potch

He was rarely sober, and Michael and Potch were afraid of the effect of so much drinking on his never very steady brain.

"Potch's had an idea he didn't want to part with her," he said.

Yet Potch must know about the stones; he must have seen them.

Michael remembered the night she had come for Potch and had seen that gold-and-red-fired stone on the table.

Potch had not understood, he believed; it had goaded him to a state of mind in which he was not responsible for what he did.

Potch was at work on a slab of shin-cracker when Michael went down into the mine.

Michael and Potch had seen nothing but a few shards of potch and colour for months.

Potch cleared away the litter of the meal while Michael went out to meet the old man.

When Potch had worked it out of its socket, the knobby was found to be even bigger than they had thought at first.

In about a fortnight Potch and Michael came on sandstone and drove into red opal dirt beneath it.