10 December 1936

CHANCE SHOWER SAVES TEN THOUSAND SHEEP

Interfering Owner Nearly Causes A Catastrophe

Drovers often take big risks when travelling sheep across dry stages, but when an interfering owner accompanies the drover trouble almost invariably follows, unless the Goddess of Luck smiles. It was nothing else than good fortune that saved one such owner from a big loss, and possibly saved my reputation.

During a severe drought in Queensland some years ago I contracted to drove 10,000 sheep a distance of 300 miles. I had motored over the stock route and considered that I had a good chance of getting through provided the sheep were reasonably strong. The owner had assured me that the sheep were in good condition, but on inspecting the mob in the yard I soon saw that many would not be capable of getting through. I therefore suggested to the owner that 1,000 to 1,500 of the weaker sheep be drafted off and left behind, but he would not hear of it at all. The lot had to go.

After I had travelled about 100 miles, during which time I had spent many long days getting the tail of the mob along, the owner appeared on the scene and said that he would travel with us. I was glad at the time that he had happened along, as just ahead lay a long dry stage. The weather was intensely hot, and to start off sheep that were daily getting weaker over a stage of 30 miles was something I did not look forward to with pleasure. I knew that it would be utterly impossible to get the mob of 'tailers' over the stage, and I did not mince matters when I told the owner so.

Close by was a selection where sufficient dry feed existed to graze a couple of thousand sheep for a few weeks, and I pleaded with the owner to let the 'tailers' stay there on agistment, the rate for which was decidedly low. The owner was adamant, however, and said that if I was afraid to take on the stage he would take charge himself. That settled it. I handed over the reins of government next morning.

The owner was what might be termed a motor car drover, and the morning we set out on the stage he, after giving instructions about how far we were to go before we pulled up for lunch, set off in his car, stating that he would find out if there was any selection close to the stock route where water might be obtained for the sheep. I knew the district well, and nowhere within miles of the route did water exist in a sufficient quantity to water 10,000 sheep, but it was useless telling the owner. There were a few wells where water could be obtained for the horses and camp needs, but there was nothing for the unfortunate sheep until that 30 miles stage was covered.

Two days passed and already a couple of hundred sheep had been dropped. Unless a miracle happened few of the 10,000 would cover the remainder of the stage, mainly because the owner was adopting bad tactics. He was trying to force the sheep. The men were muttering among themselves and threatened to leave in a body. So, realising the smash that threatened, I gave the owner a bit of my mind. I could not take my horses and leave the owner and the sheep in the lurch, but I tried a bluff and told him that unless he did as I advised, he could drove his sheep by car. I swore that I would take my plant away next morning.

The upshot of it was that we compromised and decided to travel as much as we could by night. Open country and a good moon would assist. No owner of sheep, or any drover for that matter, could have been in a greater mess than were we when still 12 miles from water. Against my wish the owner had ordered us to keep the sheep moving during the heat of the day; he was there to see that his orders were carried out. What I knew must eventually happen came to pass a couple of hours before I expected it. The sheep 'pigged' and absolutely refused to budge an inch. The inexperienced owner tried to force them, with the results that horses began to knock up and men's tempers were at breaking point. I could see the inevitable happening; a big mob of sheep perishing.

Clouds had been appearing every day, but little attention was paid to them. None of us had even thought of rain; a little of which would have saved the situation. It was too much to hope for, and on that afternoon, twelve miles from water, it seemed certain that the end had come. The plant was brought back from where we were to camp that night and, after getting the sheep on the brake and sending the horses we had been riding away to water, I suggested the only course possible, that of starting the two strong mobs off at midnight and leaving three men to follow later with the 'tailers.' I knew how far the latter would go — about a mile — but a chance existed of getting some of the strong sheep through. I did not want to be hampered with the mob of 'tailers'.

'Blimey, it's raining!'

Tired out, I had turned in early, and I could not realise the truth of the cook's words until I left raindrops hitting my face. Looking at my watch, I saw that it was a few minutes after eleven. How much would it rain? A sprinkle would only make matters worse than they were, if that were possible, whilst just sufficient to make enough water to give the sheep a drink would mean the difference between saving and losing for certain many thousand sheep. In the end it rained enough, but only just. Mad with thirst, the sheep broke down the brake, and it took all our efforts to hold them; they kept racing into the wind, scattering in all directions. Finally, however, as pools of water formed, the sheep steadied; we rode round the mob until daylight, all of us realising the miracle that had happened and prevented a catastrophe.

In due course we completed the trip and I delivered 1,100 odd short. I would have been compelled to drop sheep in any case, but had the owner not interfered I could have crossed the stage without the assistance of that heaven sent rain. Without it happening when it did, I doubt if one of those 10,000 sheep would have made the grade. I consider that owner the luckiest man that ever travelled drought-stricken sheep. — ' 'Drover.'

False Alarm

The farm next to ours had been worked by a bachelor for many years, but during a trip to Adelaide he be came engaged to a typiste, and later installed his bride. It was a source of much amusement to callers to notice how she made him toe the mark.

The healthy untidiness of the home stead was rectified until the husband could find nothing where he had left it without appealing for help. He was made to shave every day, and had to have a bath and put on a collar and tie before dinner, no matter how tiring the day's work had been.

Eventually he had to take some of his beasts overland to a cattle sale, a return trip of a couple of hundred miles, which was taken steadily to avoid losing any condition from the beasts. During his absence he requested us to keep an eye on his bride, who was terrified of the bush alone at night. The result was that two or three of our family used to drift across and play cards after sunset of an evening. One night, two of the girls had just gone over, while the remainder of the household finished a late meal. Suddenly they burst in the back door, closely followed by the terror-stricken girl from the city. 'Come quickly,' they gasped in unison. 'There's a tramp chasing us all the way from Flo's place!'

One of the hands immediately dashed out, disappeared into the darkness, and was seen no more for a time. Presently he returned, talking quietly to our neighbor, who had returned during the excitement. 'Bill and I looked all over the place,' explained our friend, 'as soon as he told me about the tramp, but I think the girls imagined it. There isn't a trace of him; anyway, I wasn't far behind them all the way myself. Where's Flo?'

His wife put in an appearance from the bedroom, running quickly, but as soon as she caught sight of her husband, she stopped dead, turned round and started to go into hysterics. 'Don't let him near me!' she screamed again and again. 'He threatened to shoot me!'

Disapproval was directed towards the unmanly spouse. 'She's crazy!' he replied to the unspoken question. 'When I got home all I did was to show her a gun I'd bought on the trip and ask her what she thought of it.'

One of the girls led him over to the sideboard mirror. 'Take a look at that,' she said. He looked at his torn clothing, unkempt hair, heavy beard, and rimless hat. 'Well, don't I always look like that?' he asked. 'Not since you met Flo,' answered the girl. 'She still thinks you're the tramp. No wonder she was frightened when you bowled straight into the kitchen and produced a shotgun!'

'Women are the flamin' limit!' was the husband's summing up. — ' Alpha.'

Showtime Swindle

Some years ago a sideshow spruiker attracted my attention at a country show, and I stopped to listen to him.

'Come up, come up, my friends,' he thundered. 'Here is something that you are never likely to see again, and that none of you have ever seen before. There is no trick, no illusion, no apparatus, no deception! All I am here to do is to show you that there is some good in human nature after all. I want to prove to you that from sheer kindness of heart it is possible to produce something from nothing, for nothing.'

By this time interest was warming up, and some of the more irresponsible spirits were impatient for the show to begin. 'Right you are, ladies and gentlemen,' agreed the man of mystery. 'The first thing I want is some gentleman prepared to give me a watch. Mind, I say give, not lend. This is no conjuring trick; just a simple test of the natural generosity of the human heart.'

The man obviously had no confederates, for the onlooker who responded to this invitation was a local grazier of unimpeachable integrity, who advanced with a grin and handed over an object that was even funnier than the proverbial two-bob watch, but nevertheless ticked.

'There is only one thing to do with a watch like this.' said the spruiker. 'and watch me do it.' Suiting the action to the word, he brought down his heavy mallet on to the watch and smashed it to fragments. Everyone laughed but the donor, who protested against the destruction of his property. The spruiker calmed him in an instant by presenting him with a new, gold-cased match which the local jeweller examined and pronounced genuine, as he had sold it himself to the spruiker the previous night with two others. The crowd pricked up its ears and fingered its timepieces, but the stranger wanted no more watches.

This time his plea was for a Samaritan who would donate a pound to his good cause without afterthought, question, or hope of return. After a short delay a well known townsman decided to give a note a flutter. It came back to him in the form of a fiver, and that fiver was anything but home-made. This was repeated two or three times, and the spruiker was almost killed in the rush of people anxious to thrust money on him without liability or restriction. Grasping an enormous handful of notes, he appealed for silence, and begged anyone who lacked confidence or had changed his mind to come for ward and reclaim his money. Not a soul moved. 'You're all satisfied to give me this?' he asked again. Everyone was.

With that, the stranger put the money into one of his pockets, whipped a revolver from another, and back slowly towards an exit from the grounds, where a car was waiting for him.— 'Alpha.'

An Inconsiderate Patient

In the early days of Streaky Bay doctors were few and far between. The setting of broken bones and the attendance to other injuries consequently fell to any who showed any inclination to the healing art. At one time Tilney Cotton, a station owner, and Christopher Provis, the policeman, were rival 'bonesetters.' Either was greatly pleased when he could display the results of his work.

On one occasion there was a squabble and fight in the blacks' camp near Streaky Bay. In this one of the lubras received a severe blow on her shin She instantly complained that her leg was broken. It was certainly very badly bruised, so word was sent to the policeman that his services were needed. On examining the leg he soon found that it was not broken, but it seemed too good an opportunity to miss. It was an excellent opportunity to put one over 'Doctor' Cotton. To display a leg so well set that the fracture could not be discovered would, indeed by a feat worthy of high praise. Provis therefore did not enlighten the patient or the spectators that the lubra's leg was not broken, but arranged that she should be taken to the police station. Here he had a tent erected in the yard. He then set the 'broken' leg and arranged the lubra as comfortably in the tent as possible.

Not long afterwards he met Tilney Cotton in the township. Provis immediately told him of the lubra and asked him if he would care to inspect the case to see how it was progressing. His rival immediately expressed his willingness to inspect what Provis assured him was a very good piece of work. Together they made their way to the police station. As soon as they reached the tent Provis, with great satisfaction, threw back the door of the tent. As he did so he gave an ejaculation of dismay. In the tent were the bed and the bandages, but the patient was gone. The lubra had evidently not relished the idea of six weeks' confinement, even though her 'doctor's' reputation might be imperilled by her disappearance.— 'C.Y.A.'

Real Life Stories Of South Australia (1936, December 10). Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 - 1954), p. 65. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article92347165