But he settled in the saddle and prepared to give him chase,
As Jack struck out a line for his abode.
On the road toward the Show Ground then there hung a big swing-gate:
Jack’s filly cleared its bars in glorious style;
But he held her well together, for he knew the trooper’s weight
Would give him half a distance in each mile;
For Jack rode twelve stone fully, while Bill Fraser rode but nine:
Sweetbriar’s strength must surely soon be spent,
Being grass-fed, while the trooper’s chestnut horse could always dine
Off oats and barley to his heart’s content.
And all aloud Jack cursed the day he’d ever killed a beast
Or branded calf he couldn’t call his own,
While the hoof-strokes on the road beat out a song that never ceased
To echo in his ear with mocking tone.
‘Three years in gaol! in gaol three years!’ the jeering echoes sang:
The granite boulders caught the wild refrain:
‘A broken life! a weeping wife!’ ’twas thus the rhythm rang;
‘And a baby boy you’ll never see again!’
