The police did fortnightly runs up the highway, from either end, Eucla or Norseman, and we always knew we could rely on them. A fax would roll out of the fax machine with a baddie's photo and a warning and we'd know to watch out for someone dangerous. And it was remarkable how quickly the police would arrive if we recognized someone. (Where did the baddies think they were going? There was only one road.) But it WAS the wild west and there were cowboys. Cowboys with fast cars and great, big guns. I remember one pair decided to see how fast their new patrol car would go so they raced a local station owner down the highway in his Corvette Stingray. I also remember making up the beds in the homestead for a couple of constables and for a laugh one of them discharged a pump action shot gun under the house, sending clouds of dust up through the floorboards and nearly giving me a heart attack! He always claimed he was only shooting a feral cat. They did save us though. On many occasions. And they were always there if we had an ambulance call out. I'll relive one of them for you in the next installment...
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