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Updated: May 28, 2025
I was too sick to smoke. As it happened, Peter had started early from his last camp and I caught him just as he was turning off into Comesomehow track. "What's up, Joe?" he asked as I rode up to him but he could see. "Jack Barnes is on the booze at Thomas's," I said. Peter just looked right through me. Then he turned his horse's head without a word, and rode back with me.
"And, by the way, I've taken up a collection for him; I want a few shillings from you, Joe. I nearly forgot you. The poor fellow only got in about a fortnight's work, and there's a wife and youngsters in Sydney. I'll be down after you to-morrow. I promised to go to Comesomehow* and get the people together and start an agitation for a half-time school there.
Anyway, I'll be there by the end of the week. Good-bye, Joe. I must get some more money for the rouser from some of those chaps before they start." Comesomehow was a wretched cockatoo settlement, a bit off the track, about one hundred and fifty miles on our road home, where the settlers lived like savages and the children ran wild.
In a place like that a man could almost do anything, short of hanging himself, without anyone interfering or being surprised. And probably, if he did hang himself, they'd let him swing for a while to get a taste of it. Comesomehow was about fifteen miles back on a track off the main road. I reckoned that I could find Peter and bring him on by the afternoon, and I rode hard, sick as I was.
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