28 November 1935

WHEN THE HEAD STOCKMAN WAS HAD

The Poor Horseman With The 'Crook' Leg

It is a good many years now since I was head stockman on a cattle station in north-western Queensland that was particularly noted for the bucking ability of its horses. As a matter of fact, it was bad luck for the 'ringer' obtaining a job unless he was a bit above the ordinary as a horseman; he would certainly get well tried out.

At the time I speak of, copper was bringing high values and, owing to many men deserting saddle work for copper gouging, consequent on the better money to be earned at the latter occupation, stockmen were at a premium. In an effort to get men for the bullock muster due to commence, I rode in to the nearest town, ultimately securing the services of two men who had just left a sheep drover's camp. Not wanting to take an undue advantage of the men, I told them of the reputation of the station horses. One of them was bold enough to admit that he would 'try out anything'; but the other said that he would take the job only on condition that he was given quiet horses to ride. 'I'm not a Skuthorpe,' he had said, 'but I'll go out with Joe if you guarantee I set quiet old mokes to ride. I'll admit I'm a poor horseman, and any way, I 've got a crook leg.'

It was a case of Hobson's choice, and agreeing to accede to the request of the fellow with the 'crook' leg, I left, after both had promised to get their horses and start out for the station next morning. During the muster, Joe, the one who had said that he would try out any thing, had plenty of opportunities of proving his ability as a rider. Even though he did hit the ground at times, he was game and gave promise of becoming a good rough rider.

His mate, Tom, however, had caused me a certain amount of worry; but rather than break faith with him and possibly lose the services of the two men, I had the quietest of the quiet horses taken out into the camp for him. The muster was over, and two mobs of store bullocks were being 'tailed' and kept in hand, awaiting the arrival of two droving plants. The boss of one had arrived in advance and both Joe and Tom had been offered and had accepted jobs. Their work in the mustering camp had brought a recommendation from me.

The morning the drover took over the first mob, Tom came to me and asked whether he could have the loan of a horse to go out and muster his and Joe's. There were two horses in the yard, one used by the horse-tailer and another that the manager of the station had been feeding prior to selling it to a travelling buckjumping show proprietor. The horse for sale was a regular outlaw, never once having been ridden to a standstill.

'Right-o, Tom,' I said, 'saddle up the chestnut, but don't make the mistake of taking the black; he's the boss's outlaw.' I was busy fixing up the drover's waybill and did not notice Tom go to the yard. My first intimation that something was wrong came from Bogey, one of the station blackboys, rushed up to me and said. 'That fella Tom been saddle Nigger.' Half a dozen of us raced to the yard, followed at a leisurely pace by Joe, Tom's mate.

'Here, Tom,' I yelled, fearful lest he should try to mount the black outlaw which he had saddled. 'That's not the horse I told you to take. Get that saddle off him before he kills you.' 'Aw, I've gone to the trouble of blind folding him to get the saddle on,' answered the unconcerned Tom. 'I heard about this outlaw, I'll just see if I've slipped any.'

Did Tom ride Nigger? Before any of us realised what he was doing he had climbed aboard, and although I had previously seen the horse in action several times, I don't think he had ever performed such nerve and bone jarring evolutions before. That horse for nearly a minute (not the half -hour that fiction writers would sometimes have us believe is the duration of a buckjumper's performance) did every thing but throw himself down.

'Open that gate,' came in a roar from Tom, after a completely mastered Nigger had finished his operations. Within a few seconds of the gate being thrown open a surprised group saw Tom, using his hat as a persuader, cantering a propping but otherwise defeated Nigger away from the yard. 'Tricked you that time, Alec,' laughed Joe, Tom's mate, evidently amused at the astonished looks on the faces of us all. 'Who the devil is Tom when he's at home?' I managed to gasp at last, now fully appreciating the ride he had put up. 'Tom be damned,' grinned Joe. 'That's Gallopin' Blank. The horse ain't foaled yet that he couldn't ride,'

I will admit that the joke was on me, for whenever rough-riders were spoken of the name of Gallopin' Blank was ace high. He was regarded as being second to none. We all had a good laugh over the incident when Joe and Tom came up to get their cheques, and on my remarking that I would try out the next fellow who said he was a 'poor horseman'' of reckoned he had a ''crook leg,' to make certain of his ability, Tom laughed. You never know. Alec,' he said. 'There might be some more Gallopin' Blanks try to get quiet horses to ride for a change. Take my tip, try 'em all our first.'— 'Old Timer.'

Attacked By A Bull

One of our early breeders of stud cattle purchased a bull in Victoria. The animal having duly arrived at Port Adelaide, two men were sent down to bring him to the farm, a distance of about 18 miles. The bull travelled splendidly, and when the men arrived at the farm they were loud in their praise of his docile nature. Having been placed in a paddock where the milking cows were kept, he quickly settled down and seemingly was the quietest animal imaginable.

There was a young lad working on the place whose duty it was to bring the cows home from the paddock, about half a mile away, to be milked. The bull and one or two dry cows were left behind in the paddock. On one occasion after the bull had been on the place for a few weeks the lad, knowing him to be very docile, thought he would like to go up to him and give him a pat on the back, which he did. The bull seemed very pleased with the attention being paid him, but when the lad turned to go away the animal came at him, and but for the fact that there was a fence very handy, and the lad quickly got on the other side of it, things may have been serious.

He went to his master and told him about the incident, but the farmer could not believe that the bull meant to harm the lad and told him so. A short time after this happened a man working in the flower garden saw the cattle being driven down the hill towards the yard, which was on the flat, and amongst them was the bull. The lad had evidently been sent to bring the cattle in and yard them up. Having passed the line of vision of the gardener, he went on with his work and thought no more about them for the time. His master had, unknown to him, gone down to the yard from an other direction and, walking into the yard in which the bull was placed, was promptly knocked to the ground. The gardener began to grow uneasy. Within him there was a persistent urge to go over to the yard. He could not understand why, but he felt compelled to obey that urge to leave his work and go to the yard, which, although only about 100 yards away, was out of his sight.

When he came in sight of the yard he saw the lad in headlong flight in the opposite direction. His nerves had already been severely shaken, and panic had seized him entirely. His master lay on the broad of his back, and the bull was standing over him. He had gripped the ring of the bull's nose and was holding on with all his might. The bull, in trying to free himself from the desperate grip of his nose, was partly lifting the man up and bumping him down again and again.

The gardener, with no thought of the danger to himself, jumped into the yard and, seizing the ring of the bull's nose, tried to break his hold of the man on ground, but failed to do so. Seeing a rope hanging over the fence close handy he ran to it and placing it in the ring of the animal, he threw it over the old bail post and dragged his head in the air. Having tied one end to the post he had the bull's head high up, and he then turned to his master and helped him up. It was found that his shoulder was badly bruised, and he was considerably shaken, but it could have easily been much worse.

From that day the bull was a close prisoner. Too valuable to destroy, a substantial yard was at once erected, and, with the exception of a few trips to the Adelaide Show, he was kept there until he died.— A.O.

An Indifferent Drover

Once whilst droving fat bullocks from a station in south-western Queensland to Marree (S.A.), then known as Hergott Springs, one of my men became ill and had to be sent away on the coach. For a week we were short handed, and as it was in the middle of winter, the watches at night were unduly long for three of us, the cook not doing any watching.

At last it seemed if luck had come our way, for on a route where men in search of work were few and far be tween, I was relieved when a young fellow rode over to the cattle one after noon and asked for a job. I could not accept his services quickly enough.

On riding into camp to get the night horses just before the cattle came in, I asked the young fellow if he had ever watched cattle before, as I had not thought to ask him when he had ridden over in the afternoon. He said he had not, but would soon learn.

Being moonlight, I decided that he could do the first watch, so as to see how he would shape. The bullocks were quiet enough; but early in the night they had the habit of feeding about. After tea the rest of us were yarning round the fire, and the new man seemed quite at home on watch; we could hear him singing away. It needed about half an hour before the next man went out, and I had just turned in when I noticed the latter step away from the fire and listen.

'Heigh,' he called, 'those bullocks are walking off camp.' A yell brought no reply from the youth, now no longer singing, so thinking that something might have happened, I jumped out and, getting on the spare night horse, rode out to investigate. No; the youth was not lying down asleep; he was calmly sitting on his horse watching the tail end of the mob walk past him. A few words of abuse, and away I galloped to wheel the mob and get it back on to camp, which did not take long.

Wondering at the young fellow's apparent stupidity, I asked him what he thought he was doing, allowing the bullocks to string off like they had. His reply made me wonder more. 'Aw,' he said, quite unperturbed, 'I was just takin' a count of 'em.' Next day we were short handed again; I did not feel like taking any more risks.— A.N.M.

A Tracking Episode

Tom Laffan, the well known Territory drover, had taken two of his black boys, Diamond and Denny, down to Brisbane for a trip. After a few days the two boys started off on their own to see the sights, but unaccustomed to the bustle, they got separated in Queen street. Unable to find Denny, intui ion came to Diamond, and at last he found his mate sitting peacefully in the park. Asked later how he had managed to find Denny, Diamond said, 'I been track him.' 'Garn!' laughed old Tom Laffan, 'Denny can't leave tracks on city foot paths.' 'Aw, no, I no been track him that way,' answered Diamond quite seriously. 'Denny buy bag of peanuts; he been eatum. Me follow shells.— 'Drover.'

Another Queer Nest

'Autumn Leave's' hen, described in 'The Chronicle' of August 4 was not tine only one of the species which selected a queer place in which to lay. One day, while on a visit to a farm house, I accompanied a friend on her egg gathering round, and was surprised to see her take several eggs from inside a huge melon rind. She explained that, when the melons were brought in and stored, one was apparently damaged, and eventually commenced to rot. The hens, by constantly picking at it, soon had the fleshy part eaten away; then they decided that it would be an excellent place in which to lay their eggs, and bring up a family.—'Peggotty.'

'Aren't We All?'

I was at a country race meeting recently by myself, but a well-dressed young man quickly struck up an acquaintance with me. We started to discuss the next race, and he enquired my fancy. On being told, he informed me that it was the proverbial 'good thing.' He had connections with the stable and, as the price would ultimately shorten, he urged me to share a £1 ticket with him. 'Just wait here. I'll be right back,' he said, and made for the betting ring.

As the race was about to start, I turned my attention to the course, and in due time had the satisfaction of seeing my horse win easily. 'You were right then,' I said, turning to my new friend, only to find that he had not returned. And no amount of searching could discover his whereabouts. Incidentally, he also got away with a good silver pencil which he borrowed to mark the prices. — A.B.

A Citizen Of No Country

A teacher in a country school learned that the inspector would soon pay her a visit. Anxious that her pupils should make a creditable showing, she drilled them strenuously for the impending examination. One stolid fellow had proved so obtuse in the preliminary coaching that at the very last moment, when the inspector had already entered the school grounds, the teacher asked anxiously, 'Johnny, are you sure that you have looked up your geography?' 'Yes, certain, teacher,' he replied.

When the inspector entered the room Johnny attracted his attention. 'Now, my boy,' he said. 'Can you tell me what country you live in?' 'I don't live in no country at all, now,' was the amazing response. 'Dad and mum have moved to town.' — A.D.

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1935, November 28). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 14. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92327610