WOOL AWAY!

Evening Star, Issue 19662, 15 September 1927, Page 13

WOOL AWAY!

A MATTER OF TALLIES [Written by ll.vuuv Scott, for Iho ‘ Evening Star.’] CHAPTER IV. It was a minute to 6 the following morning. Ail the shearers wore leaning on their pen gates and cracking jokes about tbu toughness of iho sheep waiting to bo shorn. Our machines, compile with combs and cutters, were lying in a handy position on the board. It’s no nso saying .1. didn’t Joel nervous. This was my first try-out, and 1 felt that all eyes would be on mo. Clang! went the bell. There was a rushing, a scuttling, and a slamming of pen gates that clearly meant brisk action. Then followed the continual, rasping drone of the machines as they were pulled into gear. Above all J. could boar my own sheep kettledrumming with its hind feet as I carried it forth to my stand! 1. seemed to have been pushing away with my hand-piece for only a lew moments when a pen-gate slammed again, and 1 looked along the board to find that Peter had shorn the first sheep. He had his second on the board when Jack Stringer, the half-caste, let Ids first one out the port bole. “Holy smoke!” I muttered to myself, “is this shearing?” For my own part, i had hardly exposed any white on my sheep. Paul Matt, who was a couple of stands away, was, like all the others, surrounded by white fleece, and this was only Ids second season.

[ turned my attention to my own victim, and was battling grimly when suddenly 1 seemed to run into an impenetrable bog. My machine stopped. “ Look, Hairy,” came a voice above the roar of the machinery, “ I’ll show yon.” I looked up to sec that Peter had come along to the rescue. He grasped my sheep, and, as though by magic, the fleece seemed to just roll off the animal.

“You’ll do me, old horse,” I bellowed appreciatively. Peter shore several more for me, while I sat on the board and studied his methods. Then, with Peter to push me into the various positions, I tried again myself. As the day weld on I could not help but improve, and finished with a tally of fifty-one. ft, so happened that in many Ana fralian sheds a substantial sweepstake concerning the “ ringer,” or the man who shears the most shoo]) for the whole clip, is organised, in our case all bands put in IPs each, with the result that, at the finish, the lucky man would draw nearly £-‘!0. There were twenty shearers—therefore twenty starters in the race. Li the draw Jack Stringer drew a stand held by another man, and, as luck would have it, this particular shearer drew Jack Stringer. The two made themselves free to _ race for themselves by exchanging tickets. A ronsoabont called Jimmy Howes drew Peter. Paul Mart drew a very fast shearer, Arthur Crawford. As far as wo could judge, the ringing of the shed lay with Peter, Stringer, and Crawford-

Peter, in his anxiety to giro me a thorough insight into the mysteries of shearing, fell behind Stringer a good deal during the first few clays. When 1 saw how things were going I. bogged him to let me fight my own battles, and suggested that he set to and beat Stringer for the sweep. “He’s 150 sheep ahead of me, but I’ll give it a go,” answered Peter, in his own quiet way. The following day ho and the halfcaste ran sheep for sheep nearly all day. Finally Stringer cut Peter out for six.

That night Paul Mart and I went for a stroll together- My mate was so unusually quiet that I guessed something was on his mind, hut, hoping ho eventually would say something, I did not question him. “Harry,” he burst out suddenly after a long silence, “I want to see Peter ring this shed, hut I’m afraid he’s not going to get a square deal.” “You mean from Stringer?” I queried. “Yes, your brother is going to have more than Stringer’s shearing to heat. I don’t for one moment think that the fellow’s threats are idle.” “ Nor do I, Paul. Rut Peter reckons it was only booze talking. I wish lie had his knife into me instead of Peter. You see I. don’t trust him, and would always have my weather eye open for trouble.”

“It's funny, hut you seem quilo safe. By liokoy, i’ll make it my business to find out why he's after Peter and mo. Ami look, Harry, you shadow this Stringer, and never let your brother and him bo together if you can help it. He’d think nothing of murder, and lie’s sure to come at tho dirt,” “You bet I will,” I declared.

“You see. Harry, I have somebody else to watch.” Ho squeezed my arm confidentially, and 1 knew at once he referred to Katie Cole, for whose company lie was showing an increasing fondness.

Tlie next <l;iy Peter’s machine mas going so badly that lie was forced to change his cutters continually. Jack Stringer, slipping along without aiiy trouble, again topped the tallies by several sheep. That evening Paul approached my brother with the request that the next day he should try out some combs and cutters which were proving troublesome. “ Righto,” agreed Peter, never suspecting that Paul was working out a theory of his own. Before breakfast the following day Peter rvhipped off the fleeces in great style, and, without extending himself, cut Stringer out of three sheep. Just before the start of the next run I noticed Paul down near the expert’s mom, watching, with apparent nonchalance, the grinding of the fresh cutters. “He’s up to some wheeze,” I thought. Later in the day I could both see and hoar that friend Stringer was laboring under difficulties. He changed combs and cutters incessantly, all the time releasing about the worst language I have ever heard. Just as I had finished wrestling with a huge wether, I saw Stringer pull his machine out of gear and rush towards Peter. At the same time Paul Mart, who had been on the “ qui vive,” also sprang into action. Stringer swung vicously at Mart, but the latter sidestepped and caught the half-caste with a beautifully timed punch fairly between the eyes. Stringer went sprawling on his'back. Like a (lash Mart pounced on him, picked him up, and sat him down beside Iris machine. “That’s your place, old son,” be drawled. ‘‘ You’ve bad a go at both of us now. The third time will be unlucky for somebody.” Stringer, as sullen as a dog robbed of a juicy bone, went on shearing as well as his badly ground cutters would allow him. During the third run trouble visited Peter again. Paul, seeing this, came along with some samples of his own gear, which brought about a happier result. My , brother at once realised that the expert had been fooling with bis combs and cutters. Peter, for once in his cool way, became hostile. A few strides took him lo the expert’s room, where after a clash, short and sweet, he knocked that individual into the load of nod.

A few minutes later the boss arrived ou the scene and demanded explanations.

“Look,” cried Peter, “il yon come at any tricks such as taking combs and cutters, I’d deal with you the same way. ' “you’re wrong,” chipped m Stringer. “My gear was just the same last Tim. There’s been no taking.’ “Yon darn fool,” said Mart. “Didn t you know that 1 exchanged your cutters for Peter Scott’s last grinding? “All right; 1 think .[ understand hoys,” the boss cried. ‘‘Let me know at once, Scotty if there is any further interference with the grinding.” Mitli that ho went off to administer first aid to the expert. Wondering how long this bickering and lighting was to continue, 1 joined the rest of the shearers in a further attack on the sheep. Prom then on Peter went great guns, and slowly hut surely gained on Stringer. The following day he cut his rival out of twenty sheep. At noon on Ihe Saturday, with 8,00(3 sheep to shear, Peter was only eighty-five behind. Against a shearer of his own calibre this was still a big hurdle, hut the greater the odds against him the better Peter shore. My brother’s next tally was 202. Another day passed, and Peter was only one behind the half-caste. Everybody in the shed was as excited as though ho was watching an exciting finish at Randwick. Jimmy .Howes, the rouscahont who drew Peter in tho sweep, approached him with the suggestion that he should accept the wdmiings himself. “Get out,” snapped Peter. “The money’s yours. All I want is to give that damned Stringer a lesson in shearing. One more good day and I’ve got him.” Put it was just a hit too soon to start an argument about the sweep money, for Stringer had still an evil card up his sleeve. (To ho continued.)