Missus Dead Finish and her patient, Tommy the Rag, passed through Baobab Wells at noon and reached Anton’s Landing a little after two on the third day. A crowd gathered while the big woman carried the once slight, now wasted, young man into the Wyndham hospital, a stone building run…
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The Hall’s Creek area, being on the northern fringes of the Great Sandy Desert, was sparsely vegetated except along the river courses. Much of the ground was bare: soils of red, white, grey, or shades in between, relieved by hummocks of grass, curly spinifex and mean acacia shrubs. After rain,…
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The Wet Season arrived for two weeks in February. Less work was done, replaced with horseplay and drinking. Some days the rain was so heavy that the best course of action was to cover the shaft with canvas, find some shelter, and open a bottle There was never a dull…
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No one said a word when Missus Dead Finish started sharing Tommy the Rag’s swag, her draught horses hobbled and wandering with nosebags of oats, and some to spare for the rest of the plant, who were rarely well enough fed. As fond of rum as the rest of…
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1845, a village outside Sydney Town. Humble blacksmith Ian Steele struggles to support his widowed mother. All the while he dreams of a life in uniform, serving in Queen Victoria’s army. 1845, Puketutu, New Zealand. Second Lieutenant Samuel Forbes, a young poet from an aristocratic English family, wants nothing…
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Tom Nugent knew a bit about prison cells. He had once been thrown in the Blackall lock-up with his mate Harry Readford, accused of possessing eight stolen horses. It took three days for Harry’s bribes to filter out to all the witnesses. The charges were dropped and the pair…
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The dingo pack were starving, with rib bones sharp as knives and shrunken, high bellies. There were five altogether, led by the matriarch, with dugs as black as night, and her teeth worn with age. The pack had recently taken to shadowing the camps of prospectors, existing on bones…
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Billy had been waiting under a lancewood tree, just outside the Newcastle Waters Telegraph Station, since the new moon. Sometimes, at night, he slept. During the day he smoked his clay pipe, or boiled up a billy of tea, but most of the time he just waited, like Mister Alfred…
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When Tommy the Rag and Carmody rode up, accompanied by a cloud of their own dust, Sandy swore so hard he had to stop and spit. ‘You bastards are s’posed to be watching the old claim. What the bloody hell are you doing here?’ Carmody swung off his horse. ‘Well…
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When a Cantonese syndicate moved in on the old claim at Rosie’s Flat, most of the gang pretended not to care. But it was generally agreed that such an act wasn’t ‘right.’ ‘It’s not that I bloody liked the place,’ spat Sandy Myrtle, ‘but I don’t like the idea of…
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Weeks had passed, and the routine varied little. Almost every afternoon, Tom rowed Miss Emily Byrne up the channel: crabbing and sometimes fishing. By the third week he was permitted to kiss her on the cheek. By the fifth they were holding hands when he walked her home after dinner…
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Within a mile, Tom knew that he was never going to outpace the police patrol. He wished he’d thought to steal a better horse before he left Wyndham, but from here there’d be no opportunity to upgrade before Turkey Creek. His only chance now was to leave the road, and…
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To Hell with Hall’s Creek by Larrikin (With help from Fitz and Sandy Myrtle) I’ve been thrown by horse, and gored by bull, An’ trampled by the same, I’ve been bit by dogs and old Joe Blake, Been rocked by storm and rain. I’ve worn out boots,…
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Two days to the new moon and the sky darkened quickly. A faint yellow glow on the western horizon was the last remnant of a warm dry-season day. Tom Nugent’s eyes, however, were as good as a cat’s in low light. Years of night watches on droving jobs, and desperate…
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My Dear Tom I pray that this letter reaches you in whatever lonely extremity you have reached. I imagine that you are on the run and far from here. Please know that my thoughts and prayers have followed you every step of the way. Yesterday the strangest thing happened.…
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At four in the afternoon, Tom set his pocket watch to the same time as Sandy Myrtle’s and sent the big man into town with Larrikin. Their saddle bags bulged with costumes that had been the subject of much discussion, with some important input from Jake’s two girls. Larrikin had…
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An hour before midnight, Scotty rode off to fetch Red Jack. By the time he returned with her, Larrikin’s mare was agitated and sweating, milk seeping from her teats. The red-haired woman washed her hands and examined her. ‘They’re sitting well, I reckon,’ she said, ‘and the contractions are…
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With dawn not far off, Tom sent Blind Joe on a good night horse to a peak about a mile away, to watch for any signs of pursuit. Then, while camp was struck, horses saddled and packs loaded, Tom and Larrikin divided the gold into sixteen fair parcels. Jack Martin,…
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On the long ride to the Territory border, Tom Nugent had plenty of time to think. After months of hard labour on the goldfields, and those life-changing months in Wyndham as a prisoner and free man, it felt good to be back in the saddle, riding past red cliffs, dramatic…
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What happened to these legends? These larrikins who rode, robbed and drank rum together? Many of the facts have been lost, but these, as far as can be ascertained, from historical records, grave sites, and information from family members, were the fates of the Ragged Thirteen. Alexander McDonald, better known…
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Print copies of Red Jack and the Ragged Thirteen are now in stock. The book looks great, 290 pages. (Preorders are now being dispatched.) You can get a copy by clicking on the links below. Paperback: https://storiesofoz.selz.com/item/redjack Kindle: https://www.amazon.com.au/…/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_oXAeDbTK…
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Mounted Constable Michael Donegan woke up in his cot at the Leichhardt’s Crossing Police Station, with a hangover so bad he’d been dreaming that he was back home in Derry, Ireland, where a huge shirtless man was hitting the side of his head with a ten-pound hammer. His sleeping mind…
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Thomas Cuthbert Coolon was born in Richmond, New South Wales, on the tenth of April 1859. His mother, Sarah Douglass, died when he was seven years old. His father remarried and moved out west of the Darling River where Tom was abducted by a group of Aborigines. For the next…
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New Stories of Oz serial story starting next Sunday September 15 and continuing in weekly instalments. OUTLAW written by Greg Barron When anthropologist Robert Morris arrives at the old Doomadgee Mission, at Bayley Point near Burketown in 1934, he’s intent on learning local languages and customs. One very old woman…
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In 1934 I applied to the School of Anthropology, Sydney University, to undertake field research for my doctoral thesis. A cousin of my father’s was a member of the Waitara branch of the Christian Brethren, and through them I was invited to ‘visit and assist’ at Doomadgee Mission, in the…
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At the Mission; that island in the clay and salt of the wild Gulf shore, came days of building heat, followed by thunderstorms such as I had never dreamed possible. Raking winds and black thunderheads roving ahead of a packed, boiling cloud mass, spitting lightning over a shallow sea churned…
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Cashman’s boy saw Joe coming, and rose to his full height, brandishing the knife. ‘You been lookout for trouble with me?’ he asked. Yet he hadn’t reckoned on the way Joe covered the ground between them, scarcely having time to raise his guard before copping a right-cross flush to his…
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Work at the Doomadgee Mission continued, despite rain and humid heat. Through it all, Len Akehurst toiled from before dawn to long after dusk, assisting with building works, teaching lessons, carrying water, performing the occasional baptism and preaching at prayer meetings. He had, during his training, completed a course in…
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Hasenkamp and his men shackled Joe with iron chains, and escorted him 130 miles to Normanton, a five-day ordeal on horseback. There had been some late rain, and the black soil country was hard going in the mud. By the time they reached the town’s neatly surveyed streets, laid out…
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If you’ve missed some chapters or you’ve been meaning to catch up on the story so far, here it is in PDF format. Then you’ll be ready for the next chapter, which will be posted on Sunday afternoon. You can either download the PDF by clicking here or read it…
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Being interested in the original people of the Gulf and their culture, I often stopped to talk to an old man called Charlie after my meetings with Kitty. He was a wiry fellow, knotted like old rope, with a sharp mind and encyclopedic knowledge of that strip of coast. Somehow,…
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The feeling of being hunted … Of every rocky outcrop hiding an ambush. Every traveller an informer. Trackers poring over every impression of hoof and boot; reading the sign each time Joe dismounted to eat or brew tea. Joe directed his mount along shallow stony creek beds, walking both horses…
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Kitty told me how her son Joe rode to the west in the wild upper Nicholson country, through a river gorge intersected with knife blades of red stone, ancient cycads and calm, clear pools rich with turtle and fish. She told me about Wanggala – the age of creation –…
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Again the monsoon retreated, and apart from storms bustling out from the horizon in the evening, the weather was better. I had my first touch of Gulf fever, but Dorothy Akehurst’s store of quinine kept it at bay, and I remained on my feet, most of the time. I fished…
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Mounted Constable Robert Stott of Roper Bar, Kitty told me, was something of an enigma. A man who would one day go on to become Central Australia’s first Police Commissioner, he was maligned by some, and lionised by others. On his police record were awards for courage, yet he was…
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Bound by light chains and an iron collar, Joe rode just behind the two policemen, deep in a state of bitter recrimination and disbelief. The horse he’d been given was flat from work, and Stott constantly wheeled back to slap it encouragingly on the rump with a switch. ‘There’ll be…
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Telling the story of Joe getting shot distressed Kitty. The sandy blight that afflicted her eyes – that near blindness – made her somewhat inscrutable. Yet as I grew to know her better I could tell when the howling dog of grief inside her slipped the leash and brought her…
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Rain! Not since the Great Flood could such a deluge have fallen. We endured days when it barely let up at all. The rise on which the mission stood became a real island as the salt-pans filled, joining with Arthur’s Creek. The grass turned a vivid green, and the sky…
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Port Darwin jetty with S.S.Taiyuan and Catterthun. Railway trucks on the jetty. Taken from Stokes Hill. (NT Library) A letter from Sydney arrived on the Noosa, when she next chugged her way up Arthur’s Creek to the Doomadgee landing. My superiors had written to enquire of my progress and to…
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Joe led the police on the merriest dance of their lives. He walked backwards in his prints, swung from tree branches, and waded through every waterhole. He doubled back and stampeded police horses at night, sleeping only in short winks, leaning against a tree, or buried in a hollow under…
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The next morning, before dawn, Senior Constable Alfred Wavell lit a slush lantern and sat down at his desk at the Turn-off Lagoon Police Station. He had been up during the night, forced out of bed by the dysentery that had afflicted him for weeks, leaving him lethargic and dehydrated.…
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One early morning in the beginning of April, I rose, left the bunk house and headed outside. The Gulf waters were mirror-calm in the distance and the air felt drier and cooler than it had in all the months since my arrival. As I walked, listening to the chatter of…
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Troopers Garrie and Noble, along with Fred Doyle and Bird the stockman, fired their weapons into the galvanised iron sides of the hut until it was peppered with holes. The senior policeman was dead, and Hann was bandaged up in bed, so Fred Doyle placed himself in charge of the…
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These pages dim with my tears as I attempt to record what happened next, as if the death of Joe was not enough for Kitty to endure. Less than two years after the death of Joe, she rode into Turn-off Lagoon for supplies. A man called Tom Perry, manager…
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This is a really interesting handwritten account of the Ragged Thirteen from a man who knew them. Billy Linklater, aka Miller, worked as a stockman in the NT from the late 1880s to the 1930s. This manuscript was written in 1941. The original is held by the NT Library.
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By Greg Barron The Old Adelaide Gaol stands on the south bank of the River Torrens, massive and silent. The thick stone walls, guard towers and block-like cells leave visitors in no doubt that from 1841 to 1988, this was a prison designed to dehumanise and isolate its inhabitants; those…
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by Greg Barron If you wanted to cook up a wild adventure story, start with a Queensland river blessed with rich alluvial gold. Throw in a bunch of self-reliant prospectors, an uncontrolled stream of Chinese diggers, Martini-Henry rifles, spirited horses, and a tough indigenous nation that resented and fought the…
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We’re pleased to announce the release of our new hardback book: Outlaw, The Story of Joe Flick by Greg Barron. Joe Flick was both victim and killer, a young man caught between two worlds. His story stretches from outback New South Wales to lawless Burketown, from Hodgson Downs Station in…
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( Twin fireboxes, once attached to the Providence’s boiler, still lie on the banks of the Darling near Kinchega Station. ) The year was 1872, and for twelve months the 78-foot-long wooden paddle steamer Providence, under the leadership of Captain John Davis, sat on a waterhole north of Menindee waiting…
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When Irishman, Lieutenant Charles Henry Buchanan and his wife, Annie, emigrated to Australia and took up a New England station called Rimbanda, they had no idea that their son Nathaniel would one day become known as the greatest drover the world has ever seen. Nat grew from a cheerful and…
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Part legend, part fact, their adventures embellished and exaggerated around a thousand campfires, the story of the Ragged Thirteen has been beloved of bush story tellers for a hundred and thirty years. The Ragged Thirteen were brilliant horsemen, fugitives, consummate bushmen, lovers of bush poetry and champions of the underdog.…
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(An excerpt from Rusty’s Tale by Russell Carrington) Like many other mustering pilots I was called on from time to time to search for someone who was lost, sometimes with a good result, sometimes not so good. Once I had to go to Floraville Station to help search for a…
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When I first learned that Russell Carrington had written down his yarns and memories I knew that they should be published for posterity. Russ grew up on Planet Downs station, near Burketown, in the very last of the ‘old days’ before mobile phones, internet and modern roads. Russ grew up…
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The final book version of this story will be available by April 2022. Please add your email address to the form below if you’d like to be notified when the book is available.
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I recently caught up with Dick Eussen, author of Stone Country Justice, and asked him a few questions. For those of you who haven’t read it yet, Stone Country Justice is a rollicking bush crime novel, set in the escarpment country of Arnhem Land. What inspired you to write fiction…
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A new weekly serial novel, starting soon. Beyond the Big Bend: the story of William Randell and Captain Henry Cadell, and their race to run the first paddle steamer up to the Darling.
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Prologue – The Prize The Murray River, called Dhungala by the Yorta Yorta, and Millewa by the Ngarrindjeri, was once as wild and free as the land over which it flowed. In those days before reservoirs and locks it ran unbroken and unhindered from the Snowy Mountains, meeting other important…
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$19.90 plus 3.90 postage. 306 Pages, Trade (large) Paperback. ALWAYS IN STOCK AND READY TO POST ISBN: 978-0-6480627-4-5 4000 copies in print. On shelves at hundreds of libraries Rating of 4.36 on Goodreads from 300+ reviews (https://bit.ly/36ZG5u0) Rating of 4.4 on Amazon from 237 reviews (https://amzn.to/3eh9PXu) Published by Stories of…
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Matthew R Grego is the narrator of the first Stories of Oz audiobook, The Time of Thunder, available at: https://storiesofoz.selz.com/item/thunderaudiobook I asked him some questions about his career as an actor and voice over artist. You’ve been acting and doing voice over work for some years. How did you first…
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We are very excited to share the cover of our upcoming book, The Last Days of Dom Sebastian, a premium HARDBACK with case-laminated cover and dust jacket. It’s a beautifully presented book made to last, and a big adventure story in the vein of Wilbur Smith. Release date: October 2…
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Australia’s history is far more exciting and interesting than we were taught in schools, and the blinkers are only just starting to be removed on the way we think about this country’s past. Our Indigenous history is not of one homogenous people, but a fascinating array of different nations, trading…
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If you’ve lost track or haven’t started reading yet, here’s your chance to catch up in one quick burst. Get this five-minute summary, and next week you’ll be ready to keep reading … It’s the early 1850s, and just about everyone knows that the Murray River has potential for river…
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The Last Days of Dom Sebastian by Greg Barron is out now, a premium hardback with case-laminated cover and dust jacket – a great Christmas gift. About the book: How can I rest until this story is told? Can I let such a tale slip unnoticed into history? Or allow…
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We’re proud to release our first audiobook, read by Matthew R Grego. Length: 8 hours and 40 minutes. Set in Arnhem Land in 1990 and 1950s America, this is the story of a forty-year fight for justice. In Australia’s Northern Territory, NORFORCE Sergeant Jamie McKinnon is ordered to escort a…
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Archaeologists Francis da Costa & Nicolá Massane follow a trail of relics & myth, uncovering a tragic love story, and a voyage past the edge of the known world to Australia’s Kimberley. Review from the Publisher’s Weekly BookLife team: “Barron’s epic will thrill readers who love history, archaeology and a…
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‘Way out back in the Never Never Land of Australia there lives a patriotic breed of humans who know little of the comforts of civilized life, whose homes are bare, where coin is rarely seen, but who have as red blood and as clean minds as any race on earth.…
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Chapter One – The Runaway Wagon 1886, Southwestern Queensland That old echidna was no fast mover, but he ambled along the stony earth with his stumpy legs moving in a hunched-over left-right rhythm, a layer of red dust powdered over the brown of his quills. He’d scented a termite mound…
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Scotty McRae hurried to the rear of the wagon, and with Lainey looking over his shoulders he lifted a wooden tea chest down to the dusty track, opening a lid into which many holes had been bored, and looking deeply into the interior. ‘Oh Jesus, the poor little beggars,’ he…
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‘P’raps you should have taken up that job offer,’ said Gamilaroi Jim as he, Sam, Will and Lainey rode out along the Adavale road. ‘We could do with a quid or two, an’ Scotty seems like he’d be a good boss.’ ‘Nah,’ said Will. ‘The plan is to head north…
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Further north, in the front bar of Adavale’s Imperial Hotel, New South Wales police sergeant Roger Gerald Humphrey Douglas took a last, fortifying mouthful of rum from a crystal glass. Through the dusty panes of the window he could see the troop of Queensland Mounted Police who had been seconded…
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When Will Jones called out to Scotty McCrae and told him that he would take the blue heeler pup and try to nurse him back to health, he had no real idea how difficult that would be. Lainey stood with her hands on her hips. ‘You’re soft in the head,’…
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The stranger strode out of the darkness of the riverside canopy, with Lainey close behind. He wore stained moleskin trousers, ‘lastic-sided boots and a striped shirt. His hair was dark but a little thin, plastered to his head from a day of sweating under a hat, though he was now…
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Will Jones and The Blue Dog Long Douglas and his patrol had ridden on for the rest of the day after missing Will Jones and his crew south of Adavale, heading down through Bulloo River station country: Bull’s Gully, Glencoe and an outstation of Milo called Tintinchilla. By late…
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Over the next day of riding upstream along Powell Creek, the weather changed from a sun-fired burning heat to a different kind of discomfort. A greasy layer of cloud stole across the sky from the north, and with it came a clinging, broiling humidity that kept up day and night.…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog The three trackers with the police party were from different homelands. Trooper Joseph was Kungkari, from the Barcoo. Trooper Jeremiah was a Pitta Pitta man from around Boulia—they called him the Plains Turkey Man for his long legs and manner of walking with his…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog With five riding horses, four packs and one dog, the little group rode to the north at a good clip, anxious to leave Long Douglas and his extradition warrant far behind. They kept to bridle tracks along the Barcoo, leaving the main roads to…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog Will Jones and his crew travelled on as summer waned into autumn, and the mornings grew cold and crisp as a dry lancewood twig. They followed the Alice River where it swung east near Barcaldine, enduring days of dry country before they camped on…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog The man with the silk tie walked his horse up close, and his steely eyes never deviated from Will’s, ignoring the revolver that was aimed directly at his gut. He sat ramrod straight in what looked like an English hunting saddle, and the stub…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog For the next three days Sam wandered the banks, flats and gullies of Miclere Creek with Jim, panning old mullock heaps or digging fresh gravel samples from likely patches on the creek. Will wore his gelding flat learning the lay of the land; looking…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog Will, Lainey and Sam rode to the north-west on the Charters Towers track, then veered off according to the map on the brochure Henry Sutton had given them. Little Blue ran alongside, straying now and then to investigate the scent of wallaby or dingo…
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‘Ain’t never run from trouble?’ Lainey said laughingly that evening at their camp. ‘Not long ago I seen you run from New South Wales with half the traps in the state after yer … and then there was that time when …’ ‘That’s different,’ said Will. ‘How?’ ‘Even Ned Kelly…
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Beyond the Big Bend by Greg Barron Gamilaroi Joe rode south and west, retracing his previous journey with Will, Lainey and Sam along the Alice and the Barcoo. Most often he found a glade along the river to camp through the afternoon, then set off again my night and rode…
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‘I won’t be ministered to by a damn outlaw,’ spat Long Douglas. Jim knelt beside him in any case. The policeman’s left leg had obviously been broken – and badly – it was swollen to twice the size of the other. The scent of gangrene was deep, like old cheese,…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog In a crack between boulders, ten feet from the main shaft of the newly named Blue Dog mine, there lived a blue-tongue lizard, as scaly and tough as the ground itself. About the length of a man’s forearm, he was broad and thick with…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog Gamilaroi Jim was not dull enough to ride into the Coonabarabran police station and announce the death of Long Douglas. Yet, he felt a responsibility to the man’s widow. Jim was the only one who knew what had happened to the police sergeant, and…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron For three more weeks Will, Sam, Lainey and Johnson loaded their ten ton of ore onto a dray bound for the battery, and in due course received a cheque of between seven and eight pounds. Even a one-fourth share was enough…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron Ten thousand miles away, across two vast oceans, a small and energetic man of around forty swung his cane lustily as he walked up Bartholomew Lane towards the London Stock Exchange. With a nod to a few acquaintances, he took the…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron When the door had closed behind Will Jones, and he was visible through the window crossing the yard and striding back towards his lease with his chin up and arms swinging, Henry Sutton grinned at Johnson. ‘You can let go of…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron Four hours out of Coonabarabran, Jim spotted a good flat camp in a clearing that had been used by travellers before. It was a picturesque site, surrounded by cypress, ironbark and Pilliga box. A spring-fed pool, with lilies scattered over the…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron Will ordered his last glass of rum at the little shanty at Wilga, three miles from the Blue Dog Mine, and took a sip. It no longer had the bite it had earlier on in the evening but still he enjoyed…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron Jim lay on the surface of the track, still surprised and angry at himself for what had just happened. Delving down along his belly he found the stinging hole in the skin of his gut. It was small, more like a…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron It was a strange thing, but Lainey didn’t throw her husband out the next morning, nor even the one after that. By the third day Luke Phillips seemed to be a fixture at the camp. No one said much about it,…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron When that Warrumbungle country filled with the yellow glow of dawn, refracting from the cliff faces, and glowing iridescent on the trees, wedge-tailed eagle flew from his perch on Bluff Mountain. Flying north over the Pilliga he spotted a horseman, one…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron Will couldn’t help feeling protective about the richness of their find, so he took to closing the shaft at night with sheets of tin. He also moved his swag closer to the mine headgear. With Little Blue keeping watch beside him,…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron In Gorgonzola Hall, in London Town, Reginald Sutton watched the chalkboards in that maniacal room, where jobbers scrambled, brokers shouted to be heard above the din, and the faces of men showed despair or triumph depending on the proceeds of the…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron That evening the wind gathered enough strength to chase leaves around the camp, and clouds rallied in, blacking out the stars and moon. Soon afterwards, a steady rain began to fall. The diggers who had dispersed to their camps huddled under…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron Little Blue was sitting at the edge of the shelter provided by the tarpaulin, staring out in the direction Will had gone. Now and then he let out a whimper as soft and distressed as a cornered mouse. ‘Where the hell…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron Will Jones heard a shout and swivelled his head to see two men on horseback galloping down the hill. Jim was in front, his chest wet with rain, and shining in the gathering light. Sam came behind him, steady and solid,…
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Will Jones and the Blue Dog by Greg Barron Even after the rain stopped, and the ground dried, getting the Blue Dog Mine back into production took a few days. The drift and face were filled with thigh-deep water, and removing it all by bucket was an relenting labour that…
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Seven weeks after the flood, two board members of the Lyver Hills Mining Company Limited arrived from London via the Port of Maryborough on thoroughbred horses, escorted by three hired men. By now these newcomers knew much of what had transpired and expected to find very little at the site…