Pat Ritter. Books

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Chapter 2

Early the following morning they reached a property named Carpet Springs.
‘How did Carpet Springs get its name - Dad?’ Harry asked when they stopped for morning tea.
‘I’m not certain, only by the lay of the land you can see the grass is like a carpet; and I suppose there must be a spring nearby.’ His father commented.
Whether it was right or wrong Harry believed his father because he learned more from older people who experienced life and knew they were right. He couldn’t still believe he’d met the ghost of the Eulo Queen but would keep the sighting to himself.
Harry would rather use the wagonette than pack horses. With pack horses, each morning he’d saddle them, laden with huge packs on their backs filled with camp gear, lead them by the horse he rode.
By using a wagonette the camp gear was loaded onto the wagonette and five horses harnessed to draw it. It was easier to cross creeks when the horses pulled the wagonette down the creek bank through high water, and up the other side to higher ground.

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On mid-afternoon on the tenth day they arrived at Dyvenor Downs.
‘How big is this place, Dad?’ Harry asked bewilled.
‘They tell me about a million acres.’
‘That’s a hell of a horse paddock. Do you know where to go?’ He asked his father.
‘Yeah, cause I know – north and we’ll get there sometime. What’s with all the questions?’
Harry’s mind overflowed with the knowledge of how big Dyvenor Downs was as compared to the many places he’d been. In his excitement, knowing he could be droving on the property for at least a week before they reached the northern boundary.
They pulled up beside the shearing shed and met the manger, Kevin Thompson, ‘you made it okay.’ He called to Harry and his father. ‘I’ll give you a couple of men to help you. Bunk down in the shearer’s quarters for the night and start first thing in the morning.’ The manager said.
Harry thought it was a great idea to have men from Dyvenor Downs Station. For one, he needed have had to worry about paying them and another, one of them would be the cook and drive the wagonette.
After settling into their quarters for the evening a bow legged man approached their camp, ‘Snowy’s the name, I’m the dogger in these here parts, where youse off to?’
Snowy had spent most of his life in the bush, his face tarnished with years of bush life, crinkled skin around his eyes, mouth and bright blue eyes shone through to show his soul.
‘Wakes Lagoon, we’re leaving day light tomorra.’ Harry told the dogger after they shook hands.
‘Mind if I tag along with ya. I won’t be in the way. I could cook.’ Snowy beckoned.
‘What’d reckon Dad?’ Harry asked.

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‘I don’t see any worries, why not – welcome. You think you’ll see dingoes along the way?’ Harry’s father wanted to know.
‘I’ve set traps before in the north of the property near the out-station McIntyre, I wanted to have a look to see of there’re any tracks. Company would be good for a change.’
‘Have you been working here long?’ Harry asked.
‘About ten years.’
‘Many dingoes round.’
‘These’s a few when the lambing season’s on, they breed and move on.’
‘How do you trap them?’ Harry asked. He’d often seen dingoes nearby at times and once took a shot from the .22 rifle more to scare them off rather than kill them. They were part of the bush family, like the goanna and kangaroo.
‘When I find tracks, I dig a hole beneath a branch of a nearby tree and fill it with a mixture of poison and animal fat, then cover the hole with leaves and dirt. I kill a kangaroo and hang the carcass from a branch above the hole.’
‘What’d do that for?’ Harry queried. It appeared to be a lot of trouble to catch a dingo.
‘When the dingo jumps up to grab the meat; its paws come down in the hole, and fat covers its paws. The dog licks the fat from the paws and goes away and dies – I get a lot by doing it that way.’ Snowy shared.
‘You won’t have much time to do trapping on the drove.’ Harry muttered.
‘No – I’d like the company and to have a look around to see if there are any dingoes and where they are.’
‘How far are you going with us?’
‘I reckon to the northern boundary – if that’s okay or might even go all the way – I haven’t decided.’
‘I don’t see why not – it’ll be great to have you along – welcome.’
They shared their meal with Snowy who hogged into the leg of mutton left by the manager. Harry saw Snowy wasn’t

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used to eating in company; the way he sliced off a huge piece of mutton from the leg, immediately shoved the piece into his mouth. He spoke in gabble while trying to devour the piece of meat, splashing it down with a pannikin of strong black tea.
Harry was intrigued with Snowy; he’d never met a person like him before and wanted to know more about trapping dingoes, ‘is that the only way you trap dingoes?’
‘Ah, no, I use steel traps some of the time – it depends on the time of the year when the bitches are on heat.’ Snowy shared.
‘What’d mean – time of the year?’
‘When a station bitch is on heat I collect its urine in a glass jar. Dingoes leave tracks mainly leading from water hole to water hole. Near the water hole I set a number of steel traps around the tracks.’
‘How do you do it?’ He could talk to Snowy all night – he was an interesting person.
‘Well, young Harry, I dig a hole to place the trap into. Then set the trap by putting my foot onto the spring and open the jaws. After the trap is set I cover the trap and the hole with leaves and branches to conceal it. Before I leave the trap, I sprinkle the urine around, to make it smell like a bitch is on heat.’
‘Do you catch many?’
‘Oh, yeah, wouldn’t you go after a bitch if it’s on heat – the power of sex, it’s the ruin nature of many a man.’ Snowy ed.
‘Alright, you two better get some sleep.’ Harry’s father yelled from his swag.
‘Night Snowy,’ Harry called to his new friend. His mind filled with visions of dingo traps. His theory of learning from older men was paying dividends because if he’d stayed at school he would never have learnt how to trap a dingo. Life was his university of learning, meeting people like Snowy, listening to their stories, understanding their way of life.

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Before daylight made its early morning dawning for the day Harry had the billy boiled and ‘johnny cakes’ cooked.
‘Alright you two – up and about, breakfast’s ready.’ He called to the others.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes Snowy lifted his head, ‘it’s not even daylight yet, don’t you fellas sleep in.’
‘Not today old friend, we’ve got sheep to move. Breakfast is ready.’
Around the camp fire the three shared hot tea and ‘johnny cakes’.
‘They’re bloody good – what are they called again?’ Snowy wanted to know.
‘Johnny cakes – haven’t you had them before?’ Harry’s father said.
‘No, they’re good – is there any more?’ Snowy mumbled through a full mouth.
‘Have as many as you want but we’ve got to get going, the men from the station should be here any minute.’ Harry said.
Harry finished his breakfast and was clearing the camp when the manager arrived with two men.
‘Good-morning fellas, this is Davey Munroe and Malcolm Hunter – they’ll help you.’ All men shook hands to become acquainted.
‘Let’s get this show on the road.’ Harry commanded.
Dyvenor Downs had recently completed their yearly shearing and twelve thousand freshly shorn wethers were leaving the station to be taken to Wakes Lagoon a distance of 240 miles north, the journey to take six weeks.
‘When you arrive at Wakes Lagoon tell the manager to phone me and I’ll send a truck to bring the men back.’ He told Harry’s father.
‘Right you are – we’ll be on our way otherwise it’ll be too hot in the middle of the day to drive them.’ Harry’s father replied.

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‘Harry, you take Davey and I’ll take Malcolm. Snowy, would you drive the wagonette until you leave us.’
‘Yeah, that’ll be right,’ Snowy echoed as he jumped up on the driver’s seat, ‘where do you want me to make camp?’
‘At the six mile bore drain north of the homestead.
‘See you there.’ Snowy shouted, flicking the reins at the horses to move them off camp.
‘Harry, when we draft the wethers off, you take your mob and move them off with Davey. We’ll keep behind and in a couple of days when we’re off Dyvenor we follow the Bulloo River through to Quilpie and onto Wakes Lagoon.’
‘Right you are Dad, come on Davey let’s get these sheep drafted.’
Over the next couple of hours the men worked like a well oiled machine drafting off the wethers, Harry’s father counting as the sheep raced through the race and out into the open plain. 6000 were counted, ‘they’re yours Harry, take em away.’
Harry whistled his dogs and each listened to the different sounds and commands from their master and did exactly as each was directed to do. A couple of dogs raced to the eastern side whilst another two dogs ran wide to stop any sheep from breaking from the mob. Soon the sheep were moving away from the shearing shed into the homestead paddock.
Sheep are strange creatures. They follow a leader, much like humans. Once they’re shown in what direction to go, they follow one another.
The homestead stood large and grand with a veranda surrounding the outside of the building. The large veranda covered in gauze to keep the flies at bay and to make the house cool in summer.
Harry dreamed only of droving, at times he thought momentarily about owning his own property, but to be kept tied in one place seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, would fence him in.

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Wide open spaces were Harry’s property going from place to place and never settling. At this time of his life he was happy with where his life was taking him.
Snowy opened the gate from the homestead paddock onto the open plains and headed toward the six mile paddock. His knowledge of Dyvenor Downs surpassed any other person on the property, including the manager. He knew each nook and cranny on the property and over the past ten years had wandered over every gibber stone on the place in search of dingoes.
The mob slowed to a crawl, grazing along the Mitchell grass plain; spreading wide to snip each sweet seed. Harry drew his horse alongside of Davey’s horse, ‘how’s it going so far?’ Harry asked.
‘Great, I’m pleased I got this job with you because I didn’t want to repair windmills with the mechanic. It’s a dangerous job pulling pumps and changing blades.’
‘How long have you worked here?’ He was trying to make small talk because when the sheep were grazing there wasn’t much else to do but to keep an eye on any which broke from the mob.
‘A couple of years; I’m not whinging, it’s a good place to work and the Boss is one of the best you’d get. I just don’t like heights and when I get on the platform of the windmill its scary stuff, especially if there’s a breeze. I’m frightened to fall off.’
‘Don’t worry, we won’t be climbing windmills out here – you’re safe.’ Harry reassured Davey.
‘That’s good. Is this all we do all day?’
‘No, we stop for smoko and afterwards for lunch; and in the afternoon put up a brake to hold the sheep for the night. Are you bored already?’
‘No….no, it’s slow going, that’s all.’
‘For the next six weeks it’ll be like this until we reach Wakes Lagoon, you’d better get used to it.’