21 February 1935

'THERE'S MANY A SLIP' 

How Two Tricksters Were Tricked

Prospectors are normally fairly tough individuals, particularly those who spend their time searching for gold amid the arid wastes of Central Australia. Most of them are old and wiry men, who are among the shrewdest inhabitants of the outback. 

Two such characters, whom we will call Bill and Joe, had been fossicking for some weeks in the vicinity of a small northern town, but had been experiencing a fairly lean time. They had exhausted both their money and their credit, and it was obvious that they could not carry on much longer. Some thing had to be done to save the situation, so they put their heads together and concocted a plan to 'raise the wind.' 

Towards evening one hot day Bill came into the town in a great hurry, looking anxious and disturbed. Rushing around, he finally discovered a man with a horse and cart, and begged his assistance. He said that Joe had got a touch of the sun, and was lying under a tree several miles from the town. The sympathies of the man were aroused, and a few hours later the whole population turned out to meet a worried Bill, who was holding his sickly-looking companion in his arms. 

There was neither doctor nor hospital in the town, so the publican generously granted Bill the free use of a room in which to place his sick pal till he had recovered. Joe seemed somewhat delirious, and Bill appeared very anxious to keep the crowd away from him. 

It was a hot night, and Bill's thirst became almost unendurable. He looked the picture of misery, and the publican, taking pity on him, gave him several glasses of beer. The publican was a very shrewd fellow, and he noticed that when Bill slipped away a few hours later he locked his sick comrade's room before he went. Bill returned in about an hour with plenty of ready cash, and started to drink freely. When he retired for the night he slept in his pal's room. 

Before the publican went to bed, however, he had a visit from the local storekeeper, who showed him a small handful of nuggets of gold. The publican's eyes almost seemed to start out of his head with astonishment. 'Did you get them from Bill?' he asked. 'Too right,' was the reply. 'He's full of gold, and it has 'been dug up fairly recently. Those two have found a pot of it somewhere in the hills.' This piece of news was startling, and the two men talked and planned that night for some hours. 

Next morning a surprise awaited them. The first thing they noticed was Bill with a horse. The animal had been purchased with the cash obtained for the nuggets, and Bill was apparently making hurried preparations for a long journey. They both jumped to the conclusion that he was leaving to register his claim, and decided that if they could only find it they could manage nicely. They could destroy Bill's and Joe's pegs, and then race Bill to the nearest police station, as the storekeeper had a fairly good car, and the distance was more than a horse could cover in one trip. In addition, there was also a chance that the policeman might be away. 

They thought the matter over and decided that they had the bird in hand —Joe. The sick man was quite normal when they entered his room, and he gratefully accepted the drink they offered him. 'I wonder where Bill's got to,' he said. 'Oh, Bill. He's just left the town. Bought young Paddy Glenn's horse for eighteen quid,' replied the storekeeper. 'What? He's bought a horse. Where did he get the cash from?' 'Oh, he sold me a handful of nuggets last night,' replied the storekeeper. 

Joe's anger was something dreadful to witness. 'The rotten cow,' he shouted, 'to treat a pal like that. He had no right to sell those nuggets. Half were mine. Besides, he's gone crooked, or else he would have told me.' 'Told you what?' enquired the publican. 'Told me he's gone to register the claim,' replied Joe in an agonised voice. 'Where is the claim?' asked the publican. 'Tell us, Joe, old fellow, and we'll rush out in the car, repeg it, and race Bill to the police station.' 'Yes, and pull my pegs out as well,'' gasped Joe, who seemed to have become exhausted from the excitement. 'No fear, Joe. We'll give you a fair deal. Tell us where the claim is and we'll rush out.' 

'No,' Joe replied. 'She's a beauty. Rich isn't the word for it. You'll have to do more than promise, or otherwise I'll be just as badly off as I am now.' 'I'll tell you what I'll do,' said the storekeeper. 'I'll give you those nuggets Bill sold me and twenty quid be sides as a bond.' 'And I'll give you forty quid as a bond, Joe,' chimed in the publican. 'It's all I've got in the place.' 'All right, you chaps,' murmured Joe, after some hard thinking. 'If you do turn me down now, I've got some thing out of it; but give me a fair go.' 

The money was hurriedly handed over, and while the storekeeper got his car ready, Joe drew a plan and gave the publican instructions for reaching the claim. 'It's a good way out,' he remarked. 'Yes,' replied Joe . 'but it's much nearer from there to the police station besides, it's a good track, easy to find, and you'll be able to follow our tracks.' 'O.K. Joe, We'll be back by to-morrow night and everything will be set.' 

As the car roared out of the hotel yard a very different looking Joe scrambled out of bed and hurriedly dressed himself. He gathered up his few belongings, and the local residents were surprised to see him march off at the double in the direction Bill had taken. Had they cared to follow, they would have been even more surprised to see him meet Bill in a small patch of scrub not more than a mile and a half from the town. In that clump of trees were concealed their cart, horse, and all their mining gear. Bill's newly bought horses was harnessed up, and the pals, dividing the spoils as they drove along, laughed heartily as they thought of the two cunning townsmen searching vainly amongst the rough hills for a claim that did not exist. It was not the first time that a bottle of nuggets had rescued them from bad times.— 'Modus Operandi.'

Old Proverb Disproved

The old adage that 'stolen fruit is sweetest' is not always true, as I once proved to my discomfiture; it being almost the cause of my spending a night in an old well. 

I was employed on a farm in the mid-north at the time, and about 9.30 one evening, after finishing work for the day, I thought I would slip down to the orchard for some fruit on the quiet. 

On the way to the orchard was an old well, which was used as a repository for rubbish and dead animals. It was a very dark night, and I miscalculated the distance. When I thought I must be nearing the well I veered round to the south to skirt it. Instead of doing so, however, I walked straight into it. 

Fortunately for me, several loads of musty hay had been thrown into the well that morning, so I landed without hurting myself very much. 

How to get out was the next question. Although the well was only about 12 ft. deep, it was impossible to climb out, as the walls were undermined, and crumbling, which made it impossible to get a foot-hold. As the well was some distance from the house, and as the wind was blowing away from it, it was impossible for those there to hear me calling, thinking that the men might hear me when they went to feed-up for the night, I cooeed myself hoarse, but no one came to my rescue. 

At last I gave it up as a bad job, reconciling myself to the fact that I would have to stay there till morning. As it was rather a warm night I did not mind that, but I did not relish the odour of the calf that had been dropped down the well about a week previously. 

I had quite given up hope, after having been there about an hour, when I heard someone whistling. It turned out to be one of the men returning from a visit to a neighboring farm. By good luck he took a short cut home, which brought him near the well. I am afraid that I gave him rather a fright when, as he said, a voice called to him out of the bowels of the earth; but he recognised my voice and went and got a rope and two other men, who soon had me out, not much the worse for my experience, except for a few scratches and a torn frock. However, although they rescued me, the men did not forget to chaff me about my nice bed. 

No more stolen fruit for me after that.

— 'Eldeebee.'

Swallowed 'The Advertiser'

One hears of many curious bets in one's life, but the neatest one I ever came across was made in the Spalding Hotel about 10 or 12 years ago. 

A carpenter, known as 'Fatty Arbuckle,' who was working in the district, was the hero. He bet, for a wager of drinks, that he would swallow 'The Advertiser.' 

Of course the bet was soon taken up; whereupon the drinks were placed on the bar. Should Fatty not accomplish the strange swallowing feat, he was to pay for them, otherwise the man who took him up would have to do so. 

Fatty drank half his beer, and calling for that day's copy of 'The Advertiser,' he held it over his beer while he struck a match and set fire to it, carefully collecting all the ashes and putting them into his glass. He then stirred them up with the beer and drank the lot, thus winning his wager and claiming his drinks.— 'Argus,' Spalding.

The Odd Job 'Mug'

Farmers' wives usually find a way of having their odd jobs done. 

I was one of three shearers engaged for a shed in the Mount Bryan district, where Sunday was strictly observed and was asked by the owner's wife one Saturday afternoon whether I would like to use the shower in the bathroom. 

The water supply for the shower was obtained from an underground tank, from which it was pumped into a 200 gallon tank on a stand. I pumped about 50 gallons into this, and was about to try the shower when the farmer's wife said, "Perhaps I ought to have told you. The piping to the bathroom is near the top of the tank, which must be filled before the shower can be used."

Thinking that the information was somewhat belated, I filled the tank. However, I better understood the offer of the use of the shower when I was told, "Thank you so much for filling the tank. My husband is so busy with his sheep and wool that I could not think who would pump the water for the kitchen use and for Monday morning's washing." — A.M., Buckleboo.

Another Dog Story

A friend of mine sold his farm at Mount Barker and took a new place near Strathalbyn. 

He drove his sheep down first, and, having turned them on to their new home, took his dog to his brother's place, about five miles away, and left it there till his return in a few weeks' time. 

The dog settled down quite contentedly, but one morning it was missing. Towards evening it turned up along with its master. 

My friend said that he had arrived at his new home late the previous night, and had camped there. When he awoke the next morning the dog was at the door to greet him. How the dog knew that its master had arrived that particular evening, or whether it had been making the ten mile journey every night for weeks past nobody knows. 

The same dog always appeared to know when Friday came, as that was killing day, and would walk back and forth restlessly till told to bring in the sheep.— 'Auntie Bee.'

Thirsty Brigade's Revenge

Garth Owen's reference to the Epsom salts incident ('Chronicle,' 24/1/35), [http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92362131 ] recalled to my mind an occasion when a number of people were inconvenienced in a similar manner, but by design rather than by accident.

It happened before the war, at a country show not very far from Adelaide. The committee of the show society decided not to allow a publican's booth on the ground. Members of the 'Thirsty Brigade' were very indignant when they heard of it, and convened a meeting to consider the matter. They were not, however, able to get the committee to alter its decision regarding it. 

The 'T.B.' therefore met again— this time to discuss ways and means of revenge. One member (with a good knowledge of cause and effect) suggested doping the water. A quantity of Epsom salts was therefore obtained and tipped into the tank from which the water was drawn for making the tea. I believe that it was the society's first and only attempt at holding a 'dry' show.— 'Peggotty.'

Buried Alive

While staying at a country boarding house last Christmas I saw a man 'buried alive'— or, at least, he thought he was. He was known as 'Bango,' and his only failing was that he imbibed too freely at times. 

One night some of the 'boys' at the boarding house found him lying helpless in the yard, and decided to give him a fright. They therefore went to an undertaker's shop next door and got a coffin, which they carried back to the yard and put him in. Next morning the young jokers got up early to see the fun. On going to where they had left the coffin they found Bango sitting up in it, talking to himself. They heard him say be fore they burst out laughing, "Oh, I wonder how long I have been buried."

On another occasion they nearly frightened him out of his senses by stuffing some of his old clothes with shavings, and hanging the figure to a beam in his doorway. When he arrived home half drunk he thought that someone had committed suicide, and rushed back to the hotel in terror.— J. Riley.