They brought her out to show our lot the road, Or so they said; but, then, Gord's truth! you know, You can't believe 'em, though they took an oath On forty Bibles that they'd tell the truth.

But anyhow, an amateur was up On this Enchantress, and so Ike and me, We thought that we might frighten him a bit By asking if he minded riding rough -- 'Oh, not at all,' says he, 'oh, not at all!

I learnt at Robbo Park, and if it comes To b.u.mping I'm your Moses! Strike me blue!'

Says he, 'I'll b.u.mp you over either rail, The inside rail or outside -- which you choose Is good enough for me' -- which settled Ike; For he was shaky since he near got killed From being sent a buster on the rail, When some chap b.u.mped his horse and fetched him down At Stony Bridge, so Ikey thought it best To leave this bloke alone, and I agreed.

So all the books was layin' six to four Against the favourite, and the amateur Was walking this Enchantress up and down, And me and Smithy backed him; for we thought We might as well get something for ourselves, Because we knew our horses couldn't win.

But Ikey wouldn't back him for a bob; Because he said he reckoned he was stiff, And all the books was layin' six to four.

Well, anyhow, before the start, the news Got round that this here amateur was stiff, And our good stuff was blued, and all the books Was in it, and the prices lengthened out, And every book was bustin' of his throat, And layin' five to one the favourite.

So there was we that couldn't win ourselves, And this here amateur that wouldn't try, And all the books was layin' five to one.

So Smithy says to me, 'You take a hold Of that there moke of yours, and round the turn Come up behind Enchantress with the whip And let her have it; that long bloke and me Will wait ahead, and when she comes to us We'll pa.s.s her on and belt her down the straight, And Ikey'll flog her home, because his boss Is judge and steward and the Lord knows what, And so he won't be touched -- and, as for us, We'll swear we only hit her by mistake!'

And all the books was layin' five to one.

Well, off we went, and comin' to the turn I saw the amateur was holding back And poking into every hole he could To get her blocked, and so I pulled behind And drew the whip and dropped it on the mare -- I let her have it twice, and then she shot Ahead of me, and Smithy opened out And let her up beside him on the rails, And kept her there a-beltin' her like smoke Until she struggled past him pullin' hard And came to Ike; but Ikey drew his whip And hit her on the nose and sent her back And won the race himself -- for, after all, It seems he had a fiver on the Dook And never told us -- so our stuff was lost.

And then they had us up for ridin' foul, And warned us off the tracks for twelve months each, To get our livin' any way we could; But Ikey wasn't touched, because his boss Was judge and steward and the Lord knows what.

But Mister -- if you'll lend us half-a-crown, I know three certain winners at the Park -- Three certain cops as no one knows but me; And -- thank you, Mister, come an' have a beer (I always like a beer about this time) ...

Well, so long, Mister, till we meet again.

The Road to Gundagai

The mountain road goes up and down, From Gundagai to Tumut Town.

And branching off there runs a track, Across the foothills grim and black,

Across the plains and ranges grey To Sydney city far away.

It came by chance one day that I From Tumut rode to Gundagai.

And reached about the evening tide The crossing where the roads divide;

And, waiting at the crossing place, I saw a maiden fair of face,

With eyes of deepest violet blue, And cheeks to match the rose in hue --

The fairest maids Australia knows Are bred among the mountain snows.

Then, fearing I might go astray, I asked if she could show the way.

Her voice might well a man bewitch -- Its tones so supple, deep, and rich.

'The tracks are clear,' she made reply, 'And this goes down to Sydney town, And that one goes to Gundagai.'

Then slowly, looking coyly back, She went along the Sydney track.

And I for one was well content To go the road the lady went;

But round the turn a swain she met -- The kiss she gave him haunts me yet!

I turned and travelled with a sigh The lonely road to Gundagai.

Saltbush Bill's Second Fight

The news came down on the Castlereagh, and went to the world at large, That twenty thousand travelling sheep, with Saltbush Bill in charge, Were drifting down from a dried-out run to ravage the Castlereagh; And the squatters swore when they heard the news, and wished they were well away: For the name and the fame of Saltbush Bill were over the country side For the wonderful way that he fed his sheep, and the dodges and tricks he tried.

He would lose his way on a Main Stock Route, and stray to the squatters' gra.s.s; He would come to a run with the boss away, and swear he had leave to pa.s.s; And back of all and behind it all, as well the squatters knew, If he had to fight, he would fight all day, so long as his sheep got through: But this is the story of Stingy Smith, the owner of Hard Times Hill, And the way that he chanced on a fighting man to reckon with Saltbush Bill.

'Twas Stingy Smith on his stockyard sat, and prayed for an early Spring, When he stared at sight of a clean-shaved tramp, who walked with jaunty swing; For a clean-shaved tramp with a jaunty walk a-swinging along the track Is as rare a thing as a feathered frog on the desolate roads out back.

So the tramp he made for the travellers' hut, and asked could he camp the night; But Stingy Smith had a bright idea, and he said to him, 'Can you fight?'

'Why, what's the game?' said the clean-shaved tramp, as he looked at him up and down -- 'If you want a battle, get off that fence, and I'll kill you for half-a-crown!

But, Boss, you'd better not fight with me, it wouldn't be fair nor right; I'm Stiffener Joe, from the Rocks Brigade, and I killed a man in a fight: I served two years for it, fair and square, and now I'm a trampin' back, To look for a peaceful quiet life away on the outside track ----'

'Oh, it's not myself, but a drover chap,' said Stingy Smith with glee; 'A bullying fellow, called Saltbush Bill -- and you are the man for me.

He's on the road with his hungry sheep, and he's certain to raise a row, For he's bullied the whole of the Castlereagh till he's got them under cow -- Just pick a quarrel and raise a fight, and leather him good and hard, And I'll take good care that his wretched sheep don't wander a half a yard.

It's a five-pound job if you belt him well -- do anything short of kill, For there isn't a beak on the Castlereagh will fine you for Saltbush Bill.'

'I'll take the job,' said the fighting man; 'and hot as this cove appears, He'll stand no chance with a bloke like me, what's lived on the game for years; For he's maybe learnt in a boxing school, and sparred for a round or so, But I've fought all hands in a ten-foot ring each night in a travelling show; They earned a pound if they stayed three rounds, and they tried for it every night -- In a ten-foot ring! Oh, that's the game that teaches a bloke to fight, For they'd rush and clinch, it was Dublin Rules, and we drew no colour line; And they all tried hard for to earn the pound, but they got no pound of mine: If I saw no chance in the opening round I'd slog at their wind, and wait Till an opening came -- and it ALWAYS came -- and I settled 'em, sure as fate; Left on the ribs and right on the jaw -- and, when the chance comes, MAKE SURE!

And it's there a professional bloke like me gets home on an amateur: For it's my experience every day, and I make no doubt it's yours, That a third-cla.s.s pro is an over-match for the best of the amateurs ----'

'Oh, take your swag to the travellers' hut,'

said Smith, 'for you waste your breath; You've a first-cla.s.s chance, if you lose the fight, of talking your man to death.

I'll tell the cook you're to have your grub, and see that you eat your fill, And come to the scratch all fit and well to leather this Saltbush Bill.'

'Twas Saltbush Bill, and his travelling sheep were wending their weary way On the Main Stock Route, through the Hard Times Run, on their six-mile stage a day; And he strayed a mile from the Main Stock Route, and started to feed along, And, when Stingy Smith came up, Bill said that the Route was surveyed wrong; And he tried to prove that the sheep had rushed and strayed from their camp at night, But the fighting man he kicked Bill's dog, and of course that meant a fight: So they sparred and fought, and they shifted ground and never a sound was heard But the thudding fists on their brawny ribs, and the seconds' muttered word, Till the fighting man shot home his left on the ribs with a mighty clout, And his right flashed up with a half-arm blow -- and Saltbush Bill 'went out'.

He fell face down, and towards the blow; and their hearts with fear were filled, For he lay as still as a fallen tree, and they thought that he must be killed.

So Stingy Smith and the fighting man, they lifted him from the ground, And sent to home for a brandy-flask, and they slowly fetched him round; But his head was bad, and his jaw was hurt -- in fact, he could scarcely speak -- So they let him spell till he got his wits, and he camped on the run a week, While the travelling sheep went here and there, wherever they liked to stray, Till Saltbush Bill was fit once more for the track to the Castlereagh.

Then Stingy Smith he wrote a note, and gave to the fighting man: 'Twas writ to the boss of the neighbouring run, and thus the missive ran: 'The man with this is a fighting man, one Stiffener Joe by name; He came near murdering Saltbush Bill, and I found it a costly game: But it's worth your while to employ the chap, for there isn't the slightest doubt You'll have no trouble from Saltbush Bill while this man hangs about ----'

But an answer came by the next week's mail, with news that might well appal: 'The man you sent with a note is not a fighting man at all!

He has shaved his beard, and has cut his hair, but I spotted him at a look; He is Tom Devine, who has worked for years for Saltbush Bill as cook.

Bill coached him up in the fighting yarn, and taught him the tale by rote, And they shammed to fight, and they got your gra.s.s and divided your five-pound note.

'Twas a clean take-in, and you'll find it wise -- 'twill save you a lot of pelf -- When next you're hiring a fighting man, just fight him a round yourself.'