'DUMMY' WHO ASSERTED LEGAL RIGHTS

Gained Nothing By Thwarting Employer

'Dummying' used to be common when large holdings were being sub-divided for closer settlement. This week 'A.Z.' tells how a 'dummy' turned with a vengeance and, though long since dead, the latter gained little by the low down trick he played on a man who befriended him.

For the well being of all concerned, 'dummying''— acquiring country in another's name and allowing the latter to be the owner in name only— is now next to impossible in any of the States. One time 'dummying' was the order of the day, and by the procedure many acquired land to which by right they were not entitled.

A young fellow had ridden up to a station homestead and asked the owner if they was any work offering. Lamb-marking was about to begin, and the young fellow was given a job straight away. Although a new chum, the young fellow was willing and did his work so well during the marking that he received a permanent job on the station. Having a pleasing personality, the young fellow was well regarded by the station owner, and after a couple of years he became a sort of overseer, although in reality the place was only a small one and did not warrant having an overseer.

Soon after attaining the rise in position, some country in the district was thrown open for selection and the station owner decided to put in for one of the blocks in the name of his overseer. The latter had the position explained to him — that if the block was drawn, he (the overseer) would go and look after it at an increased wage and would be the owner of it in name. When the allotted five years was up and the overseer had secured the lease, then the necessary arrangements would be made for a dummy sale to the station owner.

The overseer thought the suggestion a good one and, of course, readily agreed to make the application on behalf of his boss. There was no such thing as now of furnishing proof of financial stability when lodging an application, and in went the overseer's application with little fear of its being challenged. The country being balloted for was ideal for sheep grazing, and, of course, the overseer drew a block. Otherwise this story would not have been re corded.

Jones, as I'll call the overseer, was taken out to the block, and with the station owner's money extensive improvements were carried out, and the block stocked with sheep. A run of good seasons eventuated, and the selection paid well from the start, so much so, that Jones began to get a little high-handed in his dealings with those with whom he came in contact in the town. Many knew Jones was only 'dummying' the selection for the station owner, and did not regard his high and mighty airs with anything but contempt, for from rather a decent sort of a chap Jones had changed into something objectionable.

Five years elapsed, and Jones secured the lease of the selection in his name. So much had the station manager thought of Jones that all else, sheep included, were in his name, too. With the lease obtained, the station manager told Jones that the papers could be fixed up, and that the selection would revert to the former; but that Jones would still stay on as manager, and, besides his wages, he would be given a small interest.

Then Jones came out in his true colors, and told the station owner straight that he, Jones, owned the selection and everything on it. It was a very flabbergasted station owner that heard Jones, and at first he thought it was just a joke; but it wasn't. Jones was in earnest, and finally ordered the man who had be friended him off the place. Of course, the station owner could do nothing. To go to law meant only involving himself as being a party to a conspiracy.

There was nothing for it; the station owner had to face the loss, although during the five years of good seasons a good deal of money received for wool had been transferred from Jones's account to his own; but it was nothing near the amount that had been spent on improving the place, or to buy the sheep that had been placed there originally.

Many said, 'I told you so!' but, like most others, these men knew the winner after the race had been run. For a few years Jones was lucky, and must have had a good amount to his credit, but the pace he went, coupled with several bad seasons, began to make a big hole in his resources. Jones was in a pretty bad way when a real drought period set in, and in the end he had to get off the selection with less than he had when he went on to it as a 'dummy' on good wages. Jones left the district, but did not do any good for himself afterwards; and just before he died, he had been eking out an existence kangaroo shooting.

The station owner died a fairly wealthy man, and, had Jones acted straight with him, it is certain that he'd have shared in the prosperity. Another instance of position and money illegally obtained not doing the receiver of it any lasting good:— A.Z.

Unlucky Men Who Died From Thirst

A convention has grown up that the man dying from thirst scrawls his last message with something sharp on the blackened exterior of his billy-can, where it often lays for years before some chance passerby finds it beside loose bones pulled about by dingoes. One Queensland police station, near the border, has a collection of 23 cans so marked.

Many years ago, a man making his way towards the Tanami district with a string of packhorses, lost his beasts one by one through their eating poisonous weed in the scanty herbage. When his riding horse died, he made up a pack of supplies, including as much water as he could carry in his water-bag, and two treacle tins specially emptied for the purpose, intending to strike back south. He made the best part of 80 miles on foot in a terrifically dry summer, before his supplies gave out miles from water of any description. Half mad and tortured by thirst, he flung away his gear and staggered on in pursuit of mirages.

Eventually he lay down to die, scratched a synopsis of his story on his billy and passed away. His body was found in a creek bed, beside a hole he had scratched with his bare hands in a last vain attempt to dig for water. The police party that found him, weeks later, was short of water itself, so his hole was deepened. Six inches below the point where the unfortunate traveller had given up in despair, the first trickle of moisture showed through.

More unusual is the case of a shearer, who was making his way across country towards the Broken Hill district eight or ten years ago. Black-trackers reconstructed the story along these lines. He had set off on a bicycle, carrying sufficient water and rations for the trip, plus a small margin to cover delays, but did not bother about any vessels in addition to his water bag and billy, which were strapped on to the handlebars of his machine when filled.

A little more than half way, the remains of the machine were found thrown to the side of the road, with the front fork broken off short after a collision with a boulder half hidden by sand. With some presence of mind, the cyclist ate a heavy meal to cut down the bulk of his load, rolled a rough swag and set off on foot to complete the journey. Forty miles further on, the police party came upon his body, dried by the sun, his billy beside him bearing the conclusion to the tale. 'Reached here after three days without water. Too weak to go on. Strychnine.' The billy also bore a date.

With what relics the dead man possessed, the billy was brought back to the police station, where it remained an object of some interest for weeks. Eventually a drover happened to be passing, through, and had a look at it. He enquired just where it had been found. The police told him, mentioning that the man was just over the brow of a hill from the track. The drover then gave the pitiful climax of the story. Not only had he happened to pass along the track of that very spot at a time when the lost wanderer was probably still alive, but too weak to notice the sound, but rain had fallen in sufficient quantities to have enabled him to refill his vessels, a matter of a couple of hours after he had given up all hope of finding water and taken poison to escape his suffering,— 'Greenhide.'

Dingo Scalp And A Lottery Ticket

While droving a mob of cattle through a large sheep station in south western Queensland, a young fellow rode up and asked for a job. Being short-handed, I engaged him. He was to collect his things from the station and join the camp that night. He had previously given notice to the manager of the station, and as he had intended catching the mail coach next day, his getting a job with me happened at an opportune time.

Some weeks after he had been on the road with me the young fellow told how the overseer and he had run down a dingo. It had been agreed that for the £1 bonus paid for the dingo scalp, the overseer would send away for tickets in a southern consultation. Neither the tickets nor the result of the drawing had arrived when the young fellow joined my camp, and on hearing about it, the cook remarked with a grin, 'I'll bet that overseer wipes you cold if the tickets draw any thing.' The overseer had sent for the tickets in his own name!

I delivered the cattle and went back to the Gulf country for another mob, the young fellow remaining with me. Several times the latter had intended to write to the overseer to find out if the dingo scalp had brought the pair any luck, but he had kept putting it off. The second mob I was bringing down was travelling for sale, and it was just coincidence that the cattle were bought by one of the owners of the station from which the young fellow had joined me. On the sale being completed, our route was changed, as I agreed to carry on and deliver the mob. As we drew nearer to the station the cook kept on joking about the lottery tickets.

'Bet that overseer does a get as soon as he knows you're with the cattle,' said the cook. The young fellow retorted, 'Anybody would think you know he won something.' And so the cook's jibes went on until the day I was to hand over the cattle. The overseer and some men had ridden out to take delivery of the cattle, and the former was surprised to see the young fellow.

'Cripes,' the overseer said, 'I've been trying to locate you for months. One of the tickets drew a £100 prize.' That night the young fellow was richer by £50, solely on account of the honesty of the overseer. - 'Drover.'