Laboring work, in those days in the Bush, was either feast or famine. I was sittin' at Gilltraps bar havin' a cold one when old War Dog walked in.
"G'day Yorky.", said War Dog, in his usual gravely voice. "Ya havin' one mate?"
"Yeah, why not War Dog,"
"Two middies Trap.", said War Dog, as he pulled up a bar stool.
Soon as the beers hit the counter, War Dog picked his beer up and said,
"Cheers mate!"
He then proceeded to down it in one quick gulp.
"Ya thirsty, are ya mate?"
"Yeah, I've been workin' mi arse off leanin' on a shovel all day!"
"Where are ya working Yorky?", He asked.
"Nowhere mate, things are a bit slack."
"What about Ivers? Don't ya usually work with him?"
"Yeah, but he's only got enough for himself, at the moment."
"Where you slavin' at War Dog?"
"Oh mate, I've got miself a cosy little job on the council doing some emergency relief work."
"What's that mate?"
"They've got a few weeks work clearing up the lake and surroundin' areas. It's temporary, for blokes who can't find any work."
"Ya think I could git a start there?"
"Don't see why not mate. They've even got a couple of Mission bungs on mi crew. I'll have a word with the boss for ya tomorrow, if ya like."
"Good on ya War Dog, that sounds great! I've got a few bob left but after tucker, board and grog, it doesn't last long."
"Ya got enough for another round mate? It's your shout. I'm dyin' of fuckin' thirst here, cobber."
"No worries War Dog. I'm not that broke."
War Dog and me had a few more rounds.
The next evening found me sat in Gilltraps waiting for War Dog to make his entrance. For some reason, he didn't show up at his usual time. When he did show up, he walked over and said,
"Jesus Yorky, I thought you'd have one waitin' for me."
"I did mate, but ya never showed so I drank it miself."
After I'd bought the first round and War Dog had downed half of it, he said,
"I went for a couple at Twitcheys' with one of the blokes in mi gang, soon as we knocked off, but he had to leave early. His old missus was sat in the station wagon outside waiting for him. Come on Yorky mate, git that middy up ya. I'm dyin' of thirst here!"
We had our own form of communication in the Outback. It was loosely called THE BUSH TELEGRAPH. As Gilltrap placed two middies on the bar and took War Dogs' money, War Dog said to me,
"Hey Yorky, did ya hear about the big accident that happened last night?"
"No mate. What accident?"
War dog downed half of his middy and then pulled out a packet of Camels from his shirt pocket. Soon as he was satisfied it was going alright, he started his tale.
"Well mate, apparently this Cocky was drivin' home, full as a boot. He'd been knockin' 'em back at Twitcheys all day and most of the night. On his way home, on the mission road, he fell asleep and hit three bungs who were walkin' home from town, on the side of the road."
"Fuckin' hell War Dog, are ya' fair dinkum?"
"My fuckin' oath mate!"
"Did he kill 'em?"
"Too fuckin' right, he killed 'em mate. Stone fuckin' dead!"
"So, what happened mate?"
"Well, someone passed him on the other side of the road heading into the Lake. He informed the old Sarg and his constable once he hit town. When the Sarg arrived at the scene, they say it was real gruesome. A couple of bungs were found dead on the road and the third one they found dead about 20 feet away, in the table drain."
"Jesus War Dog, I reckon that Cocky's shittin' himself now. He'll probably git done for drunk drivin' and murder!"
"Hang on a bit Yorky mate. I haven't finished the story yet. By the way, it's your shout mate.
"No worries mate, I'll git 'em once your finished the story."
"Now where was I? He'd just hit the black fellas' and killed 'em, right? So, before Monty and his constable left the cop shop, he called the Condoblin cop shop for some back up. Anyway, to cut a long story short, there's about 5 cops on the scene now, taking measurements and a statement from the Cocky. They tell me, by this time, the Cocky is pretty sober and now realizes he's fucked, so he says to the the fuckin', big ugly Condo Sarg,
"I guess I'm in the shit, big time now, eh Sarg?
"Oh, I don't know mate.", said the Sarg.
"What d'ya mean?" said the the Cocky.
"Well, ya not completely rooted mate."
"I can't see how I'm not, mate."
"Look at it this way sport. You've got a broken windscreen right, so we can charge this black bastard with breakin' and entering and all that damage to the front of ya Ute, we'll charge that other bastard with willful damage to ya property. The other fuckin' bung in the table drain, up the road a' ways, we'll charge him with leavin' the scene of an accident!"
"Oh fuckin' bullshit War Dog, ya yankin' mi fuckin' chain."
"Nah mate, it's fair dinkum, I kid ya not!"
"Who d'ya say told ya this?"
"I heard it on the Bush telegraph!"
As it turned out, old War Dogs story was correct. A cocky, drivin' home drunk, had fallen asleep on the way home and killed three abbos. After a lengthy trial, he was done for manslaughter, lost his license and was given a suspended sentence. Later, I heard that he was given a temporary license for driving in daylight hours so he could continue to work his property.
