Presented to the LIBRARY of the

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

THE ESTATE OF THE LATE COL. R. S. TIMMIS, D.S.O.

THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER AND OTHER VERSES

THE MAN FROM

SNOWY RIVER

AND OTHER VERSES

BY

A. B. PATERSON

London

Macmillan and Co., Limited

Sydney : Angus &•» Robertson 1919

Fiftieth thousand

	^•/Vj/ Edition	Sydney,	i-jth Oct.,	1895,	1250 Copies
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PK

PREFACE

It is not so easy to write ballads descriptive of the bushland of Australia as on light consideration would appear. Reasonably good verse on the subject has been supplied in sufficient quantity. But the maker of folk- songs for our newborn nation requires a somewhat rare combination of gifts and experiences. Dowered with the poet's heart, he must yet have passed his l wander-jdhre ' amid the stern solitude of the Austral waste — must have ridden the race in the back-block township, guided the reckless stock-horse adown the mountain spur, and followed the night-long moving, spectral -seeming herd ' in the droving days.' Amid such scarce congenial surround- ings comes oft that finer sense which renders visible bright gleams of humour, pathos, and romance, which, like undiscovered gold, await the fortunate adventurer. That the author has touched this treasure-trove, not less delicately than distinctly, no true Australian will deny. In my opinion this collection comprises the best bush ballads written since the death of Lindsay Gordon.

ROLF BOLDREWOOD

A number of these verses are now published for the first time, most of the others were written for and appeared in "The Bulletin" (Sydney, N.S.W.), and are tlierefore already widely known to readers in Australasia.

A. B. PATERSON

PRELUDE

I have gathered these stories afar,

In the wind and the rain, In the land where the cattle camps aret

On the edge of the plain. 0)i the overland routes of the west,

When the watches were long, I have fashioned in earnest and jest

These fragments of song.

They are just the rude stories one hears

In sadness and mirth, The records of wandering years,

And scant is their worth Though, their merits indeed are but slight,

I shall not repine, If they give you one moment's delight,

Old comrades of mine.

CONTENTS

PAGB

PRELUDE

/ have gathered these stories a/ar, ix

THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER

There was movement at the station, for

the word had passed around - - 3

OLD PARDON, THE SON OF REPRIEVE You never heard tell of the story 1 10

CLANCY OF THE OVERFLOW

I had written him a letter which I had,

for want of better, ... 20

CONROY'S GAP

This was the way of it, don't you know — 23

OUR NEW HORSE

The boys had come back from the races - 31

xi

xii CONTENTS

PAGB

AN IDYLL OF DANDALOO

On Western plains, where shade is not, - 38

THE GEEBUNG POLO CLUB

It was somewhere up the country, in a

land of rock and scrub — - 43

THE TRAVELLING POST OFFICE

The roving breezes come and go, the reed

beds sweep and sway, - 47

SALTBUSH BILL

Now this is the law of the Overland that all in the West obey. - 50

A MOUNTAIN STATION

I bought a run a while ago, • 56

BEEN THERE BEFORE

There came a stranger to Walgett town • 59

THE MAN WHO WAS AWAY

The widow sought the lawyer's room with

children three in tow - -61

THE MAN FROM IRONBARK

It was the man from Ironbark who struck

the Sydney town, - 64

CONTENTS xiii

PA6B

THE OPEN STEEPLECHASE

I had ridden over hurdles up the country

once or twice, 69

THE AMATEUR RIDER

Him going to ride for us ! Him — with the

pants and the eyeglass and all • 75

ON KILEY'S RUN

The roving breezes come and go 80

FRYINGPAN'S THEOLOGY

Scene : On Monaro. 86

THE TWO DEVINES

It was shearing-time at the Myall Lake, - 88

IN THE DROVING DAYS

' Only a pound,' said the auctioneer, 91

LOST

1 He ought to be home,' said the old man,

without there's something amiss. - - 96

OVER THE RANGE

Little bush-maiden, wondering-eyed, - 100

xiv CONTENTS

PAGE

ONLY A JOCKEY

Out in the grey cheerless chill of the morning light, - 102

HOW M'GINNIS WENT MISSING

Let us cease our idle chatter, - -105

A VOICE FROM THE TOWN

I thought, in the days of the droving, - 107

A BUNCH OF ROSES

Roses ruddy and roses white, - 111

BLACK SWANS

As I lie at rest on a patch of clover 113»

THE ALL RIGHT 'UN

He came from ' further out,' - 117

THE BOSS OF THE ADMIRAL LYNCH Did you ever hear tell of Chili ] I was

readiii' the other day - 120

A BUSHMAN'S SONG

I'm travelling down the Castlereagh, and

I'm a station hand, • 125

HOW GILBERT DIED

There's never a stone at the sleeper's head, 1 29

CONTENTS xv

FAQB

THE FLYING GANG

I served my time, in the days gone by, - 134

SHEARING AT CASTLEREAGH

The bell is set a-ringing, and the engine

gives a toot, - 136

THE WIND'S MESSAGE

There came a whisper down the Bland

between the dawn and dark, - • 139

JOHNSON'S ANTIDOTE

Down along the Snakebite River, where

the overland ers camp, - - - - 142

AMBITION AND ART

I am the maid of the lustrous eyes - - 149

THE DAYLIGHT IS DYING

The daylight is dying - 153

IN DEFENCE OF THE BUSH

So you're back from up the country,

Mister Townsman, where you went, - 156

LAST WEEK

Oh, the new-chum went to the back block

run, - - 160

xri CONTENTS

THOSE NAMES

The shearers sat in the firelight, hearty and hale and strong, - - . - 162

A BUSH CHRISTENING

On the outer Barcoo where the churches

are few, - - 165

HOW THE FAVOURITE BEAT US 'Aye,' said the boozer, c I tell you it's true, sir, - 168

THE GREAT CALAMITY

MacFierce'un came to Whiskeyhurst - 171

COME-BY-CHANOE

As I pondered very weary o'er a volume

long and dreary — - - - 174

UNDER THE SHADOW OF KILEY'S HILL This is the place where they all were bred ; 177

JIM CAREW

Born of a thoroughbred English race, - 179

THE SWAGMEN'S REST

We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave - - - 182

THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER AND OTHER VERSES

THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER.

THERE was movement at the station, for the word had

passed around

That the colt from old Regret had got away, And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth

a thousand pound,

So all the cracks had gathered to the fray. All the tried and noted riders from the stations near

and far

Had mustered at the homestead overnight, For the bush men love hard riding where the wild

bush horses are, And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when

Pardon won the cup,

The old man with his hair as white as snow ; But few could ride beside him when his blood was

fairly up — He would go wherever horse and man could go.

4 THE MAN FROM

And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a

hand,

No better horseman ever held the reins ; For never horse could throw him while the saddle- girths would stand, He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy

beast,

He was something like a racehorse undersized, With a touch of Timor pony — three parts thorough- bred at least —

And such as are by mountain horsemen prized. He was hard and tough and wiry — just the sort that

won't say die —

There was courage in his quick impatient tread ; And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and

fiery eye, And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his

power to stay,

And the old man said, ' That horse will never do For a long and tiring gallop — lad, you'd better stop away,

SNOWY RIVER 5

* Those hills are far too rough for such as you.'

So he waited sad and wistful — only Clancy stood his friend —

* I think we ought to let him come,' he said ;

1 1 warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the

end, 1 For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

4 He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,

* Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as

rough, 1 Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint

stones every stride, 1 The man that holds his own is good enough.

I And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make

their home, ' Where the river runs those giant hills between ;

I 1 have seen full many horsemen since I first com-

menced to roam, 1 But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.'

So he went — they found the horses by the big mimosa

clump — They raced away towards the mountain's brow,

6 THE MAN FROM

And the old man gave his orders, * Boys, go at them

from the jump,

* No use to try for fancy riding now. * And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel

them to the right.

1 Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills, ' For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in

sight, ' If once they gain the shelter of those hills.'

So Clancy rode to wheel them — he was racing on the

wing

Where the best and boldest riders take their place, And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made

the ranges ring

With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face. Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the

dreaded lash,

But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view, And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a

sharp and sudden dash, And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black

SNOWY RIVER 7

Resounded to the thunder of their tread, And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely

answered back

From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead. And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their

way,

Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide ; And the old man muttered fiercely, ' We may bid the

mob good day, * No man can hold them down the other side.'

When they reached the mountain's summit, even

Clancy took a pull,

It well might make the boldest hold their breath, The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden

ground was full

Of wombat holes, and any slip was death. But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his

head, And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a

cheer, And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent

down its bed, While the others stood and watched in very fear.

8 THE MAN FROM

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his

feet,

He cleared the fallen timber in his stride, And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his

seat —

It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride. Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough

and broken ground,

Down the hillside at a racing pace he went ; And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and

sound, At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the

further hill,

And the watchers on the mountain standing mute, Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right

among them still,

As he raced across the clearing in pursuit. Then they lost him for a moment, where two moun- tain gullies met

In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing

yet,

With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

SNOWY RIVER 9

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were

white with foam.

He followed like a bloodhound on their track, Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned

their heads for home,

And alone and unassisted brought them back. But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise

a trot,

He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur ; But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage

fiery hot, For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges

raise

Their torn and rugged battlements on high, Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white

stars fairly blaze

At midnight in the cold and frosty sky, And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep

and sway

To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide, The man from Snowy River is a household word

to-day, And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

OLD PARDON THE SON OF REPRIEVE.

You never heard tell of the story 1

Well, now, I can hardly believe !- Never heard of the honour and glory

Of Pardon, the son of Reprieve 1 But maybe you're only a Johnnie

And don't know a horse from a hoe ? Well, well, don't get angry, my sonny,

But, really, a young un should know.

They bred him out back on the ' Never,'

His mother was Mameluke breed. To the front — and then stay there — was ever

The root of the Mameluke creed. He seemed to inherit their wiry

Strong frames — and their pluck to receive — As hard as a flint and as fiery

Was Pardon, the son of Reprieve. 10

OLD PARDON THE SON OF REPRIEVE 11

We ran him at many a meeting At crossing and gully and town,

And nothing could give him a beating—- At least when our money was down.

For weight wouldn't stop him, nor distance, Nor odds, though the others were fast,

He'd race with a dogged persistence, And wear them all down at the last.

At the Turon the Yattendon filly

Led by lengths at the mile-and-a-half^ And we all began to look silly,

While her crowd were starting to laugh ; But the old horse came faster and faster,

His pluck told its tale, and his Strength, He gained on her, caught her, and passed her,

And won it, hands-down, by a length.

And then we swooped down on Menindie To run for the President's Cup —

Oh ! that's a sweet township — a shindy To them is board, lodging, and sup.

Eye-openers they are, and their system Is never to suffer defeat ;

12 OLD PARDON

It's * win, tie, or wrangle ' — to best 'em You must lose 'em, or else it's ' dead heat.'

We strolled down the township and found 'em

At drinking and gaming and play ; If sorrows they had, why they drowned 'em,

And betting was soon under way. Their horses were good 'uns and fit 'uns,

There was plenty of cash in the town ; They backed their own horses like Britons,

And, Lord ! how we rattled it down !

With gladness we thought of the morrow,

We counted our wagers with glee, A simile homely to borrow —

* There was plenty of milk in our tea.1 You see we were green ; and we never

Had even a thought of foul play, Though we well might have known that the clever

Division would * put us away,'

Experience ' docet? they tell us,

At least so I've frequently heard, But, ' dosing ' or c stuffing,' those fellows

Were up to each move on the board \

THE SON OF REPRIEVE 13

They got to his stall — it is sinful

To think what such villains would do —

And they gave him a regular skinful Of barley — green barley — to chew.

He munched it all night, and we found him

Next morning as full as a hog — The girths wouldn't nearly meet round him ;

He looked like an overfed frog. We saw we were done like a dinner —

The odds were a thousand to one Against Pardon turning up winner,

'Twas cruel to ask him to run.

We got to the course with our troubles,

A crestfallen couple were we ; And we heard the ' books ' calling the doubles—

A roar like the surf of the sea ; And over the tumult and louder

Rang ' Any price Pardon, I lay ! ' Says Jimmy, c The children of Judah

1 Are out on the warpath to-day.'

14 OLD PARDON

Three miles in three heats : — Ah, my sonny,

The horses in those days were stout, They had to run well to win money ;

I don't see such horses about. Your six-furlong vermin that scamper

Half-a-mile with their feather-weight up ; They wouldn't earn much of their damper

In a race like the President's Cup.

The first heat was soon set a-going ;

The Dancer went off to the front ; The Don on his quarters was showing,

With Pardon right out of the hunt. He rolled and he weltered and wallowed—

You'd kick your hat faster, I'll bet ; They finished all bunched, and he followed

All lathered and dripping with sweat.

But troubles came thicker upon us, For while we were rubbing him dry

The stewards came over to warn us : 1 We hear you are running a bye I

' If Pardon don't spiel like tarnation ' And win the next heat— if he can—

THE SON OF REPRIEVE 15

1 He'll earn a disqualification ;

* Just think over that, now, my man ! '

Our money all gone and our credit,

Our horse couldn't gallop a yard ; And then people thought that we did it 1

It really was terribly hard. We were objects of mirth and derision

To folk in the lawn and the stand, And the yells of the clever division

Of * Any price Pardon ! ' were grand.

We still had a chance for the money,

Two heats still remained to be run ; If both fell to us — why, my sonny,

The clever division were done. And Pardon was better, we reckoned,

His sickness was passing away, So he went to the post for the second

And principal heat of the day.

They're off and away with a rattle,

Like doga from the leashes let slip, And right at the back of the battle

He followed them under the whip.

16 OLD PARDON

They gained ten good lengths on him quickly He dropped right away from the pack ;

I tell you it made me feel sickly To see the blue jacket fall back.

Our very last hope had departed —

We thought the old fellow was done, When all of a sudden he started

To go like a shot from a gun. His chances seemed slight to embolden

Our hearts ; but, with teeth firmly set, We thought, c Now or never ! The old 'un

1 May reckon with some of 'em yet.'

Then loud rose the war-cry for Pardon ;

He swept like the wind down the dip, And over the rise by the garden,

The jockey was done with the whip The field were at sixes and sevens —

The pace at the first had been fast — And hope seemed to drop from the heavens,

For Pardon was coming at last.

And how he did come ! It was splendid ; He gained on them yards every bound,

THE SON OF REPRIEVE 17

Stretching out like a greyhound extended, His girth laid right down on the ground.

A shimmer of silk in the cedars As into the running they wheeled,

And out flashed the whips on the leaders, For Pardon had collared the field.

Then right through the ruck he came sailing —

I knew that the battle was won — The son of Haphazard was failing,

The Yattendon filly was done ; He cut down the Don and the Dancer,

He raced clean away from the mare — He's in front ! Catch him now if you can, sir !

And up went my hat in the air 1

Then loud from the lawn and the garden

Hose offers of ' Ten to one on ! ' ' Who'll bet on the field 1 I back Pardon !'

No use ; all the money was gone. He came for the third heat light-hearted,

A-jumping and dancing about ; The others were done ere they started

Crestfallen, and tired, and worn out.

18 OLD PARDON

He won it, and ran it much faster

Than even the first, I believe Oh, he was the daddy, the master,

Was Pardon, the son of Reprieve. He showed 'em the method to travel-—

The boy sat as still as a stone — They never could see him for gravel ;

He came in hard-held, and alone.

But he's old — and his eyes are grown hollow

Like me, with my thatch of the snow ; When he dies, then I hope I may follow,

And go where the racehorses go. I don't want no harping nor singing —

Such things with my style don't agree ; Where the hoofs of the horses are ringing

There's music sufficient for me.

And surely the thoroughbred horses

Will rise up again and begin Fresh races on far-away courses,

And p'raps they might let me slip in.

THE SON OF REPRIEVE 19

It would look rather well the race-card on 'Mongst Cherubs and Seraphs and things,

1 Angel Harrison's black gelding Pardon, * Blue halo, white body and wings.'

And if they have racing hereafter,

(And who is to say they will not t) When the cheers and the shouting and laughter

Proclaim that the battle grows hot ; As they come down the racecourse a-steering,

He'll rush to the front, I believe ; And you'll hear the great multitude cheering

For Pardon, the son of Reprieve.

CLANCY OF THE OVERFLOW

I HAD written him a letter which I had, for want of

better Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the

Lachlan, years ago, He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the

letter to him,

Just ' on spec,' addressed as follows, ' Clancy, of The Overflow.'

And an answer came directed in a writing unex- pected, (And I think the same was written with a

thumb-nail dipped in tar) 'Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim

I will quote it :

' Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are.

CLANCY OF THE OVERFLOW 21

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy Gone a-droving ' down the Cooper ' where the

Western drovers go ;

As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides be- hind them singing,

For the drover's life has pleasures that the towns- folk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their

kindly voices greet him In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its

And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains

extended,

And at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars.

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the

houses tall,

And the fo3tid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all

22 CLANCY OF THE OVERFLOW

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish

rattle Of the tramways and the 'buses making hurry

down the street, And the language uninviting of the gutter children

fighting,

Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless

• tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me,' and their pallid

faces haunt me As they shoulder one another in their rush and

nervous haste, With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted

forms and weedy,

For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change

with Clancy, Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons

come and go, While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book

and the journal —

But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of ' The Overflow.'

CONROY'S GAP

THIS wa8 the way of it, don't you know —

Ryan was 'wanted' for stealing sheep, And never a trooper, high or low,

Could find him — catch a weasel asleep ! Till Trooper Scott, from the Stockman's Ford—

A bushman, too, as I've heard them tell — Chanced to find him drunk as a lord

Round at the Shadow of Death Hotel.

D' you know the place ] It's a wayside inn,

A low grog-shanty — a bushman trap, Hiding away in itt shame and «in

Under the shelter of Conroy's Gfap — Under the shade of that frowning range,

The roughest crowd that ever drew breath — Thieves and rowdies, uncouth and strange,

Were mustered round at the Shadow of Death,

24 CONROY'S GAP

The trooper knew that his man would slide

Like a dingo pup, if he saw the chance ; And with half a start on the mountain side

Ryan would lead him a merry dance. Drunk as he was when the trooper came,

To him that did not matter a rap — Drunk or sober, he was the same,

The boldest rider in Conroy's Gap.

* I want you, Ryan/ the trooper said,

1 And listen to me, if you dare resist,

* So help me heaven, I'll shoot you dead ! '

He snapped the steel on his prisoner's wrist, And Ryan, hearing the handcuffs click,

Recovered his wits as they turned to go, For fright will sober a man as quick

As all the drugs that the doctors know.

There was a girl in that rough bar Went by the name of Kate Carew.

Quiet and shy as the bush girls are, But ready-witted and plucky, too.

CONROY'S GAP 25

She loved this Ryan, or so they say,

And passing by, while her eyes were dim

With tears, she said in a careless way,

' The Swagnian's round in the stable, Jim.'

Spoken too low for the trooper's ear,

Why should she care if he heard or not f Plenty of swagmen far and near,

And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. That was the name of the grandest horse

In all the district from east to west In every show ring, on every course

They always counted the Swagman best,

lie was a wonder, a raking bay —

One of the grand old Snowdon strain — One of the sort that could race and stay

With his mighty limbs and his length of rein. Born and bred on the mountain side,

He could race through scrub like a kangaroo, The girl herself on his back might ride,

And the Swagman would carry her safely through.

26 CONROY'S GAP

He would travel gaily from daylight's flush

Till after the stars hung out their lamps, There was never his like in the open bush,

And never his match on the cattle-camps. For faster horses might well be found

On racing tracks, or a plain's extent, But few, if any, on broken ground

Could see the way that the Swaginan went

When this girl's father, old Jim Carew,

Was droving out on the Castlereagh With Conroy's cattle, a wire came through

To say that his wife couldn't live the day. And he was a hundred miles from home,

As flies the crow, with never a track, Through plains as pathless as ocean's foam,

He mounted straight on the Swagman's back.

He left the camp by the sundown light, And the settlers out on the Marthaguy

Awoke and heard, in the dead of night, A single horseman hurrying by.

CONROY'S GAP 27

He crossed the Bogan at Dandaloo, And many a mile of the silent plain

That lonely rider behind him threw Before they settled to sleep again.

He rode all night and he steered his course

By the shining stars with a bushmari's skill, And every time that he pressed his horse

The Swagman answered him gamely still. He neared his home as the east was bright,

The doctor met him outside the town : 1 Carew ! How far did you come last night T

' A hundred miles since the sun went down.'

And his wife got round, and an oath he passed,

So long as he or one of his breed Could raise a coin, though it took their last

The Swagman nerer should want a feed. And Kate Carew, when her father died,

She kept the horse and she kept him well : The pride of the district far and wide,

He lived in style at the bush hotel.

28 CONROFS GAP

Such was the Swagman \ and Ilyan knew

Nothing about could pace the crack ; Little he'd care for the man in blue

If once he got on the Swagman's back. But how to do it ? A word let fall

Gave him the hint as the girl passed by ; Nothing but ' Swagman — stable-wall ;

* Go to the stable and mind your eye.'

He caught her meaning, and quickly turned

To the trooper : ' Reckon you'll gain a stripe 1 By arresting me, and it's easity earned ;

' Let's go to the stable and get my pipe, * The Swagman has it.' So off they went,

And soon as ever they turned their backs The girl slipped down, on some errand bent

Behind the stable, and seized an axe.

The trooper stood at the stable door

While Ryan went in quite cool and slow,

And then (the trick had been played before) The girl outside gave the wall a blow.

CONROY'S GAP 29

Three slabs fell out of the stable wall — 'Twas done 'fore ever the trooper knew —

And Ryan, as soon as he saw them fall,

Mounted the Swagman and rushed him through.

The trooper heard the hoof -beats ring

In the stable yard, and he slammed the gate, But the Swagman rose with a mighty spring

At the fence, and the trooper fired too late, As they raced away and his shots flew wide

And Ryan no longer need care a rap, For never a horse that was lapped in hide

Could catch the Swagman in Conroy's Gap.

And that's the story. You want to know

If Ryan came back to his Kate Carew ; Of course he should have, as stories go,

But the worst of it is, this story's true : And in real life it's a certain rule,

Whatever poets and authors say Of high-toned robbers and all their school,

These horsethief fellows aren't built that way.

30 CONROY'S GAP

Come back ! Don't hope it — the slinking hound,

He sloped across to the Queensland side, And sold the Swagman for fifty pound,

And stole the money, and more beside. And took to drink, and by some good chance

Was killed — thrown out of a stolen trap. And that was the end of this small romance,

The end of the story of Conroy's Gap.

OUR NEW HORSE

THE boys had come back from the races

All silent and down on their luck ; They'd backed 'em, straight out and for places,

But never a winner they struck. They lost their good money on Slogan,

And fell, most uncommonly fiat, When Partner, the pride of the Bogan,

Was beaten by Aristocrat.

And one said, * I move that instanter

* We sell out our horses and quit,

1 The brutes ought to win in a canter, { Such trials they do when they're fit.

1 The last one they ran was a snorter — 1 A gallop to gladden one's heart —

1 Two-twelve for a mile and a quarter,

* And finished as straight as a dart.

81

32 OUR NEW HORSE

' And then when I think that they're ready

' To win me a nice little swag, ' They are licked like the veriest neddy —

' They're licked from the fall o£ the flag. 1 The mare held her own to the stable,

1 She died out to nothing at tnao, 1 And Partner he never seemed able

4 To pace it with Aristocrab.

And times have been bad, and the seasons

1 Don't promise to be of the best ; ' In short, boys, there's plenty of reasons

1 For giving the racing a rest. ' The mare can be kept on the station —

1 Her breeding is good as can be— 1 But Partner, his next destination

1 Is rather a trouble to me.

We can't sell him here, for they know him ' As well as the clerk of the course ;

He's raced and won races till, blow him, ' He's done as a handicap horse.

OUR NEW HORSE 33

' A jady, uncertain performer,

* They weight him right out of the hunt, ' And clap it on warmer and warmer

* Whenever he gets near the front. , ' It's no use to paint him or dot him

' Or put any ' fake ' on his brand, 1 For bushmen are smart, and they'd spot him

1 In any sale-yard in the land. 1 The folk about here could all tell him,

' Could swear to each separate hair ; * Let us send him to Sydney and sell him,

' There's plenty of Jugginses there. c We'll call him a maiden, and treat 'em

1 To trials will open their eyes,

I We'll run their best horses and beat 'em,

1 And then won't they think him a prize.

I 1 pity the fellow that buys him,

1 He'll find in a very short space, ' No matter how highly he tries him, ' The beggar won't race in a race.1

Next week, under ' Seller and Buyer,'

Appeared in the Daily Gazette : 1 A racehorse for sale, and a flyer ;

* Has never been started as yet ;

54 OUR NEW HORSE

1 A trial will show what his pace is ;

1 The buyer can get him in light, ' And win all the handicap races.

« Apply here before Wednesday night

He sold for a hundred and thirty,

Because of a gallop he had One morning with Bluefish and Bertie,

And donkey-licked both of 'em bad. And when the old horse had departed,

The life on the station grew tame ; The race-track was dull and deserted,

The boys had gone back on the game.

The winter rolled by, and the station

Was green with the garland of spring A spirit of glad exultation

Awoke in each animate thing. And all the old love, the old longing,

Broke out in the breasts of the boys, The visions of racing came thronging

With all its delirious joys.

OUR NEW HORSE

The rushing of floods in their courses,

The rattle of rain on the roofs Recalled the fierce rush of the horses,

The thunder of galloping hoofs. And soon one broke out : { I can suffer

* No longer the life of a slug, * The man that don't race is a duffer,

' Let's have one more run for the mug.

Why, everything races, no matter

Whatever its method may be : The waterfowl hold a regatta ;

The 'possums run heats up a tree ; The emus are constantly sprinting

A handicap out on the plain ; It seems like all nature was hinting,

'Tis time to be at it again.