with Fitzmaurice and myself, was, in later years, one of the
founders of Winton, on the Western River. Mrs. Lynett lately died in
Winton at the ripe age of 84, her husband, Tom Lynett, having
pre-deceased her some years. Like most of the women who pioneered, she
had a grand heart, and I learnt how the diggers appreciated her motherly
kindness.

The early wet season caught me at Boundary Creek, ten miles beyond Nebo.
I was stuck in a bog for five weeks, rain pouring the whole time. I
eventually delivered the wool, loaded up rations from Brodziak Bros.,
and started on my return journey. In those days the range was in a
primitive state, and coming down my mate capsized his dray. While I was
assisting him, I had a Colt's revolver stolen off my dray, presumably by
some of the road party who were cutting down the steep parts.

After crossing the range, the pleuro broke out amongst my bullocks, and
I lost one whole team. I went into Retreat station and purchased several
steers. The hot weather and heavy pulling soon killed these, leaving me
stranded on the Isaacs River. One day a squatter from North Creek
station rode up, and hearing my plight, said there was a team of
bullocks running on his country for several months. Who the owner was,
or where they came from, was unknown. Acting on his hint, I picked out
what I considered the best, and continued my journey to the sheep.
Having met my requirements, I turned the bullocks loose. In response to
enquiries, I denied that I was the owner of them; they had served my
purpose, and I was content to let well alone.

The blacks were very bad, and continually worrying the men we had
shepherding. One of these was rather daft. One night the rams did not
return. I got on their tracks the next day and brought them to camp, but
there was no sign of the shepherd. Two evenings after we were surprised
to see a couple of Myalls bringing in the lost man. We gave the blacks
some tucker, and they left, but not before the shepherd, raising his
hat, said to them, "I thank you, gentlemen, most sincerely." His
eccentric manner had doubtless saved his life, as the coloured races
generally appear to respect a demented person.

I had a very bad attack of fever and ague, and managed to ride into
Clermont, where I was treated by a chemist named Mackintosh, who kindly
allowed me to stay at his house. I shall never forget the kindness of
him and his wife in pulling me through. Carruthers in the meantime h