12 July 1934

GAVE HIS LIFE FOR HIS FRIEND 

Trooper's Tragic Death In Central Australia

A mounted constable and Jim Bee, a resident of a far northern town, to which the former had recently been appointed, soon became great friends. The trooper's appointment had been a great surprise to the town, for, having been brought up in the city, he knew very little about the country into which his new duties took him. 

His friendship with Jim was therefore a very valued one, for the latter, who was a thoroughly experienced bushman, was able to give him many hints and much information, which he found very useful in his work. 

It was therefore with very great regret that he learned one day from Jim that he had accepted a position as manager of a large Queensland station, and would be leaving for his new job in a few days. 

The country towards the Queensland border was then in the throes of a drought, and the trooper tried to dissuade his friend from his avowed intention of journeying overland to his new home. Jim, however, laughed at his friend's fears. He had lived in the bush all his life, he said, and knew its vagaries like an open book. The job he had been offered was too good to risk losing it by any delay in getting to the station. He, however, in order to allay the trooper's fears, promised to telegraph his arrival at a large town just over the Queensland border within 10 days. 

Time sped on, and the trooper was often to be seen at the telegraph office seeking news of his friend. Ten days passed, and no word had been received. 

As he had had ample time to reach the town in question, the majority of the townspeople became convinced that Jim was dead, especially when another two days went by without word. The trooper therefore decided to search for his friend, cursing himself for not having exercised his authority and prevented him from setting out. 

He left on his search accompanied by a blackboy just 48 hours before word reached the town that Jim had ended his journey, a hundred miles to the north of his destination. There was no telegraph station there, and the delay in getting to an office had caused the message to arrive just two days too late. 

The trooper had been gone only six days when his blackboy returned without him. The townsmen questioned the 'boy,' who was believed to have been thoroughly reliable. His story that the trooper, in his anxiety for his friend, had travelled at a pace too great for the heat, and had been careless with the water, was not questioned. He was, however, ordered to guide a rescue party to where the trooper had died. This he was apparently unable to do. 

The searchers then split into three smaller parties and began a careful search of the country. They finally came upon the trooper's trail by finding his coat. They followed his tracks easily enough, for he had been crawling most of the way. They found that he had crawled in three distinct circles, discarding his clothing as he went. He was found in a frightful condition, and absolutely nude. His face was black, and his tongue, which had become too large for his mouth, was protruding from it. Empty eye-sockets bore mute testimony of the carrion crows' work. The trooper had finally died within 400 yards of a waterhole and in one of his circles he had passed within 120 yards of it. When this fact was noted ominous looks were exchanged, for it was obvious that the black must have deserted him long before he was dead. Had the black not left him, it is almost certain that they would have reached the water. Two or three of the party immediately suggested hanging the blackboy off-hand, regardless of the fact that there was not a tree within miles of where they were. Even had there been a suitable tree, it would have been useless for when they came to look for the black they found that he had disappeared. The cruel Australian desert, aided by treachery and ignorance, had claimed another victim. —'TRACKER.'

Terrible Ten Minutes

Some years back an invalid lady and her companion were living in the old home of Adam Lindsay Gordon, at Dingley Dell. On one occasion the lady was horrified to find a snake in bed with her. Being unable to get out of bed, she was compelled to lie still until the companion coaxed it out by placing a dish of milk on the floor. — 'Elby.'

Bruiser's Mistake

On most sheep stations the cook is the most tolerant and openhearted fellow imaginable. All the regular hands respect and treat him well, but once a year, at shearing time, he usually gets a rough spin. 

With every party of shearers there are usually one or two who make it a point to insult and abuse the cook for all they are worth. No one wonders that the cook asks for a rise at shearing time. 

Some years ago I was one of a party of shearers doing the north and upper West Coast sheds. We were on the average a quiet and decent lot, with Gun Casey as leader. To be called a 'gun' means that a shearer has to be a fast man with some record or another to his credit. Casey got his 'gun' doing 180 tough sandy-backed wethers in eight hours.  

There was one man in our crowd who, though not a gun, was that fast that we couldn't very well do without him, and he knew it. He was known by the nickname of 'Bruiser,' and well earned it was, too. At every shed he started a row with the cook over the meals, and ended by hammering the life out of the unfortunate fellow, thus making the shearing a miserable time for all and sundry. 

We were approaching the end of our run near the East- West line, at a place we will call the Ranch. We arrived there just after breakfast, and started shearing. At dinner time we adjourned to the dining-room, which was really a large barn with the cook-house built on to it. 

One of the station's permanent hands brought in the soup, and we started our meal. As usual, Bruiser got going. He sampled a spoonful of soup and then roared out in his foghorn voice. 'Where's that so and-so of a cook? I'll teach him to dish up stuff like this. Does he think we're going to be poisoned by him?' Without a doubt the cook heard him, but he took no notice, and went on quietly with his work in the cookhouse next door. The cook, by the way, was a little lightweight chap, with a comical squint and a very quiet manner, known as 'Skimpy.' 

Bruiser again roared out his opinion of the soup, only more luridly than before, and still there was no reply from the cookhouse. Feeling very slighted, he rushed around to the cook in a very bad mood. As he left the shed the permanent hand said in a quiet sort of way, 'Bruiser'll make a mistake if he's not careful.' We ate and listened. 

The next we heard was skimpy's voice saying, 'Take your mug out of the doorway, Ugly; you'll turn the milk sour and the meat green.' Bruiser spluttered with wrath. 'You blanky little so-and-so, dishing up soup like that to men; I'll kill you,' and then the fun began. After a few seconds we heard a crash, and then, to our surprise. Bruiser started yelling for mercy. The next moment he appeared with a black eye and two thick lips. 

Behind him, with a firm hammer lock on him, came Skimpy, kicking him for all he was worth. He shoved the bully into his place, and with one hand rubbed and ducked his head into the soup, while we others roared with laughter. It ended by Skimpy pouring the hot soup down Bruiser's neck. 

We teased Bruiser about it for the rest of the season, but never again did he complain about his meals. We learnt later that Mr. K., the boss of the Ranch, had engaged Skimpy for the shearing for the express purpose of curing Bruiser. Skimpy was a well known lightweight boxer and wrestler from the Western Australian gold fields. — 'Campfire Comrade.'

Let Off With A Caution

In a northern township there once lived a German who regarded himself as the 'big man' of the place. He owned the only general store and butcher's shop, was chairman of the local board and a justice of the peace. 

But with all these occupations he was almost illiterate, being barely able to write his own name. 

There was a dispute about a right of-way through one of his paddocks, so he closed the path and put up a signboard upon which was crudely painted the notice. 'Tresbuzzers Will Be Prosegutted.' This caused considerable amusement. The old man cared little for that. But one of his neighbors, a German, too, objected to it, and retaliated by beginning an action for obstruction of passage. 

This gave rise to a curious position, for the only magistrate who could try the case was the old man, who was the defendant. This did not deter him from sitting on the bench. 

The plaintiff appeared and stated his case, the magistrate gravely listening to it. When it was finished he left his place, went into the witness box, and gave evidence to the empty bench. 

This done, he resumed his seat, complimented the last witness on the way he had given his evidence, and— let himself off with a caution. The decision was not appealed against. — A. Daly.

Judy O'Brian

'Beware. Man traps and spring guns.' I remember seeing this notice on a board in a large garden and vineyard at East Payneham. It was necessary, too, at that time. Shady characters used to come down from the wild back hills of Adelaide, and poultry, rabbits, and tools used to disappear.

About this time a schoolmaster lived in that locality, and kept school in an old thatched barn. He had a good muster, same notables among them, be cause schools at that time were scarce. One holiday the master, his wife, and myself decided to visit a farm at Noarlunga. The caretaker, during our absence, had to be Judy O'Brian, a plucky, jolly Irish girl, not afraid of anything or anybody. 

The school master instructed Judy in the use of an old horse pistol, and told her not to spare a long sword if it became necessary to use it. Judy proved an apt pupil, and the schoolmaster and wife left feeling satisfied that things would be well looked after by their maid of all work. 

The afternoon we left, two men, dressed in women's clothes, called on Judy. They wanted to know if the missus wanted any milk. 'Sure I don't know,' said Judy 'but I'll see the missus.' Off she went, picked up the old pistol, and drew the gleaming sword from its scabbard. She came boldly down the passage. 'No, she says the missus don't want no milk. Moreover, don't you come here in your wimmen's clothes. Ye can't deceive me. So be off wid you before I sind daylight through yez.' The men went. Judy had frightened the life out of them. 

A few nights after, Judy heard the dog give a quiet bark. She got up, put on an old coat, collared her trusty pistol in one hand and the sword in the other, sailed down the passage, and gently opened the back door. On the roof of the prize rabbit house on all fours clearly showing in the moonlight, was my gentleman burglar. 

Without hesitation Judy levelled the old horse pistol. There was a blinding flash, a terrific report, and a cloud of smoke. In a few minutes over came some neighbors, men, women and children. Judy had once more made things lively and come out on top. The robber was never seen again, but the hole made by an ounce ball was found in the iron roof not far from where he was. 

Judy was rewarded for her caretaking, and before the return of her employers had to report the collapse of the poor old barn schoolroom. Luckily all the boys were on holidays. School was afterwards kept in the house. — G. A. Payne.