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'The Shearer' - Page 13:

His father eventually would overcome the betrayal of his son; he couldn’t be denied an opportunity as good as this. It was the start of his dream.
Before he left, he scribbled a note to tell his parents he was gone shearing and left it on the kitchen table held down by the candle stick holder. Stealing his way from the family home with a tightly wrapped couple of blankets to use as swag, he stepped as quite as a mouse through the kitchen to the rear door. His father’s snores echoed from his parents’ bedroom signalling his father was fast asleep. Opening the rear door, a sudden feeling of freedom and excitement flowed through Joe’s body: He was free!
Before daylight he waited on the corner where he arranged to meet Mr Thompson. Was he doing the right thing? These thoughts disappeared when Mr Thompson appeared from nowhere. ‘Good morning to you Joe, fine one this morning.’ Mr Thompson jovially said.
‘Yes, Sir – it is a fine morning.’ Joe smiled.
‘Well come on boy. If you want to be a ‘tarboy’ this is where it starts. We have a two-day walk to the property.’ Mr Thompson waved for Joe to follow.
Joe made two strides to each of Mr Thompson’s one to keep up, their destination Camden Station. There was not much conversation between the two. Joe laboured to keep-up-with his boss. ‘We’ll have a break for ten minutes, shall we Joe?’ He said after they’d walked for a couple of hours. The sun was high in the sky.
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'The Shearer' - Page 14:

Almost out of breath Joe nodded and agreed pleased to stop.
They sat against an old gum tree. Joe’s boss filled his pipe with tobacco he’d taken from his coat pocket, lit the top of his pipe, by striking a match against the leg of his trousers, drew in his breathe, a smile spread across his face. ‘Ah, that’s better.’ Satisfied, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and started to snore.
Joe sat a little away on a log pondering whether he made the right choice, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Of course he was doing the right thing. If he returned home without trying, he’d need to face his father.
Closing his eyes for only a minute, he was shaken awake by his boss. ‘Come on lad, I want to reach the Nepean River by nightfall’. He stomped off not waiting for Joe who scrambled to his feet, almost running to catch Mr Thompson, taking two strides to Mr Thompson’s one to keep abreast. Little was said between the two until Joe sighted a railway bridge crossing a river.
‘There it is son, up there, we’ll camp under the bridge tonight and leave before daybreak tomorrow. We’re certain to be at Camden Station by lunchtime – if you can keep up with me.’ His boss ed.
‘I’ll do my best,’ Joe puffed the answer.
‘Gather kindling for a fire and I’ll try my luck to catch us a fish for our dinner.’ Mr Thompson strode beneath the railway bridge, dispatched his swag on the ground, rolled it out, gathered some equipment to fish with and walked to the edge of the river bank.
Joe quickly dumped his small belongings not far from where Mr Thompson left his swag. He looked around to see burnt fire remains where others had camped. Gathering firewood he carried the kindling to where they made camp. He pushed the kindling together in a small pile and lit the leaves with a match to create a fire. Taking the billy can from Mr Thompson’s swag, he walked to the edge of the river to fill the can with water.
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'The Shearer' - Page 15:

‘Not yet lad, it won’t be long.’ Mr Thompson replied sucking on his pipe.
‘I’ll boil the billy and bring you tea.’ Joe said, a slight quiver in his voice.
‘Good on ya lad – let me concentrate here a minute – I think I’ve got a bite.’ Mr Thompson spat the words out with his pipe dangling from his mouth and rose suddenly yanked on the thin cord he used for a fishing line. The line tightened, ‘Yeah – I got ya, ya bugger!’ He pulled the cord toward the bank. Joe saw the swishing tail of a fish - trying to escape. Mr Thompson pulled the hooked fish onto the bank near Joe’s feet. ‘Grab the bloody thing before it gets itself loose!’ Joe bent down picked the fish up with both hands, careful not to lose it. Steadily he unhooked the sharp hook from its mouth and let the line return to Mr Thompson.

Joe felt something crawl near his leg and opened his eyes. A three feet long goanna about to climb the trunk of the tree he was leaning against! The tail struck Joe’s leg as he went on its way, and his eyes widened as the reptile scampered up the trunk beside him.
I must have been dreaming, or reminiscing. Fancy thinking of Mr Thompson those many years ago, I was just a kid. I better get a move on to Kahmoo Station. Gathering his swag, billy can and waterbag, he stepped it out at a fast pace to make up for time he’d slept after his billy of tea and slice of Ma’s freshly cooked bread and mutton sandwich. The heat was at zenith point with only a slight breeze to cool as he walked. If he continued at this pace, he’d make the shearing quarters by afternoon smoko.
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'The Shearer' - Page 16:

A battered sign wired on the top of the fence post, ‘Kahmoo Station’ showed he’d arrived. Only two mile walk to the shearing shed, a track, if one called it a track weaved its way through thick mulga scrub. It was only used a couple of times a year for the bullock wagons carting wool from the property.
Joe heard the dinner bell sounding. Three o’clock in the afternoon, time for a break to have afternoon smoko. At least he’d be in time for a cuppa and hopefully a piece of damper if he was lucky. He continued walking toward the sound and the first person he saw Bluey Simpson, a gun shearer in the sheds, each time wanting to beat his tally. Unfortunately up to this time, he’d hadn’t come close. He’d try harder this time, ‘G’day Bluey,’ Joe called, raised his right arm in the air to signal welcome.
‘If it ain’t Joe – gunna try to beat me this week – are ya?’ Joe put his hand out to shake his friend’s hand when they met.
‘I’ll do me best.’ Joe admitted.
‘What happened to your eye?’
‘Got locked up on the weekend. An elbow belonging to the local copper came in contact with my eye. Getting better, should be right in a couple of days.’ Joe admitted.
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'The Shearer' - Page 17:

‘Ya better come and have a cuppa then. We’re got a new cook bloody hell mate, we go through more cooks then we do feeds. Hope this fellow can cook.’ They walked toward the kitchen in the shearer’s quarters, ‘Meet Jacob Cartwright – our latest cook.’ Bluey introduced Joe.
‘How’re you going mate?’ Joe said taking the cook’s hand and shaking it in a warm welcome.
‘Good – thank you, pleased to meet you, Joe - is it?’
‘Yeah – Joe Ryan. I’m one of the shearers here. Not as good as Bluey, but you never know, this could be my shed to be ‘gun’ shearer.’
‘Excuse me while I get some butter.’ Jacob excused himself to walk onto the veranda to retrieve the butter from the Coolgardie safe, a square box contraption approximately three feet in height, and the same square with timber frame exterior covered with wire-netting. Inside the wire-netting, charcoal packed between galvanised exterior casing allowed air to flow through the charcoal. Water sprinkled through the charcoal kept the galvanised iron casing sufficiently cold to keep butter and meat from defrosting or going bad.
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'The Shearer' - Page 18:

Chapter 3

‘Come and get some damper and a cuppa,’ Jacob called to Joe and the others waited their chance to taste freshly cooked damper.
Joe plastered butter onto a piece of thick damper he’d cut from the loaf on the kitchen table, poured treacle over the butter, picked up the piece in his fingers pushed it into his mouth, treacle running down the side of his hand and mouth. He licked the thick black treacle away with his tongue. Savouring the taste of freshly cooked damper coated with butter and treacle, he said to Jacob, with his mouth half-filled, ‘Mate, this is the best damper I’ve tasted for a long time. How did you cook it?’ Joe finished swallowing the remains followed by a hot pannikin of black tea.
‘Dug a hole in the ground out back and built a fire, allowed the coals to die down before I put the damper mix in a Bedourie oven, closed the lid, chucked coals over the oven lid, waited forty-five minutes, and there you have it. What’s it taste like?’ Jacob explained excited.
‘Bloody good mate! Keep this up and you’ll still be here by the end of the run.’ Joe ed, taking another piece of damper from the centre of the table.
After smoko Joe settled into his quarters, if you could call it quarters, rooms not much larger than his room at Ma’s Guest House. Instead of using their allocated room, shearers, roustabouts, shedhands and ‘tar boy’ threw their swags onto the veranda floor to capture a cool breeze. Joe joined his mates where the breeze blew from the north.
Close to dusk Jacob walked from the kitchen where he’d prepared dinner for the workers; boiled potatoes, corn meat with damper, bread and butter pudding for dessert. Cocky Young - the owner of the property always left a killer in the yard for the cook to kill to use for meat to feed the workers while the shearing was done.

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Thank you everyone for your patience. My computer died. I bought a new one. Back on track:

'The Shearer' - Page 19:

Joe lay on his swag and saw Jacob leave the kitchen carrying a butcher knife and steel, ‘You going killen?’ Joe asked rising from his swag.
‘Yeah, the boss put a wether in the killing pen.’ Jacob answered.
‘I’ll do it for ya mate. You concentrate on feeding these fellars. Give me the knife and steel’. Jacob happily handed Joe the items pleased he didn’t have to kill the sheep. He didn’t mind cooking, but to kill – he didn’t like doing although it was part of his job.
Joe walked to the killing pen where a woolly wether sheep stood. Joe looked him in the eye. Well fella – you won’t be staring at me for much longer. Outside the pen a killing gallows, made from bush timber, mulga branch for its strength measuring about ten feet in length, fastened to the fork of a mulga post buried deep in the hard ground. This contraption used after the sheep was killed with the hind legs fastened to the top end of the mulga branch with a steel rod in the shape of a W, with sharp points protruded through the hocks of the sheep to hold the sheep in position to finish dressing the sheep.
Joe checked the edge of the knife to define if it was sharp. Sharpening the blade against the steel, he shaved a strip of hair from his left forearm to show the sharpness of the knife. Hair shaved away easily, indicated the knife was sharp.
Stepping into the killing pen, he grabbed the killer with his left hand holding the bottom of its jaw. With his right leg, placed it between the wether’s hind legs, his left leg secured the back

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