Rio Grandes Last Race, Etc. | Page 5

God is on the track,
The drought fiend holds his sway,

With blows and cries and stockwhip crack
We take the stock away.
As they fall we leave them lying,
With the crows to watch them
dying,
Grim sextons of the Overland that fasten on their prey;
By the fiery dust-storm drifting,
And the mocking mirage shifting,

In heat and drought and hopeless pain we take the stock away.
In dull despair the days go by
With never hope of change,
But
every stage we draw more nigh
Towards the mountain range;
And
some may live to climb the pass,
And reach the great plateau,
And
revel in the mountain grass,
By streamlets fed with snow.
As the mountain wind is blowing
It starts the cattle lowing,
And
calling to each other down the dusty long array;
And there speaks a grizzled drover:
`Well, thank God, the worst is
over,
The creatures smell the mountain grass that's twenty miles
away.'
They press towards the mountain grass,
They look with eager eyes

Along the rugged stony pass,
That slopes towards the skies;
Their
feet may bleed from rocks and stones,
But though the blood-drop

starts,
They struggle on with stifled groans,
For hope is in their
hearts.
And the cattle that are leading,
Though their feet are worn and
bleeding,
Are breaking to a kind of run -- pull up, and let them go!
For the mountain wind is blowing,
And the mountain grass is
growing,
They settle down by running streams ice-cold with melted
snow.
. . . . .
The days are done of heat and drought
Upon the stricken plain;
The
wind has shifted right about,
And brought the welcome rain;
The
river runs with sullen roar,
All flecked with yellow foam,
And we
must take the road once more,
To bring the cattle home.
And it's `Lads! we'll raise a chorus,
There's a pleasant trip before us.'

And the horses bound beneath us as we start them down the track;
And the drovers canter, singing,
Through the sweet green grasses
springing,
Towards the far-off mountain-land, to bring the cattle
back.
Are these the beasts we brought away
That move so lively now?

They scatter off like flying spray
Across the mountain's brow;
And
dashing down the rugged range
We hear the stockwhip crack,
Good
faith, it is a welcome change
To bring such cattle back.
And it's `Steady down the lead there!'
And it's `Let 'em stop and feed
there!'
For they're wild as mountain eagles and their sides are all
afoam;
But they're settling down already,
And they'll travel nice and steady,

With cheery call and jest and song we fetch the cattle home.

We have to watch them close at night
For fear they'll make a rush,

And break away in headlong flight
Across the open bush;
And by
the camp-fire's cheery blaze,
With mellow voice and strong,
We
hear the lonely watchman raise
The Overlander's song:
`Oh! it's when we're done with roving,
With the camping and the
droving,
It's homeward down the Bland we'll go, and never more
we'll roam;'
While the stars shine out above us,
Like the eyes of those who love us
--
The eyes of those who watch and wait to greet the cattle home.
The plains are all awave with grass,
The skies are deepest blue;
And
leisurely the cattle pass
And feed the long day through;
But when
we sight the station gate,
We make the stockwhips crack,
A
welcome sound to those who wait
To greet the cattle back:
And through the twilight falling
We hear their voices calling,
As
the cattle splash across the ford and churn it into foam;
And the children run to meet us,
And our wives and sweethearts greet
us,
Their heroes from the Overland who brought the cattle home.
The First Surveyor
`The opening of the railway line! -- the Governor and all!
With flags
and banners down the street, a banquet and a ball. Hark to 'em at the
station now! They're raising cheer on cheer! "The man who brought the
railway through -- our friend the engineer!"
`They cheer HIS pluck and enterprise and engineering skill! 'Twas my
old husband found the pass behind that big Red Hill. Before the
engineer was grown we settled with our stock
Behind that great big
mountain chain, a line of range and rock -- A line that kept us starving
there in weary weeks of drought, With ne'er a track across the range to
let the cattle out.

`'Twas then, with horses starved and weak and scarcely fit to crawl, My
husband went to find a way across that rocky wall.
He vanished in the
wilderness, God knows where he was gone, He hunted till his food
gave out, but still he battled on.
His horses strayed -- 'twas well they
did -- they made towards the grass, And down behind that big red hill
they found an easy pass.
`He followed up and blazed the trees, to show the safest track, Then
drew his belt another hole and turned and started back. His horses died
-- just one pulled through with nothing much to spare; God bless the
beast that brought him home, the old white Arab mare! We drove