Rio Grandes Last Race, Etc. | Page 8

All white and frothy at the top, just like a pint of beer,?It's time to go and have a drink, for if that cloud should burst You'd find the drink would all be gone, for that's a cloud of thirst!'
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We stood the man from Narromine a pint of half-and-half;?He drank it off without a gasp in one tremendous quaff;?`I joined some friends last night,' he said, `in what THEY called a spree; But after Narromine 'twas just a holiday to me.'
And now beyond the Western Range, where sunset skies are red, And clouds of dust, and clouds of thirst, go drifting overhead, The railway-train is taking back, along the Western Line,?That narrow-minded person on his road to Narromine.
Saltbush Bill's Gamecock
'Twas Saltbush Bill, with his travelling sheep, was making his way to town; He crossed them over the Hard Times Run, and he came to the Take 'Em Down; He counted through at the boundary gate, and camped at the drafting yard: For Stingy Smith, of the Hard Times Run, had hunted him rather hard. He bore no malice to Stingy Smith -- 'twas simply the hand of fate That caused his waggon to swerve aside and shatter old Stingy's gate; And, being only the hand of fate, it follows, without a doubt, It wasn't the fault of Saltbush Bill that Stingy's sheep got out. So Saltbush Bill, with an easy heart, prepared for what might befall, Commenced his stages on Take 'Em Down, the station of Rooster Hall.
'Tis strange how often the men out back will take to some curious craft, Some ruling passion to keep their thoughts away from the overdraft; And Rooster Hall, of the Take 'Em Down, was widely known to fame As breeder of champion fighting cocks -- his `forte' was the British Game. The passing stranger within his gates that camped with old Rooster Hall Was forced to talk about fowls all night, or else not talk at all. Though droughts should come, and though sheep should die,?his fowls were his sole delight;?He left his shed in the flood of work to watch two gamecocks fight. He held in scorn the Australian Game, that long-legged child of sin; In a desperate fight, with the steel-tipped spurs, the British Game must win! The Australian bird was a mongrel bird, with a touch of the jungle cock; The want of breeding must find him out, when facing the English stock; For British breeding, and British pluck, must triumph it over all -- And that was the root of the simple creed that governed old Rooster Hall.
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'Twas Saltbush Bill to the station rode ahead of his travelling sheep, And sent a message to Rooster Hall that wakened him out of his sleep -- A crafty message that fetched him out, and hurried him as he came -- `A drover has an Australian Bird to match with your British Game.' 'Twas done, and done in a half a trice; a five-pound note aside; Old Rooster Hall, with his champion bird, and the drover's bird untried. `Steel spurs, of course?' said old Rooster Hall;?`you'll need 'em, without a doubt!'?`You stick the spurs on your bird!' said Bill, `but mine fights best without.' `Fights best without?' said old Rooster Hall; `he can't fight best unspurred! You must be crazy!' But Saltbush Bill said, `Wait till you see my bird!' So Rooster Hall to his fowlyard went, and quickly back he came, Bearing a clipt and a shaven cock, the pride of his English Game. With an eye as fierce as an eaglehawk, and a crow like a trumpet call, He strutted about on the garden walk, and cackled at Rooster Hall. Then Rooster Hall sent off a boy with word to his cronies two, McCrae (the boss of the Black Police) and Father Donahoo.?Full many a cockfight old McCrae had held in his empty Court, With Father D. as a picker-up -- a regular all-round Sport! They got the message of Rooster Hall, and down to his run they came, Prepared to scoff at the drover's bird, and to bet on the English Game; They hied them off to the drover's camp, while Saltbush rode before -- Old Rooster Hall was a blithesome man, when he thought of the treat in store. They reached the camp, where the drover's cook, with countenance all serene, Was boiling beef in an iron pot, but never a fowl was seen.
`Take off the beef from the fire,' said Bill,?`and wait till you see the fight;?There's something fresh for the bill-of-fare --?there's game-fowl stew to-night!?For Mister Hall has a fighting cock, all feathered and clipped and spurred; And he's fetched him here, for a bit of sport, to fight our Australian bird. I've made a match that our