Saltbush Bill, J. P Part 4

Never mistaking the road to go, For a man may guess--but the horses _know_.

I was camping out with my youngest son-- Bit of a nipper just learnt to speak-- In an empty hut on the lower run, Shooting and fis.h.i.+ng in Conroy's Creek.

The youngster toddled about all day, And with our horses was Mongrel Grey.

All of a sudden the flood came down Fresh from the hills with the mountain rain, Roaring and eddying, rank and brown, Over the flats and across the plain.

Rising and rising--at fall of night Nothing but water appeared in sight!

'Tis a nasty place when the floods are out, Even in daylight; for all around Channels and billabongs twist about, Stretching for miles in the flooded ground.

And to move was a hopeless thing to try In the dark with the water just racing by.

I had to try it. I heard a roar, And the wind swept down with the blinding rain; And the water rose till it reached the floor Of our highest room, and 'twas very plain The way the water was sweeping down We must s.h.i.+ft for the highlands at once, or drown.

Off to the stable I splashed, and found The horses shaking with cold and fright; I led them down to the lower ground, But never a yard would they swim that night!

They reared and snorted and turned away, And none would face it but Mongrel Grey.

I bound the child on the horse's back, And we started off with a prayer to heaven, Through the rain and the wind and the pitchy black, For I knew that the instinct G.o.d has given To guide His creatures by night and day Would lead the footsteps of Mongrel Grey.

He struck deep water at once and swam-- I swam beside him and held his mane-- Till we touched the bank of the broken dam In shallow water--then off again, Swimming in darkness across the flood, Rank with the smell of the drifting mud.

He turned and twisted across and back, Choosing the places to wade or swim, Picking the safest and shortest track, The pitchy darkness was clear to him.

Did he strike the crossing by sight or smell?

The Lord that led him alone could tell!

He dodged the timber whene'er he could, But the timber brought us to grief at last; I was partly stunned by a log of wood, That struck my head as it drifted past; And I lost my grip of the brave old grey, And in half a second he swept away.

I reached a tree, where I had to stay, And did a perish for two days hard; And lived on water--but Mongrel Grey, He walked right into the homestead yard At dawn next morning, and grazed around, With the child on top of him safe and sound.

We keep him now for the wife to ride, Nothing too good for him now, of course; Never a whip on his fat old hide, For she owes the child to that old grey horse.

And not Old Tyson himself could pay The purchase money of Mongrel Grey.

Gilhooley's Estate

(A ballad concerning the amalgamation of the legal professions.)

Oh, Mr. Gilhooley he turned up his toes, As most of us do, soon or late; And Jones was a lawyer, as everyone knows, So they took him Gilhooley's Estate.

Gilhooley in life had been living so free 'Twas thought his possessions were great, So Jones, with a smile, says, "There's many a fee For me in Gilhooley's Estate."

They made out a list of his property fine, It totalled a thousand-and-eight; But the debts were nine hundred and ninety and nine-- The debts of Gilhooley's Estate.

So Mrs. Gilhooley says, "Jones, my dear man, My childer have little to ait: Just keep the expenses as low as you can Against poor Gilhooley's Estate."

But Jones says, "The will isn't clear in its terms, I fear it will need some debate, And the law won't allow me (attorneys are worms) To appear in Gilhooley's Estate."

So a barrister-man, with a wig on his head, And a brief in his hand quite elate, Went up to the Court where they bury the dead, Just to move in Gilhooley's Estate.

But his Honor the Judge said, "I think that the joint Legatees must be called to pro_bate_-- Ex parte Pokehorney is clear on the point-- The point of Gilhooley's Estate.

"I order a suit to be brought just to try If this is correct that I state-- A nice friendly suit, and the costs, by and by, Must be borne by Gilhooley's Estate."

So Mrs. Gilhooley says, "Jones, you'll appear!

Thim barristers' fees is too great; The suit is but friendly." "Attorneys, my dear, Can't be heard in Gilhooley's Estate."

From the Barristers' Court there's a mighty hurrah Arises both early and late: It's only the whoop of the Junior Bar Dividing Gilhooley's Estate.

The Road to Hogan's Gap

Now look, you see, it's this way like, You cross the broken bridge And run the crick down till you strike The second right-hand ridge.

The track is hard to see in parts, But still it's pretty clear; There's been two Injin hawkers' carts Along that road this year.

Well, run that right-hand ridge along-- It ain't, to say, too steep-- There's two fresh tracks might put you wrong Where blokes went out with sheep.

But keep the crick upon your right, And follow pretty straight Along the spur, until you sight A wire and sapling gate.

Well, that's where Hogan's old grey mare Fell off and broke her back; You'll see her carcase layin' there, Jist down below the track.

And then you drop two mile, or three, It's pretty steep and blind; You want to go and fall a tree And tie it on behind.

And then you pa.s.s a broken cart Below a granite bluff; And that is where you strike the part They reckon pretty rough.

But by the time you've got that far It's either cure or kill, So turn your horses round the spur And face 'em up the hill.

For look, if you should miss the slope And get below the track, You haven't got the whitest hope Of ever gettin' back.

An' half way up you'll see the hide Of Hogan's brindled bull; Well, mind and keep the right-hand side, The left's too steep a pull.

And both the banks is full of cracks; An' just about at dark You'll see the last year's bullock tracks Where Hogan drew the bark.

The marks is old and pretty faint And grown with scrub and such; Of course the track to Hogan's ain't A road that's travelled much.

But turn and run the tracks along For half a mile or more, And then, of course, you can't go wrong-- You're right at Hogan's door.

When first you come to Hogan's gate He mightn't show, perhaps; He's pretty sure to plant and wait To see it ain't the traps.

I wouldn't call it good enough To let your horses out; There's some that's pretty extra rough Is livin' round about.

It's likely if your horses did Get feedin' near the track, It's goin' to cost at least a quid Or more to get them back.