1 July 1937

GOOD TURN DONE BY ACCIDENT

'Poddy-Dodgers' Inadvertently Saved From Arrest

When cattle values were high and 'poddy-dodging' was rife in a certain district in Queensland, a mate and I inadvertently did four young fellows a good turn, and undoubtedly saved them from being convicted of cattle-stealing. Incidentally, the happening was a lesson to them, and convinced them that honest work was more payable than stealing calves.

We were taking some young bulls to a station, and, when passing through a selection, were given permission by the owner to camp a few days and give the bulls the spell they badly needed. As the property was securely fenced, we allowed the bulls to graze at will on the selection, merely riding around the fences every day to see that none were hanging in the corners.

On the third afternoon of our stay my mate rode in and said that he had seen about one hundred cows standing in a fence corner outside the boundary of the selection. 'If those cows aren't trying to get to their calves,' he remarked, 'I don't know cattle.'

Thinking that the owner of the cows, whoever he may have been, might have just weaned the calves and put them in another paddock, we decided to let well alone. As the cows were there next day, however, and showed signs of wanting a drink, we decided to confer with the selector. When I told him of the brands on the cows, he gave us a bit of startling information, and also made a suggestion, after having given us some further information about the lay of the country. He said that he did not want to be implicated in the affair, and, after ascertaining that we would do as he had suggested, he got into his car and went to town. He gave us an assurance, however, that he would keep a still tongue about the matter, and I know that he did.

An hour or so after the selector had gone, my mate and I rode out, and opened a portion of his fence. We then went straight to the corner where the cows had been. As we expected, we found them still there, and in a few seconds had opened the fence and allowed them to come through. Thirsty as the cows evidently were, they raced along the fence, making straight for the first opening we had made. But, as our job was apparently done, we did not follow them.

In a way it was fortunate for us that we did not do so, as events turned out we might have been suspected of having been implicated. It appears that the owner had come across his cows, and suspecting what had happened, he had gone into the township for a policeman. Evidently the latter and the owner had arrived shortly after we had opened the fence, for although we saw them cantering along on the tracks of the cows, they did not see us.

Later we heard that four young fellows were just about to commence branding the calves in a yard they had erected when they were startled by the bellowing of cattle. In a few minutes the cows that they thought had been put out of harm's way were all around the yard, bellowing for their calves. Fear or intuition caused the would be branders to halt in their work, and they hurriedly put out the fire, gathered their gear, and after letting the calves out of the yard, rode off.

Within an hour of their departure the owner of the cows and the policeman rode up and from the signs, read what had taken place. Quite satisfied to get his calves back, the owner did not bother to make any further investigations; but we heard from the selector on his return from the township next day that it was common property who had tried to brand the calves.

It appears that the four young fellows had been seen by a half-caste, who was reported to have informed the owner of the cows. The selector kept his word about our share of the incident, and although I passed through the neighborhood several times in after years, and came into contact with two of the four young fellows concerned, no one else but my mate and the selector ever knew who had inadvertently saved them from arrest for 'poddy dodging.' — 'Marsh.'

Cutting The Wires

Both biography and fiction of the Northern Territory feature the custom that has grown up since the completion of the Overland Telegraph in the 'seventies of travellers in distress climbing a pole and cutting the wires to summon assistance. Normally, this is readily forthcoming, as the line is divided into two-hundred-mile sections, each under the charge of a linesman, who is responsible for keeping it clear of branches and repairing all breakages and gaps immediately. On the off chance that a distressed traveller may be responsible for the break, few linesmen set out without an ample supply of water and provisions. Until about thirty years ago it was very rare for the privilege to be abused, and the breach of postal regulations involved was normally overlooked.

Later on, however, a newer and poorer type of man found his way along the main stock route, and it be came no uncommon thing for a tramp to cut the line just for the sake of a lift back with the linesman. One of the latter went out on one occasion for a distance of over a hundred miles, to discover a tramp in perfect health, who became quite indignant when the irritated postal employe left him a bare two days' rations and told him to hoof it along to the station. As the linesman anticipated, the stranger made a beeline for the trooper upon his footsore arrival, and made a formal complaint against his benefactor.

'I know all about it,' the trooper informed him, 'and there's a charge here waiting for you for interfering with the lines!' The man did a couple of months of well-earned time in gaol for his tale bearing.

On another occasion the rescuer found a pair of motorists marooned without water, but with a tank still full of petrol, right on the middle of the highway. These gentlemen were subsequently fined fairly heavily for their improvidence in not putting a few more tins of water in their empty back seat, and they richly deserved the punishment, for they were within four miles of a waterhole when they were found, with plenty of tracks leading to it, while the unfortunate lines man had to travel the best part of eighty miles to reach them!

On another occasion, the interruption on the line was intermittent and not complete, but the linesman on duty decided to investigate. At the foot of a telegraph pole, he discovered a man's body, practically eaten to a skeleton by ants in twelve hours, while scars upon the wires above showed that he had been too feeble to complete the cutting after summoning up his last energies to climb the pole. Eventually, it is assumed, he fell to the ground through weakness, breaking a limb and perished within a few feet of the channel of communication which could have saved him.

Again, there is the case of a prospector who travelled over two hundred miles on his camel, practically with out water, in a frantic dash to cut the wires and summon assistance. His beast perished some miles short of the line, and his wavering tracks showed the zig-zag course he had pursued in his blindness, trying to make sure that he would not run past the telegraph poles. By a comparative miracle, he eventually reached the line, climbed up and cut it. When rescuers appeared, there was no sign of him, and the country was thoroughly beaten for miles around in an endeavor to locate him, but his tracks disappeared on an extensive rocky outcrop, and the search had to be abandoned. Years later, his skeleton was found not far from the spot where the hunt ended. It was assumed that he had missed the poles on climbing down, and wandered off into the bush in a vain attempt to find them again, unable to see, whereas the tragedy would have been averted had he retained his presence of mind to sit down and stay where he was. — 'Fisher.'

A Subtle Distinction

A number of boys in a country township found themselves in a serious quandary on one occasion when they went shooting. In the first place, they were anxious to keep quiet the circumstance that they had been playing truant from school, and a further difficulty arose from the fact that they had selected for their excursion the property of a farmer who was very irascible about trespassing.

All would have passed off unnoticed if they had not come across a human leg-bone in the bed of a creek. They brought it back to town with them, and decided to tell the police of their find, but tried to cover up their escapade by giving a wrong place and time for the discovery. The police sergeant took a black tracker with him and set out for the alleged scene of the find, but, after hours of digging, no further portions of the skeleton turned up.

Then the black tracker took a hand, and pointed out that there was no evidence that the youngsters had been near the spot, despite recent rain to make the ground soft for the impressions of their footprints. He cast round for some distance, and finally located tracks leading through a fence into the property of MacGuire, the farmer who objected so vigorously to trespassing.

The sergeant dropped up to the home-stead to question him, and MacGuire, as soon as he learned that there was a possibility that murder had been committed within his boundary, abandoned his job in the middle of harvesting to give all the assistance within his power. 'Mind you,' the sergeant warned him, 'from what the doctor says, I don't think the crime is at all recent. In fact, the bone we have might easily be 50 years old.' 'That's all right,' replied MacGuire, hot on the scent. 'If some poor cow has been ditched, it mightn't be too late to run the murderer down yet!'

Policeman, black tracker, and amateur sleuth set off together, following the trail which the schoolboys had left. It led them to a creek bed, which looked as though it had witnessed a little excitement, from the confusion of tracks in it.

All hands set to with a will, and an hour's digging brought to light the practically complete skeleton of a man, which was pieced together and laid out on a flat piece of ground. MacGuire had very little to say, but he inspected the skeleton very closely, and then turned to the sergeant. 'Do you mean to tell me that you come along and drag a man away from his work to go hunting for a bit of rubbish like this,' he demanded, 'on the stall that somebody's been murdered?'

The sergeant picked up the deceased's skull, turned it over, and displayed a horrible gash in the bone at the base. 'If this man wasn't murdered,' he said, 'I'm a Dutchman.' 'You're talking like a Dutchman,' MacGuire told him hotly, 'with all this tripe about murder. This ain't a murder! Can't you see it's only a blackfellow ! ' — 'Greenhide.'

A Muscular Peace Maker

Terence Murphy was a brawny lump of an Irishman who worked on the Stoney Creek drains' during their excavation. It would have been interesting to know whether he or Con Skehan was the stronger, but they each respected the other's strength. Terrence was a good natured chap, and never used his strength for vainglory; but woe betide the man who transgressed the rules of the camp when he happened to be about.

Two mates on a take, both about ten stone weight, quarrelled over some trifling matter, and set about settling their differences by resorting to fisticuffs. Terrence endeavored to pacify them by moral suasion, with no result; so he had recourse to stronger methods. Seizing each by the waist band of the trousers, he bumped them together unmercifully on and off the ground until they cried enough, and agreed to live and work peacefully together.

On one occasion a 'beer bummer' in a Mount Gambier hotel bar drank Terrence's pint of beer without so much as 'by your leave.' Terrence remarked that a man who would do such a mean thing was not worth hitting, but that such unbecoming behavior must not be passed over light heartedly. So he gripped him by the waistband of his trousers and shook him as a large dog would an angry cat, and when he was dizzy, dropped him in a heap in the corner of the bar to recover. When the bummer recovered, he did not wait to argue the matter, but hurriedly left for the street and safety.— 'Tanta-Tyga.'