'Never A Better Mate Than Jim?'

GAVE UP CHANCE OF LIFETIME

A mate, with whom I travelled Queensland for many years, suggested we should try our luck at prospecting, writes 'Up North.' Neither of us knew much about minerals, but, by reading a book or two, including that splendid one by Idriess, on prospecting, we set out for country where we knew alluvial gold was being obtained. It was there I found out what a fine fellow a mate can be.

On arriving at the field, we gained what information we could from some of the prospectors working there, but from the results they were obtaining, we soon would need a lot more than optimism to keep the ration bags filled. As no railway line came to within a hundred miles of the field, rations at the combined store and hotel were rather dear. 

After our first fortnight's hard work, matters were far from prosperous for the two new-chum gold fossickers. A month's work was rewarded by just a little over an ounce in gold, but others had happened on nice little hauls after our arrival, so we thought that any day we'd find nuggets in our dish. We decided to carry on, although, actually, it was a case of have to, at least, until Jim, my mate, received a reply from a letter he wrote. We hadn't sufficient money to take us back to where we came from; so for this very good reason, we had to remain on the field until Jim received the money he had written for. We could have sold our horses easily enough, but we'd have been like fish out of water then; it was a case of either strike it lucky, or exist as well we could until the money came for Jim. 

As bad luck would have it, heavy rains set in, and, owing to floods, the mail was unable to be brought to the post-office near the field. We'd cashed our gold, and when the rains came our ration bags were decidedly light, and, as one might just as well have asked for the moon as ask for credit at the store, we had to tighten our baits and work on two light meals a day. 

And then, to add to our already unenviable plight, I was attacked with a bad bout of malaria fever. What little quinine Jim could get on the field was soon used up, and, probably through having had little nourishing food for several days, I began to get worse. There was no hospital for over a hundred miles, and, although the rain had ceased, the country was still too boggy to travel on horse back. I became so weak that I lost all interest in life, and cared little what happened. 

Shortly after I became ill, Jim wired for money, and when it arrived he had bought what he thought might be for my good at the store, as well as some spirits at the hotel. He had also wired the mailman to procure come quinine and medicine, and bring them along as soon as the roads were fit to travel. I don't remember much of what went on after the money Jim had wired for arrived, but after existing on the edge for some days a diet of brandy and raw eggs evidently helped me to defeat what seemed to be the inevitable. 

By the time the mail arrived I could sit up in my bunk and after several days on quinine and medicine, I began to get an appetite. But I'd lost a couple of stone during the bout and knew it would be a week or so before I was strong enough to ride a horse. 

Before we left on the prospecting trip, Jim had put in an application for the position of head stockman on a certain station. I knew this, and as a matter of fact I saw the letter in reply from the station manager. It was to the effect that the position was not then vacant, but that when it did. Jim's application would receive consideration. 

I didn't know it at the time, but with the letter that came for Jim the money that he had written for, was also another letter from the station manager saying that Jim could have the head stockman's billet provided he accepted it before the end of the month. 

The manager's letter dated the 6th of the month, had been re-addressed by Jim's brother, and had arrived at the field post office on the 20th the first time the mail had arrived since the rains. 

Jim, one of the smartest cattlemen that ever rode a horse, had been trying for months to get a job like the one mentioned, and often he had said he'd give several years of his life if he could only get such a billet. 

On receiving the letter he didn't mention a word to me about it. I did not know how much money Jim had received in his letter, but by the time the mail was due to return Jim had insisted that I go with it and go into hospital for a week or two. I argued the point until I saw it was of no use, so finally I left the field in the mail. Jim was to follow on slowly with the horses. I had no one from whom I could get any money so had to suffer Jim's generous actions. 

A fortnight in hospital and I was fit again for the saddle, and by easy stages, Jim and I went back to the place from where we had started. After our return we both received work on a cattle station and it was while there that I heard of the offer Jim had received, and what he had done. We were over attending a muster at a neighboring cattle station and the first night in the camp the manager said to Jim, 'Bit of bad luck you couldn't take the billet I offered you. I couldn't wait so had to get someone else.' When I asked Jim what the manager had meant Jim gave some yarn that I guessed was not correct, so knowing that a change had been made in the position of head stockman, I asked the manager next day if and when he had offered the billet to Jim. The manager told me he had, and that Jim had written from some outlandish place saying he would not be available for another month. 

And then I had it out with Jim. At first he said that the money offered was not enough, but at last he owned up that he'd have jumped at the chance had he been able to get there in time. 'But,' Jim added 'a man with any decency at all wouldn't leave a dog, let alone a man and a mate in the state you were. Anyway, I've got a job, why worry?' 

It took me many months to get over the sorry feeling of having been the cause of Jim losing a billet on which he had set his heart, and although I've met some real white men in my time I'll never encounter a better mate than Jim. It's fellows like him that make mateship what it is in the outback. — Up North. 

Mourning Provided Him With Solid Meals 

There lived in Adelaide some time ago an elderly gentleman who was known to everybody as 'Punch.' In his younger days he had been a boxer in England, and was a particularly hard-hitter. 

An eccentric old man, he lived alone; though conversation soon revealed that he had had a good education. He had the most peculiar hobby that one could imagine— that of attending funerals. Often he attended two on the same day! 

It was his custom to attend at the house, introduce himself as a 'friend' of the deceased, and then 'sympathise' with the relatives. His attire, of course, was in keeping with his 'pastime.' 

'Punch' once told my grandfather that his meals never cost him one penny. At each funeral he attended it was the exception for him not to be invited to lunch or dinner. The old chap was such a frequent 'mourner' that his name quickly became a byword. 

One afternoon he went to a house just as the procession was about to move off. Noticing one vacant seat in a cab, he quickly climbed in and occupied it. But the seat was held in reserve for the man who hired the vehicle who, unwilling to create a scene at such a time, was forced to pay for another carriage. But he said that one day he would get even with 'Punch.'

At another funeral, some time later the two men met again. This time they were the sole occupants of the cab, excepting the driver. When the cortege reached West terrace, the driver was instructed to turn round and drive to Glenelg. 'Punch' did not object to that, but he did not imagine that he would have to walk back. 

On another occasion where he attended as a 'mourner,' a dispute arose over the will. The result ended in a stand-up fight. 'Punch was inside regaling himself, but he came out in the role of peace maker The two men then attacked 'Punch' for interfering. He, however, with a "straight left'' knocked one clean out. — A.D.

Battle Of Tactics With a Bull 

Arriving home from market one afternoon, a local man found standing by the gate of his one acre bull paddock, two neighbors, both young men. Chiding them for being afraid to open the gate and let the heifer, which they had brought along with them into the paddock, they explained to him that they thought it wise to wait for him to come home. The owner of the bull opened the gate and let the heifer in. 

A little later on the two young men still there the owner went into the bull paddock to get the heifer out. He got the heifer to the gate, but she ran back to where the bull was standing. Once more he started her to the gate, but just then the bull, fortunately dehorned, charged him and knocked him to the ground. 

Falling hard on his back he was given no chance by the bull to regain his feet, and the bull started to maul him at once. The grade was downhill, and every time the animal hit him with his head the man was pushed further downhill, and this to a great extent helped to save the man from worse punishment. 

One of the young men on seeing what had happened took a stout piece of wood, and going over to the bull he gave him a terrific blow on the top of the shoulder, which caused the animal to raise his head to see what had hurt him. 

Seeing who it was, he promptly turned on his new foe. In the middle of the paddock was a large round heap of stones, which had been piled there. The young man fled to this heap with the bull in pursuit. Round and round the heap they ran. In the meantime the other young man got into the paddock, and partly carrying and partly dragging the owner of the bull he got him through the fence safely. 

The young man and bull were still rushing round the circle of stones, but it seemed to have come to the bull like a flash that the man on the ground was much easier prey, for he suddenly stopped, and trotted down to where he had been mauling the man. 

The young fellow had lost no time in getting out of the paddock before the bull returned. The owner of the bull received shock from which he has not yet recovered. I have worked among Jersey bulls for 30 years, and my experience is that to give a bull (a Jersey in particular) a chance to maul you, that chance will sooner or later be accepted. — A.C.H.

I Listen To What Old Hands 

Say If the youngsters were more willing to take the advice of the old hands, what a lot of trouble they would save themselves at times! 

When I was a lad I was very independent and disinclined to listen, but I was soon cured. My most severe lesson was received when I camped on the stony tableland lying to the west of Dalhousie Springs and north of Macumba, Central Australia. 

A few days previously an old bush man had passed one of my camps and had shaken his head at what he saw. 'You're new to the bush,' he remarked. 'So I'll give you a few tips.' 

I'm afraid that I paid scant attention to his well-meant lecture, but I remembered it a few days later, when I sat huddled in a depression in the ground and quaking with terror. When I rolled up in my blankets, the night had been fine and the sky clear, although the air was ominously calm and sheet lightning was quivering and flickering along the western horizon. 

A few hours later I was awakened by a crash of thunder and, upon sitting up and looking about me, I beheld a sight which brought my heart into my mouth. A dry thunderstorm had come up while I slept. I had made my camp on the ironstone country which the old bushman had warned me about, and I now saw the most awe-inspiring display of celestial fireworks I had ever seen. The stars were blotted out by a huge bank of clouds, from which vivid streaks and bolts of lightning were descending, accompanied by claps of thunder which made my ears sing. Where the lightning struck the ground, flashes of blinding brilliancy would dart along the iron stone outcrops, raising clouds of dust. 

It appeared that the lightning would strike the spot where I sat at any moment. In frantic haste, I grabbed up blankets, camp-sheet and other gear, then bolted to a nearby dry watercourse, where I spent the next hour shivering in terror. Every hair on my head seemed to be standing on end and crackling with static electricity. It seemed as though the storm would never pass. Finally the lightning grew less severe and the thunder more distant. 

At length it had passed to the eastward and I lay down to go to sleep again, firmly resolved to listen to the advice of the old hands in future. It did not occur to me that I was breaking an other camping rule of the outback by sleeping where I was. The next thing I knew was a deluge of icy water rushing over me. I was half-drowned before I could disentangle myself from my bedding and get out of that creek bed. 

That thunderstorm had been dry in the immediate vicinity of my camp, but a mile or two away torrential rain had fallen, sending a four-foot flood down the creek in which I had sheltered. 

I spent the next fourteen years in the outback, but from that day on ward I always listened to anything which the old hands had to say. And never again did I camp among iron stone outcrops when thunderstorms were about, nor was I ever again guilty of the folly of going to sleep in the bed of a dry watercourse. — 'McMurphy.'