Pat Ritter. Books

[patritter]

'The Proposition' - Page 50:

‘What about we move to the front veranda and you can tell me more about yourself Bundy.’ Mary asked. All three adjourned to the front veranda and sat on chairs facing the front of the house.
‘Can I ask you another question Mary, about the day Peter disappeared?’ Bundy asked.
‘Yes – sure, go ahead. I still see him leave here and walk to the railway line to catch the train. I can’t believe it’s been eight years. It only seemed like yesterday.’ Mary shared.
‘Did you see him walk from the house that particular day?’ Bundy asked.
‘I stood here on the front veranda, waved and said good-bye as I usually did, and saw him walk across the road. There were all paddocks then where the shopping centre is now. When he was safely across to the railway station, I walked inside.’
‘Did you see him walk up the steps and across the line to the railway station?’ Bundy continued.
‘No – only to the footpath before the bridge.’ Her voice lowered and tears filled her eyes. She wiped them with a tissue she’s taken from the front of her dress.
‘Are you okay – I didn’t mean to bring this up again? I’m certain the police would have asked you a similar question.’ Bundy continued.

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'The Proposition' - Page 51:

‘As a matter of fact they didn’t. At first I wasn’t believed when I told them Peter was missing and I was told it wasn’t unusual for a young lad his age to go missing. They had plenty of run-away children.’ Mary explained.
‘I’ve read all of the reports police did and unfortunately there’s no evidence of any sighting of Peter. You may have been the last person to have seen him before he disappeared.’ Bundy explained.
Mary wiped her eyes, ‘when he arrived on the footpath, I thought he’d be safe, and it was then I went into the house to prepare dinner for Les. If only I watched him go over the overhead bridge.’ She sobbed.
‘It’s not your fault. We’re trying to piece together his last steps. We know he didn’t purchase a ticket on the day and we know he didn’t arrive at your mother’s home a couple of stops further along the track. Our next step in this investigation is to find out what happened to Peter.’ Bundy said.
‘I know he’s alive – I can feel it, he’s my son, it’s a mother’s instinct.’ Mary concluded.
Bundy and Kate thanked Mary for her hospitality and promised to return and keep her up-to-date with the investigation.
‘What do you think?’ Kate asked Bundy after they settled in the vehicle.
‘Mary’s honest – that’s for sure. I think our work is done here. Would you be able to drop me off at my home? I want to go over those files you downloaded and see if anything jumps out.’ Bundy told Kate.

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'The Proposition' - Page 52:

‘Sure – what’s next?’
‘I’ve told you about my forensic scientist friend Quincy Simpson.’
‘We have our own forensic scientists.’ Kate interrupted.
‘Yes – I know, but I want you to meet Quincy. You’ll like him. He has a way of seeing things differently.’ Bundy explained to Kate.
‘Alright - when do we visit this friend of your’s – Quincy Simpson?’ She asked.
‘I’ve got to phone him first to see when he’s available. He lives with his wife on a farm and breeds cattle.’
‘I’ve got a mobile phone here – if you want to use it?’ Kate handed Bundy her mobile phone.
‘How do you use this contraption?’ Bundy asked. He looked bewildered as if he was handed a bomb.
‘Flip the lid, dial the number and speak into the receiver.’ Kate instructed.
He flipped the lid; flashing lights highlighted the dials. Pressing the numbers to Quincy’s telephone number he heard noises he’d never heard before and immediately handed the phone to Kate.
‘Wait until I pull over to the curb?’ She slowed the vehicle and stopped it against the curb. ‘You’re a bloody sissy – you know. What is his telephone number?’ She demanded. Bundy gave her the number and she quickly dialled it. Noises came from the phone and Kate pressed the green button, she handed the open phone to Bundy.

[patritter]

Sorry to inform you but yesterday was the final page of 'The Proposition' until it is completed in November this year. Instead I am going to provide you with a great Australian Outback Story of 'The Drover': Link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/95766. Here is the first page. Hope you enjoy it:

drover.jpg (11.18 KiB) Viewed 6601 times

Chapter 1

Claire woke in the night startled by the storm and lightning strike. She sprung from her swag, dressed and threw a saddle on her horse, fastened the surcingle all in one movement.
Her instincts took over to saddle her horse and help ring the cattle before they stampeded. Excitement of the chase exploded inside her mind and body, not giving time to think what a nine year old child was about to do.
Rain soaked her clothes through to her skin. Her hat stuck to her head fastened only by a thin rawhide strap across her forehead to stop it from blowing off.
Swinging into the saddle she rode like demons possessed her small body, to help her father. The thrill of the chase ran through her veins, each muscle in her nine year old arms and legs strained to their limits, the mental toughness to help her father not being able to sight him caused her to wonder where he was. She needed to find him. Riding her horse at full gallop, lightning striking around them, cattle running in all directions out of control.
Through the faint vision of rain and wind, she saw a silhouette of a horse and rider, riding like the wind to get in front of the leading bunch of cattle to ring them round so they slowed and stopped. The moment she saw the horse and rider she knew it was her father. She felt a deep love. She would do anything to make him proud of her.
With lightning flashing above her head and near to trees, thunder exploded, wind and rain lashed her face, her hair streamed from beneath her hat; she rode on urging her horse into the chase. Without fear she jumped her horse across a log in the pathway and stretched her small body along its neck. She urged him forward to the front of the herd and came abreast with her father, his right arm out-stretched; she heard the familiar sound of a whip crack.

[dub]

Hi Pat,
I have just finished a hard day at work and was enjoying getting back up to speed with Bundy and Kate...
Well cobber what can I say ? Only that I feel the same as I would!
If I had just knocked my coffee over the book I was reading...
The Drover, are you only posting one section ?
I have read some snippets of The Drover on https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/95766
Time for the pleasure of reading, seems at this time, to be at a premium
Thanks for sharing with

[patritter]

Sorry about ending Bundy and Kate like that. It's a taste of what will be in the book hopefully completed by November this year. As I mentioned in the beginning - I took a risk of 'letting out the story' to readers without the opportunity of editing and re-writing. So far, I haven't received any negative results so this tells me to keep on keeping on.

Now to 'The Drover'. This is the book I wrote and published last year and has been flying off the shelves of Amazon (selling four copies per day for the past three months). I'm over the moon with the sales. So I thought I'd better share the book with you and the others who read these postings. Hope you enjoy.

'The Drover' - Page 2:

There was calm, the cattle stopped. With the final sound of a whip crack competing against the lightning and thunder, she rode up beside him. Claire thought her father was God, better than God; he could do anything just like God. She held him on top of a pedestal which reached for the sky and loved everything there was to love and would do anything to please him to earn his love and respect.

Harry took a moment and thought about the time his daughter Claire helped him stop the cattle from stampeding. She was brave, very brave; and at such a tender age. He felt so lucky to have a family he loved and cherished.

Harold Clarence Williams was born in the country town of Dirranbandi in 1930; his dream began when he was 10 years old after hearing the poem Ballad of a Drover recited around the camp fire. At an early age his father nicknamed him ‘Harry’ for short; he was known by that name for the remainder of his life.

‘Ballad of the Drover’
By
Henry Lawson

Across the stony ridges, across the rolling plain,
Young Harry Dale, the drover, comes riding home again.
And well his stock-horse bears him, and light of heart is he,
And stoutly his old packhorse is trotting by his knee.
Up Queensland way with cattle he’s travelled regions vast,
And many months have vanished since home-folks saw him last.

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'The Drover' - Page 3:

He hums a song of someone he hopes to marry soon,
And hobble-chains and camp-ware keep jingling to the tune.
Beyond the hazy dado against the lower skies
And yon blue line of ranges the station homestead lies.
And thitherward the drover jogs through the lazy noon,
While hobble-chains and camp-ware are jingling to a tune.
An hour has filled the heavens with storm-clouds inky black;
At times the lightning trickles around the drover’s track;
But Harry pushes onward, his horses’ strength he tries,
In hope to reach the river before the flood shall rise.

Was he Harry Dale from the poem? They had the same nickname. At the moment he heard the poem, he saw in his mind’s eye, his life, to learn the craft of droving.
Harry was born the 5th child of 11 children; 3 boys and 8 girls. His family were drovers from the top of their broad brim hats down to their R M William boots and loved what they did.
Harry’s father worked as a drover in the Dirranbandi, St George and Bollon areas in southwest Queensland where he lived a simple life.
As soon as Harry discovered what he wanted to do, his world changed in one day.
It happened when the Principal at Dirranbandi State School, which Harry attended, contacted Harry’s father to speak with him about Harry.