The Man from Snowy River Part 5

But here the little boy spoke up -- said he, 'We thought you knew; He's done six months in Goulburn gaol -- he's got six more to do.'

Thus in one comprehensive flash he made it clear as day, The mystery of Peter's life -- the man who was away.

The Man from Ironbark

It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town, He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.

He loitered here, he loitered there, till he was like to drop, Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber's shop.

"Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I'll be a man of mark, I'll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark.'

The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are, He wore a strike-your-fancy sash, he smoked a huge cigar: He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee, He laid the odds and kept a 'tote', whatever that may be, And when he saw our friend arrive, he whispered 'Here's a lark!

Just watch me catch him all alive, this man from Ironbark.'

There were some gilded youths that sat along the barber's wall, Their eyes were dull, their heads were flat, they had no brains at all; To them the barber pa.s.sed the wink, his dexter eyelid shut, 'I'll make this bloomin' yokel think his bloomin' throat is cut.'

And as he soaped and rubbed it in he made a rude remark: 'I s'pose the flats is pretty green up there in Ironbark.'

A grunt was all reply he got; he shaved the bushman's chin, Then made the water boiling hot and dipped the razor in.

He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat, Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim's throat; Upon the newly shaven skin it made a livid mark -- No doubt it fairly took him in -- the man from Ironbark.

He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear, And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear, He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd'rous foe: 'You've done for me! you dog, I'm beat! one hit before I go!

I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark!

But you'll remember all your life, the man from Ironbark.'

He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout He landed on the barber's jaw, and knocked the barber out.

He set to work with tooth and nail, he made the place a wreck; He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck.

And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark, And 'Murder! b.l.o.o.d.y Murder!' yelled the man from Ironbark.

A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show; He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go.

And when at last the barber spoke, and said, "Twas all in fun -- 'Twas just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone.'

'A joke!' he cried, 'By George, that's fine; a lively sort of lark; I'd like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark.'

And now while round the shearing floor the list'ning shearers gape, He tells the story o'er and o'er, and brags of his escape.

'Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I've had enough, One tried to cut my bloomin' throat, but thank the Lord it's tough.'

And whether he's believed or no, there's one thing to remark, That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.

The Open Steeplechase

I had ridden over hurdles up the country once or twice, By the side of Snowy River with a horse they called 'The Ace'.

And we brought him down to Sydney, and our rider Jimmy Rice, Got a fall and broke his shoulder, so they nabbed me in a trice -- Me, that never wore the colours, for the Open Steeplechase.

'Make the running,' said the trainer, 'it's your only chance whatever, Make it hot from start to finish, for the old black horse can stay, And just think of how they'll take it, when they hear on Snowy River That the country boy was plucky, and the country horse was clever.

You must ride for old Monaro and the mountain boys to-day.'

'Are you ready?' said the starter, as we held the horses back, All ablazing with impatience, with excitement all aglow; Before us like a ribbon stretched the steeplechasing track, And the sun-rays glistened brightly on the chestnut and the black As the starter's words came slowly, 'Are -- you -- ready? Go!'

Well, I scarcely knew we'd started, I was stupid-like with wonder Till the field closed up beside me and a jump appeared ahead.

And we flew it like a hurdle, not a baulk and not a blunder, As we charged it all together, and it fairly whistled under, And then some were pulled behind me and a few shot out and led.

So we ran for half the distance, and I'm making no pretences When I tell you I was feeling very nervous-like and queer, For those jockeys rode like demons; you would think they'd lost their senses If you saw them rush their horses at those rasping five foot fences -- And in place of making running I was falling to the rear.

Till a chap came racing past me on a horse they called 'The Quiver', And said he, 'My country joker, are you going to give it best?

Are you frightened of the fences? does their stoutness make you shiver?

Have they come to breeding cowards by the side of Snowy River?

Are there riders on Monaro? ----' but I never heard the rest.

For I drove the Ace and sent him just as fast as he could pace it, At the big black line of timber stretching fair across the track, And he shot beside the Quiver. 'Now,' said I, 'my boy, we'll race it.

You can come with Snowy River if you're only game to face it, Let us mend the pace a little and we'll see who cries a crack.'

So we raced away together, and we left the others standing, And the people cheered and shouted as we settled down to ride, And we clung beside the Quiver. At his taking off and landing I could see his scarlet nostril and his mighty ribs expanding, And the Ace stretched out in earnest and we held him stride for stride.

But the pace was so terrific that they soon ran out their tether -- They were rolling in their gallop, they were fairly blown and beat -- But they both were game as pebbles -- neither one would show the feather.

And we rushed them at the fences, and they cleared them both together, Nearly every time they clouted, but they somehow kept their feet.

Then the last jump rose before us, and they faced it game as ever -- We were both at spur and whipcord, fetching blood at every bound -- And above the people's cheering and the cries of 'Ace' and 'Quiver', I could hear the trainer shouting, 'One more run for Snowy River.'

Then we struck the jump together and came smashing to the ground.

Well, the Quiver ran to blazes, but the Ace stood still and waited, Stood and waited like a statue while I scrambled on his back.

There was no one next or near me for the field was fairly slated, So I cantered home a winner with my shoulder dislocated, While the man that rode the Quiver followed limping down the track.

And he shook my hand and told me that in all his days he never Met a man who rode more gamely, and our last set to was prime, And we wired them on Monaro how we chanced to beat the Quiver.

And they sent us back an answer, 'Good old sort from Snowy River: Send us word each race you start in and we'll back you every time.'

The Amateur Rider

_HIM_ going to ride for us! _HIM_ -- with the pants and the eyegla.s.s and all.

Amateur! don't he just look it -- it's twenty to one on a fall.

Boss must be gone off his head to be sending our steeplechase crack Out over fences like these with an object like that on his back.

Ride! Don't tell _ME_ he can ride.

With his pants just as loose as balloons, How can he sit on his horse? and his spurs like a pair of harpoons; Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course.

Fall! why, he'd fall off a cart, let alone off a steeplechase horse.

Yessir! the 'orse is all ready -- I wish you'd have rode him before; Nothing like knowing your 'orse, sir, and this chap's a terror to bore; Battleaxe always could pull, and he rushes his fences like fun -- Stands off his jump twenty feet, and then springs like a shot from a gun.