[size=85]TO PURCHASE [/size][b][size=150]'THE BUSH DETECTIVE' [/size][/b]
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[align=center]'The Bush Detective' -[/align]
[align=center]Page 1:
Chapter 1[/align]

Fate intervenes at the strangest times. Sergeant Gray stood at the public bar of Alex’s hotel enjoying a beer with his friend Nathan Young, Mayor of Cunnamulla. These two gentlemen enjoyed each other’s company; respected each another’s positions in their community.
Four years before they worked together to stop water entering their town. Sergeant Gray with his officer’s rode through rain to witness a flood of water, twenty feet high, slowly making its way along Warrego River toward Cunnamulla. With help from many Cunnamulla citizens Nathan organised work parties to work together in building a sand bank to stop the water entering their town.
Nathan Young became first Mayor of Cunnamulla after he with members of his community saved their town. Life had been great for Nathan since he attained Mayor of Cunnamulla recently being elected for a second term. His son-in-law, Joe Gibson operated his properties whilst Nathan lived in Cunnamulla with his wife, Martha, their daughter, Hannah, their grand-daughter, little Hannah, plus a recent grand-daughter, Sue. Everything in his life rosy.
‘You both understand the latest hotel being built in Cunnamulla? Oxford Hotel, across the railway line on the other end of town.’ Alex interrupted their conversation whilst handing them another beer.
‘Progress Alex. More competition for you. Don’t worry we’ll remain your loyal customers.’ Nathan remarked sipping his beer.
‘More people moving to Cunnamulla than I’ve ever seen since I’ve been stationed here.’ Sergeant Gray commented. ‘Almost twenty years. Long time in one place. Love Cunnamulla and the people. Doubt if I’ll ever leave. Maybe I’ll retire here.’ Sergeant Gray commented.
‘Great. More people move here. Better for us and Cunnamulla. Sergeant I didn’t realise you’ve been stationed here so long. Time does fly.’ Nathan smiled.
‘More the merrier.’ Commented Alex walked away to serve other customers.
Sergeant Gray stopped drinking his beer, looked at his friend Nathan. ‘Do you honestly think more people moving to Cunnamulla will be better?’ He asked his friend.
‘My bloody oath Sergeant. Imagine double the number of citizens in Cunnamulla. Growing year by year. From Joe’s estimations of wool growing in the area this town will ride on the sheep’s back.’ Nathan proudly told his friend. ‘Something bothering you?’ Nathan asked taken a sip from his beer. ‘You look different – concerned about something. Can I help you with anything? I’m a great listener.’
Sergeant Gray’s solemn look thinking to trust his friend with information he was about to share with him. From previous conversations concerning law enforcement Nathan didn’t intervene only when asked to do so.
‘Perhaps if I share what’s on my mind.’ Sergeant Gray expressed in a concerned voice[size=150].[/size][size=200].[/size][size=300].[/size]
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[align=center][size=150]'Click Go The Shears'[/size][/align]-
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[b]Page 1[/b]:
"Click Go the Shears" is a traditional Australian folk song. The song details a day's work for a sheep shearer in the days before machine shears. The enduring popularity of this song reflects the traditional role that the wool industry has played in Australian life. The song describes the various roles in the shearing shed, including the "ringer", the "boss of the board", the "colonial experience man" and the "tar boy". After the day's shearing, the "old shearer" takes his cheque and heads to the local pub for a drinking session.
The tune is an adaptation of the American Civil War song "Ring The Bell, Watchman" by Henry Clay Work and the first verse follows closely, in parody, Work's lyrics as well.
The second verse in the original 19th century song is as follows:
Click goes his shears; click, click, click.
Wide are the blows, and his hand is moving quick,
The ringer looks round, for he lost it by a blow,
And he curses that old shearer with the bare belled ewe.
The usual chorus of the song is as follows:
Click go the shears boys, click, click, click,
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick,
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
And curses the old snagger with the bare-bellied yoe
In June 2013 it was discovered that a version of the song was first published in 1891 in the regional Victorian newspaper the Bacchus Marsh Express under the title "The Bare Belled Ewe" and the tune given as "Ring the Bell Watchman." It was next published in 1946 as a traditional song "collected and arranged" by Reverend Dr. Percy Jones, a professor of music. The lyrics vary widely; "bare-bellied yoe" (yoe is a dialect word for ewe) is often "bare-bellied joe" or even "blue-bellied ewe". The last line in the verse about the "colonial experience" man "smelling like a whore" is often bowdlerised to "smelling like a sewer" or completely rewritten. (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopaedia).
This book is a continuation from ‘The Shearer’ published by this author 2014.
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[b]'Click Go The Shears'[/b] - Page 2:

[b]Chapter 1[/b]

‘What have you done?’ Hannah shouted when Joe told his story. He’d changed identity to now become Joe Gibson instead of Joe Ryan as she’d known him. The real Joe Gibson changed clothes with him to take his place when police came to arrest him for inciting the shearers to go on strike. The real Joe Gibson arrested as Joe Ryan and the real Joe Ryan changed his identity to now become Joe Gibson. Hannah couldn't believe his words.
‘This may sound confusing to both of you but I’m now Joe Gibson. Not Joe Ryan. We changed clothes and he took my place. They were going to arrest me. I’d never see you again if I went to prison.’ Joe pleaded.
‘What happened to Joe. The other Joe – I mean.’ Hannah asked, confused, her temper slowly subsided, breathing slower to try and understand his story.
‘Constable Fitzgerald arrested him.’ Joe explained.
‘You can’t change your name. Just like that!’ Ma shocked to hear what Joe had done.
‘Do you want me to go to prison? He gave me his papers and everything I need to change to his name.’ His voice raised. He reached inside his coat, extracted papers and placed them on the kitchen table.
‘He’s a brave man to go in your place. A brave man indeed.’ Ma quoted. ‘This is not right. You can’t be someone you’re not. What happens if something goes wrong? You can’t stay here. I don’t want police coming around here. I can’t lie to them or anyone else.’ She answered sternly. Her face set in stone.
‘I’ll go then. What about you Hannah. Do you want me to go?’
‘I still love you. It’s not your ring any longer. Is it? You’ve changed Joe! I tried to see you at the camp when you were on strike and each time turned away not knowing how you were or if still alive. Honestly Joe, I don’t know!’ She sobbed.
Joe moved to her and placed his arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry. I will not bother either of you again. You keep the ring as a token of our love. I’ll move on.’[size=150].[/size][size=200].[/size][size=300].[/size]
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[quote][tab=30] [size=85]This book is dedicated in memory of Fred and Olga Taylor, my parents-in-law. acknowledgments Many nights Fred told me his stories of droving. We sat on the lawn at the front of his home in Cunnamulla under the Southern Cross. Many of Fred’s stories form part of this book. A special thank you goes to Fred’s brother and sister-inlaw Don and Les Taylor of Tara for helping me join the dots of Fred’s life. Fred was one of those people who you met once in a lifetime. He was as honest as the day was long and dedicated to his wife Olga and their family. It was a pleasure to have known him. I hope you enjoy reading this book.[/size] :aok
Pat Ritter Author[/quote]
[size=150][align=center]The Drover[/align][/size]
[b]to[/b] download The Drover $3.99USD visit https://www.smashwords.com/books/95766

[b]Chapter 1[/b][tab=30] 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 nineyear-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 herd 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
[size=150].[/size][size=200].[/size][size=300].[/size]
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[align=center][b]‘Ballad of the Drover’[/b]
By
Henry Lawson[/align]
[quote][size=85]Across the stony ridges, across the rolling plain,
Young Harry Dale, the drover, comes riding
home again.
And well his stockhorse 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
homefolks saw him last.
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 stormclouds 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.[/size][/quote]

[tab=30][tab=30]Was he Harry Dale from the poem? They had the same nickname.
[tab=30]Now he heard the poem, he saw in his mind’s eye, his life, to learn the craft of droving.
Harry was born the fifth child of eleven children: three boys and eight 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[size=150].[/size][size=200].[/size][size=300].[/size]
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[size=150]'The Suffragette' [/size]

Chapter 1

'What did you say?' Joe listened to part of the conversation between Hannah and himself.
'You're going to be a father.' Hannah shouted louder. Joe's smile spread across his face, leaned into Hannah, wrapped his arms around her shoulders with tears in his eyes.
'Fair dinkum. You're pregnant!' Joe shouted.
'Yes. Happened after the party when you received your medal from the Prime Minister. Don't you remember?' Hannah explained.
Joe's mind whirred with thoughts of becoming a father. 'Have you told anyone else?' Joe asked.
'No. You're the first.' Joe held onto Hannah in a tight grip not wanted to let go.
'How did you find out you were pregnant?' Joe queried.
'This morning. I visited the doctor. After missing my period since we arrived home from Brisbane. I thought something must have happened to my body.' Hannah explained.
'Official. We're having a baby. When?' Joe asked in an excited voice.
'June next year. Sometime around the middle of the month. Doctor told me.'
'We'd better tell your parents. Don't you think? Come on. I hitch the sulky. We'll go this afternoon to tell them.' Joe's excitement flowed over to Hannah.
Sound of a horse and sulky took their attention. Joe looked from where they sat on the front veranda at their home. Nat and Martha making their way to their home. 'Here they are now. Some type of mental therapy going on here.' Joe took Hannah's hand, they met their visitors when they stopped in front of the house.
After greeting his in-laws Joe said, 'I'll take your sulky round the back, unhitch your horse. Hannah has some news for each of you.' Taking the reins from Nat, Joe climbed into the sulky to drive around to the rear of his home.
'Told you Nat. Something this morning. So strong I needed to speak with Hannah.' Martha joined her daughter. Nat followed.
Joe unharnessed the horse placed him in the stable. Returned to the kitchen. Nat stood. Walked to Joe put his hand out, 'Hannah shared this great news with us. Congratulation. You're going to become a father. Me a grandfather.' Nat's voice quivered with emotion.
After everyone settled down to the news, Martha said, 'Something this morning told me to come and speak with Hannah. Mother's intuition. Something.' Martha expressed smiling.
'I'll put the kettle on for a cuppa.' Hannah went to rise from her seat.
'No. You will not. From now on I'll do everything. You take care of yourself and the baby.' Joe expressed, stood, quickly moved to the stove to place the kettle over the fire.
'Joe, I'm only having a baby. Women have them everyday. They don't need to take things easy. I'll go off my rocker if I don't do something.' Hannah forced her words to tell Joe not to fuss[size=150].[/size][size=200].
.[/size][size=300].[/size]
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'Build A Nation' - Page 1:
AUTHORS NOTE:
1908: Australia commenced to build a nation. Wool became a major commodity in south western Queensland. Australia built on the sheep’s back. Nat Young purchased sheep properties in south-western Queensland west of Cunnamulla a decade before in hope Founding Fathers: Treasure House of a Nation’s Heart located to his area. His dreams shattered with the announcement Treasure House of a Nation’s Heart being selected at another location.
Lord Nolan won 1908 Melbourne Cup. Desi Whiteman previously appeared in ‘Tilbaroo Station’ is re-introduced to ride Lord Nolan in the great race.
Queensland Rugby League formed its historical beginning. Ryan Carlson, who first appeared in ‘Tilbaroo Station’ a decade before now is twenty-one years old selected to play Rugby League for Australia.
Queensland State election. Who would become Queensland Premier?
Boy Scout movement commenced in Queensland. Andre Carlson, younger brother of Ryan Carlson became first boy-scout in Queensland.

Build A Nation' 3.99 USD[size=150]@[/size] visit [url=https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1057542.]smashwords[/url]

[b][i]taster[/i][/b] :yum

‘Martha, Martha.’ Nat called to his wife who stood at the stove baking scones for their morning tea. Her husband’s voice shouted her name.
‘Be there in a minute. What is the hurry? Can’t bake these scones any quicker.’ Martha replied to her husband who sat at the kitchen table with a newspaper spread in front of him. Her gaze toward her husband told her something was wrong. She continued to prepare a cuppa for her husband, placed a fresh cooked scone on a plate, in front of him. ‘What’s got you so tied up in knots. You are shouting. You never shout. Particularly at me?’ She finished.
His voice lowered a couple of decibels. ‘You remember a decade ago I purchased those properties in the hope the Founding Fathers would select this area for Treasure House of a Nation’s Heart: The Search for an Australia Capital’? Nat’s voice rose a higher pitch each word he spoke.
‘Remind me again. Ten years is a long time to remember anything which happened, particularly with our family.’ Martha sat beside her husband to enjoy his company with her own cuppa and scone.
‘We sat on the front veranda at ‘Kahmoo Station’. Remember.’ Nat tried to explain.
‘We sat on the front veranda many times. I do remember you buying those properties. We gifted one to Joe and Hannah for their wedding present. How’s my memory?’ Martha asked, a scone half-filled her mouth.
‘When I decided to purchase these properties; I thought the Founding Fathers would select five hundred square miles from Cameron’s Corner, Thargomindah, Cunnamulla and Charleville for Treasure House of a Nation’s Heart: The Search for an Australia Capital. Instead, in black and white in this newspaper reads Yass-Canberra has been selected. We lost the fight Martha.’ Nat munched on his scone slowly sipping his tea.
‘Never mind dear.’ Martha patted her husband’s hand. ‘I’m proud of what you achieved. If you did not purchase those properties when you did; we would not be in such a good financial position, we are today. You are the wealthiest property owner in the district. Be satisfied with your idea plus what you’ve achieved.’ Martha leaned across the table kissed her husband on the cheek [size=150].[/size][size=200].
.[/size][size=300].[/size]

[size=150]‘Build An Empire’[/size] is the eighth book in ‘Outback Australia’ series. Set in 1909. Sidney Kidman wanted to expand his cattle empire by purchasing ‘Tilbaroo Station’ from Joe and Hannah Gibson. First motor vehicles imported to Australia. First thoroughbred race meeting held in Cunnamulla.
3.99 USD @ [url=https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1157557]smashwords[/url]

'Build An Empire' -
[tab=30][tab=30]Chapter 1

Nat Young sat on the front swing at their home in Cunnamulla with his son-in-law Joe Gibson happily chatting about what they intend to accomplish in 1909. A smile came to Joe Gibson’s face.
‘How long have Hannah and I owned ‘Tilbaroo Station’?’
‘As long as you’ve been married. Should remember. Gifted you the property as a wedding present.’ Nat explained puffed on his pipe. ‘Why should you ask?’
‘Do you know Sidney Kidman?’ Joe asked taking a sip from his tumbler of beer.
‘Why yes, I do know Sidney Kidman. Not personally. He’s known as Cattle King. Owns more properties throughout Queensland than anyone else. Is there a reason you ask me this Joe?’
‘Have a meeting with him next month.’
‘Why?’
‘He wants to purchase ‘Tilbaroo Station’.
‘What! Sidney Kidman wants to purchase ‘Tilbaroo Station’? Nat replied astonished.
‘Yeah. ‘Tilbaroo Station’ will add to his other properties to expand his empire.’ Joe sipped another drink.
‘Joe. This is your decision to make. Remember when I wanted to purchase properties, around this area thinking Founding Fathers would decide to have Treasure House of Nation’s Heart. Instead, they chose Yass/Canberra. Mate, you do what you think is right for you, Hannah, and the girls. What would you do if you sold ‘Tilbaroo Station’?’ [size=150].[/size][size=200].[/size][size=300].[/size]

[b][size=150][align=center]'The Shearer'[/align][/size][/b]
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[tab=30][b]Chapter 1[/b]
- Page [size=150]1[/size]:

[tab=30][tab=30][size=130]A[/size] sliver of light crept through the crack in the wall and shone directly into Joe’s left eye, startling him awake. His throat felt full of cotton wool, his right eye swollen and unable to open; urine and excrement filled his nostrils. He coughed, tried to sit from a lying position, each muscle in his body tight and sore. His mind filled with wonderment–where am I?
A shearer’s stretcher where he laid, kapok mattress, thin blankets puzzled his mind. He couldn’t open his right eye. His left eye blurry, vision of solid wooden walls; faint light illuminated enough to fill the room. Steel bars positioned a third of the way to the ceiling told him that wherever he was, there was no escape. His head throbbed; fear enveloped his mind.
He pushed up upon one elbow and saw his surroundings through his blurred left eye. Where am I? Echoed through his mind, how did I get here? The stench of vomit, urine, excrement almost made him spew. He slowly swung his legs from the stretcher to the cold wooden floor. Each muscle in his body screamed in pain. His shoes, socks and belt discarded.
He gazed around the room, not much larger than a bush dunny with a steel door and small trap door positioned two thirds of the way toward the top. This is a bloody police cell. What am I doing in a police cell? Remember Joe.
‘You awake Ryan?’ a loud voice from outside echoed. A key turned in a lock. The steel door creaked on its hinges when opened. ‘Here’s your breakfast’. Joe couldn’t make out the voice; his voice sounded Irish with authority.
A steel tray contained a steel plate with two pieces of bread covered with baked beans and a pannikin with steam rising from black tea, filled the tray placed on the floor. ‘Enjoy,’ said the voice as the cell door closed and the key in the lock turned.
Joe moved from the stretcher toward the tray deposited on the floor. He leaned down to pick the tray up, almost falling, regained his footing and returned to the stretcher holding the tray of food on his lap making certain not to spill any of the contents, his mouth felt dry, and his throat, as if a steel rasp had been shoved down his throat through to his stomach. He couldn’t remember when he last ate food. He devoured the bread and baked beans, using his fingers.
He picked up the pannikin of black tea in his right hand lifted the edge to his lips, ouch – hot – my lips are swollen. He slurped the contents. The golden liquid passed through his mouth, down his throat and into his stomach. Satisfaction overcame once his desire for food finished.
He needed to remember how he came to be locked in a police cell and why. His thoughts returned to the past couple of days. I’m certain I live in Cunnamulla. I’ve lived here for the past couple of years. What happened to land me in this cell?
Stench rose from a bucket in the corner almost making Joe choke causing phlegm to rise in his throat. He quickly placed a hand over his mouth and nose to stop the vapour entering his nostrils.
Come on – get back to how I come to be in this cell, he ordered his mind - nothing. I’ll need to wait for someone to come and get me before I know why I’m here. He pondered[size=150].[/size][size=200].[/size][size=300].[/size]
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