on.
Then Mary began to hear (through James) of a buggy that some one had for
sale cheap, or a dogcart that somebody else wanted to get rid of--and
let me know about it, in an offhand way.

II. Joe Wilson's Luck.

There was good grass on the selection all the year. I'd picked up
a small lot--about twenty head--of half-starved steers for next to
nothing, and turned them on the run; they came on wonderfully, and my
brother-in-law (Mary's sister's husband), who was running a butchery
at Gulgong, gave me a good price for them. His carts ran out twenty or
thirty miles, to little bits of gold-rushes that were going on at th'
Home Rule, Happy Valley, Guntawang, Tallawang, and Cooyal, and those
places round there, and he was doing well.

Mary had heard of a light American waggonette, when the steers went--a
tray-body arrangement, and she thought she'd do with that. 'It would
be better than the buggy, Joe,' she said--'there'd be more room for
the children, and, besides, I could take butter and eggs to Gulgong,
or Cobborah, when we get a few more cows.' Then James heard of a small
flock of sheep that a selector--who was about starved off his selection
out Talbragar way--wanted to get rid of. James reckoned he could get
them for less than half-a-crown a-head. We'd had a heavy shower of rain,
that came over the ranges and didn't seem to go beyond our boundaries.
Mary said, 'It's a pity to see all that grass going to waste, Joe.
Better get those sheep and try your luck with them. Leave some money
with me, and I'll send James over for them. Never mind about the
buggy--we'll get that when we're on our feet.'

So James rode across to Talbragar and drove a hard bargain with that
unfortunate selector, and brought the sheep home. There were about two
hundred, wethers and ewes, and they were young and looked a good breed
too, but so poor they could scarcely travel; they soon picked up,
though. The drought was blazing all round and Out-Back, and I think that
my corner of the ridges was the only place where there was any grass to
speak of. We had another shower or two, and the grass held out. Chaps
began to talk of 'Joe Wilson's luck'.

I would have liked to shear those sheep; but I hadn't time to get a shed
or anything ready--along towards Christmas there was a bit of a boom
in the carrying line. Wethers in wool were going as high as thirteen
to fifteen shillings at the Homebush yards at Sydney, so I arranged to
truck the sheep