but part of the bedrock. He had discovered a gold reef!

Returning to his horses Lasseter scooped up the first piece of rock that he had found and jammed it into a saddlebag on the pack horses back. He then made a small note of his discovery in his journal and attempted to describe the surrounding country. This was no easy task as all of the country looked exactly the same. Sand, sand and more sand! Sand either in sheets over the ground or in mountainous sand dunes. He had however passed a white salt lake several miles back so he made note of that geographical occurrence. He remounted his horse and with some urging was able to get it to mount the sand dune to his right and slide down the other side. The next valley was however all sand, with no indications of rocks. Once again he urged his horse over the next sand dune and down the other side. This time he was confronted with a bar of quartz rock which stretched from one side of the valley to the other, both ends disappearing into the sand. He once again dismounted and went down on his knees before the reef. It too was studded with gold. He picked up a small piece that had been shed from the reef and jammed it into the saddlebag along with the first piece.

For the rest of that day Lasseter traced the reef first to the north and then to the south. By the end of a third day after the initial discovery he had traced it for almost ten miles and seen that it varied between five feet and fifteen feet wide, where the reef outcropped and was visible for its full width. After the first two small outcrops he had only found two more indications of the reef but in his mind it was enough. He was convinced that the isolated occurrences linked together beneath the sand to form a north trending reef over ten miles in length. He took a total of nine pieces of the gold-bearing rock as samples.

Lasseter knew however that he could not remain any longer and in fact should not have stayed as long as he had. He was growing very short of water, less than one waterbag slightly more than half full remaining. And if he did not find some more water soon both he and the horses would perish. If that were to happen he would be the richest dead man on Earth! The horses had already been without a drink for more than a day and the lack was starting to show. They were lethargic and the lack of water combined with poor grazing had given them a half starved look. Their protruding ribs tormented them and tormented him. He took a last look around trying to imprint the local features on his memory. After all, if he was to exploit his find he had to be able to locate it again. Finally, satisfied that he would be able to find his way back, he coaxed his horse once again to the west, the poor packhorse trailing behind. He believed that there was no point in returning to Stuart as his water was very low and surely there would be more ahead.

Two days after finding the gold reef Lasseters horses started to tire, stumbling more than walking forward. He knew that the animals would die if he did not find water soon. He had about half a gallon left in his waterbag but he needed that for himself alone. He could spare none for the poor horses. If he could survive then perhaps he could lead the horses to water. But if he were to die of thirst then the horses would almost certainly perish soon thereafter. Their best chance of getting a drink was if he found it for them.

The horse he was riding finally stumbled to its knees and Lasseter leapt from his saddle into the sand as the horse went down completely. He went around to the horses nose and tried to coax it back to its feet by pulling gently on the reins. The horse however would not, or could not, rise. It simply stared at him morosely, knowing it was about to die. Finally, with a small sigh, the horse collapsed onto its right side, its face in the sand. It would not rise again.

Distraught, Lasseter stripped the saddle from the dying animal. He went back to the pack horse which was also in very poor condition and removed many of the items from its back, leaving only his last remaining water bag and his gold samples from the reef.

He withdrew the rifle that was mounted in a large leather holster attached to the pack and walked back to the dying horse. He placed the guns muzzle against the horses forehead and, closing his eyes, pulled the trigger. There was a loud crack that echoed into the distance and thence all was once again quiet. He opened his eyes and stared down at the now still horse, the only movement being the slow seepage of blood from the large hole between its eyes and the seepage of tears from his own eyes.

Lasseter was not an emotional man but he had grown to love the horse that had borne his weight.

Disconsolately he turned and walked back to the packhorse. He did not cry further although he was saddened about what he had had to do. He had liked the horse and it had been his fault that it was now dead. He threw the saddle from the deceased horse over the packhorses back, tied the cinches and mounted.

Lasseter knew that he was in serious trouble. If he did not find water soon his second horse would die and then himself. The gold would be no good to him if he died of thirst in the desert. Nonetheless, he prodded the former pack horse with his heels and urged it into a slow amble to the west. It was definitely too late to turn back to the east as he knew that the nearest water in that direction was too far away to save him.

Later that same day the last of his horses, the ex-packhorse, also went down on its knees. Once again coaxing to get it to stand was ineffective. Once again the horse keeled over onto its side and lay still. This horse too would never rise again. Once again he withdrew his rifle and shot the animal between the eyes. And he wept.

Lasseter was now in serious trouble. He had almost exhausted his water supply and he did not know where he could get more. There was no water behind him for at least five days. Ahead of him there might be water over the next sand dune or he might not see water again for another hundred miles. He would be dead well before then. Nonetheless, he retrieved the pack saddle from the dead horse along with the water bag which retained only a couple of mouthfuls. He slung the water bag around his neck on its cord and hoisted the pack saddle onto his left shoulder. The rifle he dropped into the sand. It was pointless carrying extra dead weight. He then plodded on to the west, hoping and praying that he would find water before it was too late.

Afternoon of the day after he had lost his last horse and Lasseter was on his last legs. He had used the last of the water the previous day and now his lips were cracked and his tongue swollen to fill almost his entire mouth. He felt like he had a very dry tennis ball embedded behind his teeth. He had also thrown away the saddlebag with its gold samples. All of the gold in the World was worthless to him if he collapsed under the weight and died. Not long for this World now, he thought. But he was not going to give up. He would struggle on until he collapsed and died.

He did struggle on until he finally fell backwards onto the sloping side of a sand dune. He picked himself up from the sand and then sat down again abruptly as his head swam. Sitting hunched over with his head between his knees he waited for the end. He could go no further. He soon passed into unconsciousness only to wake some time later to the sound of bells. That must be the heavenly choir come to take me to God, he thought. But then he realized that he was still slumped in the sand, he was burning from the intense sun and he could still hear the faint tinkle of bells. He obviously could not be in heaven yet unless heaven was a desert.

Then he thought he must be imagining the sound. It sounded a little like muted church bells. But then he heard the sound again. It was the tinkling of harness. There was someone else out here! He lifted his head trying to orient the sound and determined it was coming from behind the sand dune on which he was lying in extremis. He struggled up the dune in a crawl and finally crested the top. He looked down into the next valley but could see nothing. Just my imagination, he thought bitterly. And then he looked to the left and saw his savior. It was a man dressed in robes with more cloth wrapped around his head leading two camels.

For the rest of his life Lasseter would always be drawn to the sound of bells. In fact, in later times Lasseter would adopt the name Bell as his middle name as a tribute to what had saved his life.

"Help!’, he croaked.

The man kept walking oblivious to his presence. In another couple of minutes he would have passed and there was no way that Lasseter could catch up.

Help!, he croaked, slightly louder.

This time the man swiveled his head searching for the origin of the call. He finally looked up to where Lasseter was perched atop the sand dune.

Sir, what are you doing up there? Are you all right?, yelled the cameleer.

Water, hissed Lasseter, I need water.

Certainly sir. Can you make it down here and I will be glad to lend assistance, shouted the cameleer.

Lasseter tried to struggle to his feet but found that his legs would not support him. Instead, using his hands he crawled and tumbled to the base of the slope. As he arrived the cameleer came running over with a water bag he had fetched from one of the camels.

Here sir. Take a drink, but not too much. You are clearly in very much trouble.

Lasseter thankfully grasped the water bag and with shaking hands pulled the stopper. He upended the bag letting the blessedly cool water flow down his throat. Feeling that he could go on drinking forever he nonetheless stopped and restopped the bag. He had heard stories of men dying of thirst who had drunk too much water too quickly and died anyway. Too much of a good thing can kill!

Thank you sir. You have saved my life, rasped Lasseter.

My pleasure sir. I am Atash Khan at your service and I am glad to help another traveler. Is it just you sir? Do you have a companion? Do you have camels or horses?

Just me. Horses dead, croaked Lasseter.

Well, it is a little early but we will camp here tonight and continue tomorrow. You are most welcome to my camp and then tomorrow you travel onwards with me, said Atash.

Lasseter now recognized that the man who had saved his life was an Afghan cameleer, dressed in traditional tribal robes. The Afghan cameleers were the lifeline of the outback ferrying goods, food and mail to isolated stations and settlements. They did the jobs that horses and bullock drawn carts could not do in the arid interior. He once again pulled the stopper from the water bag and took a long drink.

Where are you going?, asked Lasseter finally.

I am travelling to Stuart from Perth to deliver mail and some equipment, said Ashad.

Ashad returned to his camels, got them to kneel and began untying his camping gear from their backs. He also took down a bundle of wood that he had collected in other regions. There was no wood out here. He quickly had a small camp fire burning on which he prepared the evening meal. He offered a plate heaped with the product to Lasseter instructing him to Eat, eat. Lasseter looked at the meal and saw that it was rice and some sort of stew. He was not going to offend his savior by asking what was in the stew so settled down to eating with an offered spoon. He was soon feeling much better and realized that this had been his first meal in two days.

Ashad gave Lasseter two blankets to make a bed which he did in the sand some distance away from the fire. Ashad peppered him with questions throughout and following the meal to which Lasseter replied with grunts or monosyllables. He was undoubtedly grateful to the man but he desired only quiet and rest. He was physically and emotionally exhausted. He excused himself as soon as possible after the sun went down and retired to his primitive bed in the sand. He sank down onto one of the blankets and pulled the other over his body against the evening chill. His head had hardly hit the sand before he was asleep.

The cameleer was up at dawn and was packing up his beasts when Lasseter awoke. He tried to stand from his bed but his legs were stiff and sore. Seeing his difficulties Ashad immediately assuaged his immediate concern.

Your legs are weary sir. You will ride one of my darlings until they feel better, said Ashad.

Thank you so much Ashad. You are right, I think my legs are buggered, said Lasseter.

Although the camels did not have saddles, Ashad quickly rigged a blanket for Lasseter to sit on and a rope to grip whilst he was riding. Ashad had already had breakfast or was not partaking. Lasseter also decided to skip the meal and satisfied himself with a long drink of water. Then, under Ashads instruction, he mounted the camel behind its hump and settled down to face a long and probably uncomfortable day.

As it turned out it was a long day but far from uncomfortable. Much to Lasseters surprise the camel was surprisingly comfortable to ride. Also to his surprise the camel did not hesitate at taking on his added weight even though it was already fully loaded with packs, presumably of trade goods for sale in Stuart thought Lasseter. The camel, called Meer by Ashad, was gentle and seemed to glide over the sand. By the end of his journey Lasseter had become quite attached to Meer.

Surprisingly, Ashad had not asked what Lasseter was doing in the desert. He seemed content that he had saved his life and needed no explanations. That suited Lasseter fine. He did not want to have to explain about his foolish travel plans or his gold discovery.

For six days Lasseter travelled east with Ashad and his camels. After the second day Lasseter felt well enough to walk and travelled the remaining four days on foot. During the last three days they had left the desert and were travelling over red soil plains towards the MacDonnell Ranges a little to the north of where Lasseter had left them. Approaching evening on the fifth day Lasseter, leading Meer, saw something white up ahead and a little to their left. As they neared Lasseter could see that the white object was a tent. There was a second tent behind the first.

Ashad, he said, A little over there to the left I think I can see a camp?

Yes, Mr Lasseter, I see it too. We will go there and see if anyone is at home, said Ashad.

They walked slowly towards the camp until Lasseter could see a white man dressed in moleskins, solid work boots, a soiled cotton shirt and broad hat. The man appeared to be bending over a small table erected on the dry earth. Obviously hearing them approach he lifted his head and looked in their direction.

Ashad, me old mate. How are you. It’s been a while, called the man.

Mr Harding. It is good to see you still hard at work. May we join you in your camp?, said Ashad.

Of course you can Ashad. The more the merrier! And who is this you have with you? I didn’t realize you were ferrying passengers now, laughed Harding.

Lasseter stopped a few yards short of Harding and dropped Meers reins. He knew that she wouldn’t run off as she was too well trained.

I am Harold Lasseter, said Lasseter, "Ashad here saved me from dying of

Reviews for Lasseters Legacy

[Deborah Batham · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Sorry. Too many inconsistencies in this story (as there is in the original tale). Atash changes his name to Ashad, the discarded packsaddle finds it's way back to a dead horse. Couldn't go past the first few chapters.