palomino gold cover

This is a Rip Roaring journey of seven seamen, who sail a paddle steamer along the eastern coast of

They ride horses when they come ashore to become Bushrangers; and are known as the Palomino Gang; sought after by the police for the crimes they have committed. Along the way gold is the driving force which leads to their demise.

There is love, violence and murder in this fast-paced story of an era in Queensland where lawlessness prevailed.


In Store Price: $AU23.95 
Online Price:   $AU22.95


ISBN: 978-1-921731-68-6
Format: Paperback
Number of pages: 165
Genre: Fiction

Cover: Clive Dalkins

Author: Peter Wise
Publisher: Zeus Publications
Date Published: 2011
Language: English


Author bio. 

Peter Wise’s career began in the Queensland Public Service and later continued in the Commonwealth arena. 

He commenced writing ten years ago, making crime fiction his genre. 

He retired to the Glass House Mountains where he now writes. 

Books by the same author: 

The Mt Mee Murders

The Body

The Kimberley Killers

Chapter one - sample  

The Magic of the Glass House Mountains held Steve in awe as he stood on a ledge, 1200 feet above sea level, and admired their majestic beauty. The sun slowly rising above the ocean and sending its rays across these mountains and across the dense forest surrounding them gave the whole scene an almost mystic charm. A slight southerly breeze swayed the tree tops. In the distance, the ocean gleaming like a polished mirror added to the magic of the place.

A lone Kookaburra, sitting high on a dead tree, greeted the morning with its peculiar laugh. With the sky now clear and blue, Steve took in the imposing view as far north and south as he could see. Suddenly he heard the thump-thump of a wallaby hopping towards him. Startled by the presence of this human, it stopped a short distance away from him. Ears erect, it observed Steve for a moment, then turned and disappeared back into the dense bush. Steve walked back to the camp; the smell of the log fire, which had been burning all night, and the rising smoke and the silence of this place – paradise.

He was the leader of a gang who were still asleep with the women.

‘Wake up you horny bastards. Get your hands off it. Breakfast is ready.’

The bodies under the blankets beside the campfire totalled 12. Six of Steve’s men and six native women from a tribe further down the mountain. Their presence with his men brought about by exchanging six bottles of rum with ‘King Delaney’, who the gang met some weeks ago when they crossed the Caboolture River and made their way to this wild place on the side of a mountain yet to be named. Steve had declined a woman and daily observed the antics of his men.

This particular morning was no exception.

Horst got up first. ‘Life’s good, Steve.’ The woman with him lay there naked and then pulled the blanket over herself.

Horst continued, ‘A lot of action here last night, fellas?’

He pulled on his riding boots. He stood of average height, around 5ft 9 inches; stocky in stature, with dark hair and dark brown eyes. German blood ran through his veins. A crack shot with a rifle. His temper flared like a cyclone hitting the coast; and an experienced horseman. Over the past months he had taught the gang members to ride. ‘Treat your horse as your best friend.

Bull decided before breakfast to satisfy his woman and by the moans and groans coming from under the blanket, both were enjoying the physical activity. The blanket covering the two went up and down like an attempt by someone to send smoke signals. At the finish it fell off to the side and Bull’s bare arse faced the sunlight. The oriental face of this man told you something; piercing almond-shaped brown eyes; the olive skin that gave one the appearance of being suntanned forever. At just under six feet with his boots off, his body was lean and he was mean – he would not hesitate to kill at the drop of a hat.

James, slow to wake up, threw his blanket back and unwound himself from his woman. A big man, over six feet in height, lean, broad shouldered, fair to blonde hair and his eyes were a dark blue. The women, mainly those he saw in the brothels, found him attractive. The smiling face and white teeth camouflaged a fighting machine. He carried a Bowie, which he used with great dexterity. He picked up a tin plate, went to the fire, lifted the lid of the camp oven and helped himself to some stewed meat, potatoes and some freshly cooked damper from beside the campfire. He cut a slice with his knife and dropped it in the stew. His hunger was foremost in his thoughts.

Matt stood beside him and also helped himself to a feed. At 5ft 10 inches, of solid build with green eyes, he had black long hair swept to both sides, which gave him the look of a minister of the cloth. He wore a cabbage-tree-hat made from the fan-shaped leaves of a palm. So did the other members of the gang. All were growing moustaches and full beards. Matt’s beard was already full, long and black. Charlie stirred under bush shelter of bark fastened with strips of untanned hide, called greenhide. The natives called these shelters Stringybarks. His woman was sitting up and looking at him with a smile on her face. He may have been the shorty of the gang, 5ft 6 inches standing in his riding boots. He, however, made up for his shortness in other ways and the gang members all agreed that Charlie wasn’t standing behind the door when God gave him a dick. Slim build, piggy-brown eyes, brown-coloured hair and was going bald on top. His moustache was long and droopy and gave him the appearance of a Mexican. He poured himself a mug of tea from the billy-can brew over the fire.

Bob was a lazy bloke; he liked his sleep and didn’t move under his blanket. The woman with him made the move. She got up and walked away a short distance from the campfire. She stood with her legs apart and with both hands parted her labia and pissed like a man.

‘That’s a sight I will never forget,’ Horst remarked to the group, ‘and you, Bob, an educated man from England. She is educating you with that display – she was certainly bursting for a piss – it could have filled a billy can.’

‘Okay Horst, enough said.’ Bob was awake now, and he got up and pulled on his long pants and slipped the braces over his stained night shirt. He considered himself a sophisticated man, educated at Eton, so he said. His English upbringing would have you think of a titled family. He did speak several languages, including Chinese dialects, which in the days, weeks and months ahead would be invaluable. His big ears stood out from underneath his long sandy straight hair. He had bad teeth that were in need of attention from a dentist. He stood of medium height and was a chubby chap with a portly belly.

Steve was the tallest of the gang standing 6ft 6 inches. He had broad shoulders and a flat stomach. His eyes were an almond colour and he had ginger-coloured hair. Visible to anyone who cared to study his teeth was a large gap between his two top front teeth. He had been told during his childhood that the gap meant you would be lucky all your life. So far this was the case. He was a born leader and he decided that this morning it was time to plan their next bail-up.

‘Feed your women and tell them to go back to their tribe. They know their way back down the mountain. It’s time to work. The jiggy-jig is over for now.’

‘Do we have to let them go?’ Charlie asked.


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