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We found him near the wattle-clump, down in the little creek.
His head was by a coral fern, an' blood was on his cheek.
An' blood was on the wooden rails, an' he lay very still,
The man who half an hour ago had meant to boss the mill!

"He's livin' yet" says old man Blair. "Boys, we must do our best.
Lay hold there, Jim, an' you, young Dick, an' heave that off his chest.
Man, but he's crushed! The crazy fool! Now treat him gently, lad."
"The track ain't damaged much," says Pike; "but, gosh, he's got it bad!"

••••••
Red stains were on the wooden track an' on the sunlit ground;
A wagtail twittered by the creek, an' hopped an' fussed around;
The Laughin' Jacks were wild with mirth; but very still he lay,
As we took poor Ben Murray up an' carried him away.