Rio Grandes Last Race, Etc. | Page 6

the
cattle through the hills, along the new-found way, And this was our
first camping-ground -- just where I live to-day.
`Then others came across the range and built the township here, And
then there came the railway line and this young engineer. He drove
about with tents and traps, a cook to cook his meals, A bath to wash
himself at night, a chain-man at his heels.
And that was all the pluck
and skill for which he's cheered and praised, For after all he took the
track, the same my husband blazed!
`My poor old husband, dead and gone with never feast nor cheer; He's
buried by the railway line! -- I wonder can he hear
When down the
very track he marked, and close to where he's laid, The cattle trains go
roaring down the one-in-thirty grade.
I wonder does he hear them
pass and can he see the sight,
When through the dark the fast express
goes flaming by at night.
`I think 'twould comfort him to know there's someone left to care, I'll
take some things this very night and hold a banquet there! The hard old
fare we've often shared together, him and me,
Some damper and a
bite of beef, a pannikin of tea:
We'll do without the bands and flags,
the speeches and the fuss, We know who OUGHT to get the cheers and
that's enough for us.
`What's that? They wish that I'd come down -- the oldest settler here!
Present me to the Governor and that young engineer!
Well, just you

tell his Excellence and put the thing polite, I'm sorry, but I can't come
down -- I'm dining out to-night!'
Mulga Bill's Bicycle
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze; He
turned away the good old horse that served him many days; He dressed
himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen; He hurried off to
town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it
through the door, with air of lordly pride, The grinning shop assistant
said, `Excuse me, can you ride?'
`See, here, young man,' said Mulga Bill, `from Walgett to the sea, From
Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me. I'm good all
round at everything, as everybody knows,
Although I'm not the one to
talk -- I HATE a man that blows. But riding is my special gift, my
chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wild cat can
it fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or
steel, There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight: I'll
ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight.'
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode, That
perched above the Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road. He
turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray, But ere he'd
gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through
the trees, just like a silver streak, It whistled down the awful slope,
towards the Dead Man's Creek.
It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box: The very
wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,
The wombats
hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,
As Mulga Bill, as
white as chalk, sat tight to every bound. It struck a stone and gave a
spring that cleared a fallen tree, It raced beside a precipice as close as
close could be;
And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing
shriek
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's Creek.

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:
He said,
`I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before; I've rode a wild
bull round a yard to win a five pound bet, But this was the most awful
ride that I've encountered yet. I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best;
it's shaken all my nerve To feel it whistle through the air and plunge
and buck and swerve. It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave
it lying still; A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill.'
The Pearl Diver
Kanzo Makame, the diver, sturdy and small Japanee,
Seeker of pearls
and of pearl-shell down in the depths of the sea, Trudged o'er the bed of
the ocean, searching industriously.
Over the pearl-grounds, the lugger drifted -- a little white speck: Joe
Nagasaki, the `tender', holding the life-line on deck,
Talked through
the rope to the diver, knew when to drift or to check.
Kanzo was king of his lugger, master and diver in one,
Diving
wherever it pleased him, taking instructions from none; Hither and
thither he wandered, steering by stars and by sun.
Fearless he was