In the Land of the Long White Cloud

growing
.
    My work as justice of the peace takes up the rest of my time. Soon we will also be getting a police officer—the town is growing in every respect
.
    The only thing lacking in our happiness is contact with you and Fleurette’s family. Perhaps the birth of our second child is a good excuse to finally let Father in. When he hears about our successful life in Queenstown he will have to see that I did the right thing leaving O’Keefe Station back then. The warehouse has long been bringing in much more profit than I ever could have generated with the farm. I understand that Father wants to stick to his fields, but he will accept that I prefer a different life. Fleurette would also like to visit you two for once. She thinks Gracie is hopelessly underworked since she only herds children these days and no longer sheep
.
    Greetings to you and possibly Father too
,
your loving son Ruben, your daughter-in-law Fleurette
,
and the children
    Howard snorted with anger. A warehouse! So Ruben had not looked to him as an example but rather—and how could it be otherwise—his idol, Uncle George. George had probably offered him the seed money too—everything kept secret, everyone in the know but him. The Wardens were no doubt laughing at him too. They could be happy about their son-in-law in Queenstown who just happened to be named O’Keefe. After all, they had their heir!
    Howard knocked the letters from the table and leaped to his feet. Tonight he would show Helen what he thought of her “loving son” and his “flourishing business.” But first he would go to the pub. He had to see if he could find a few proper sheep shearers—and a drop of the good stuff. And if Warden was hanging around there…
    Howard reached for the gun hanging next to the door. He’d show him. He’d show them all!

    Gerald and Paul Warden sat at a corner table in the pub in Haldon, deep in negotiations with three young men who had advertised themselves as sheep shearers a few minutes earlier. Two were serious possibilities,and one of them had already worked for a shearing gang. The reason he was no longer welcome in it soon became clear: the man poured the whiskey down more quickly than Gerald did. In their present state of crisis, though, he was still worth the money; they would just have to watch him carefully. The second man had worked on various farms as a shepherd and learned shearing there. He was not fast but could still be of use. As for the third man, Paul wasn’t sure. He spoke a great deal but couldn’t produce any proof of his talents. Paul decided to offer the first two a fixed contract and take the third on probation. The two that he’d selected agreed at once when he made this suggestion. The third man, however, looked with interest in the direction of the bar.
    There, Howard O’Keefe was just announcing that he was looking for sheep shearers. Paul shrugged. Fine, if the fellow didn’t want probationary work on Kiward Station, Howard O’Keefe could have him.
    Howard, however, had his eye on their first pick. Joe Triffles, the drinker. Evidently, the men knew each other. Howard ambled over to them and greeted Joe without so much as a glance at Paul or Gerald.
    “Hey, Joe! I’m looking for a few good sheep shearers. Interested?”
    Joe Triffles shrugged. “Any other time, but I just struck a deal. Good offer, four weeks steady pay and bonuses per shorn sheep.”
    Howard puffed himself up angrily in front of the table.
    “I’ll pay you more!” he declared.
    Joe shook his head regretfully. “Too late, Howie, I gave my word. Didn’t know there was going to be an auction here, or I would have waited.”
    “And would’ve been swindled!” Gerald laughed. “This fellow here talks big, but he couldn’t even pay his shearers last year. That’s why no one wants to help him this year. Besides, the rain gets into his shearing sheds.”
    “I’ll want extra for that,” remarked the third man, the one who had not yet signed on with Gerald. “That’s how you get the rheumatism.”
    All the men laughed, and Howard frothed with rage.
    “So, I can’t pay, eh?” he roared. “It may be that my farm doesn’t rake it in like the grand Kiward Station. But at least I didn’t need to force the Butlers’ heiress into my bed for it! Did she cry for me, Gerald? Did she tell you how happy she was with me? Did it turn you on?”
    Gerald sprang to his feet and looked Howard over with derision. “Did she turn me on? Barbara,