Rio Grande's Last Race & Other Verses Part 11

They held a polo meeting at a little country town, And all the local sportsmen came to win themselves renown.

There came two strangers with a horse, and I am much afraid They both belonged to what is called 'the take-you-down brigade'.

They said their horse could jump like fun, and asked an amateur To ride him in the steeplechase, and told him they were sure, The last time round, he'd sail away with such a swallow's flight The rest would never see him go -- he'd finish out of sight.

So out he went; and, when folk saw the amateur was up, Some local genius called the race 'the dude-in-danger cup'.

The horse was known as 'Who's Afraid', by Panic from 'The Fright'.

But still his owners told the jock he'd finish out of sight.

And so he did; for 'Who's Afraid', without the least pretence, Disposed of him by rus.h.i.+ng through the very second fence; And when they ran the last time round the prophecy was right -- For he was in the ambulance, and safely 'out of sight'.

The Road to Old Man's Town

The fields of youth are filled with flowers, The wine of youth is strong: What need have we to count the hours?

The summer days are long.

But soon we find to our dismay That we are drifting down The barren slopes that fall away Towards the foothills grim and grey That lead to Old Man's Town.

And marching with us on the track Full many friends we find: We see them looking sadly back For those that dropped behind.

But G.o.d forbid a fate so dread -- ALONE to travel down The dreary road we all must tread, With faltering steps and whitening head, The road to Old Man's Town!

The Old Timer's Steeplechase

The sheep were shorn and the wool went down At the time of our local racing: And I'd earned a spell -- I was burnt and brown -- So I rolled my swag for a trip to town And a look at the steeplechasing.

'Twas rough and ready -- an uncleared course As rough as the blacks had found it; With barbed-wire fences, topped with gorse, And a water-jump that would drown a horse, And the steeple three times round it.

There was never a fence the tracks to guard, -- Some straggling posts defined 'em: And the day was hot, and the drinking hard, Till none of the stewards could see a yard Before nor yet behind 'em!

But the bell was rung and the nags were out, Excepting an old outsider Whose trainer started an awful rout, For his boy had gone on a drinking bout And left him without a rider.

'Is there not one man in the crowd,' he cried, 'In the whole of the crowd so clever, Is there not one man that will take a ride On the old white horse from the Northern side That was bred on the Mooki River?'

'Twas an old white horse that they called The Cow, And a cow would look well beside him; But I was pluckier then than now (And I wanted excitement anyhow), So at last I agreed to ride him.

And the trainer said, 'Well, he's dreadful slow, And he hasn't a chance whatever; But I'm stony broke, so it's time to show A trick or two that the trainers know Who train by the Mooki River.

'The first time round at the further side, With the trees and the scrub about you, Just pull behind them and run out wide And then dodge into the scrub and hide, And let them go round without you.

'At the third time round, for the final spin With the pace, and the dust to blind 'em, They'll never notice if you chip in For the last half-mile -- you'll be sure to win, And they'll think you raced behind 'em.

'At the water-jump you may have to swim -- He hasn't a hope to clear it -- Unless he skims like the swallows skim At full speed over, but not for him!

He'll never go next or near it.

'But don't you worry -- just plunge across, For he swims like a well-trained setter.

Then hide away in the scrub and gorse The rest will be far ahead of course -- The further ahead the better.

'You must rush the jumps in the last half-round For fear that he might refuse 'em; He'll try to baulk with you, I'll be bound, Take whip and spurs on the mean old hound, And don't be afraid to use 'em.

'At the final round, when the field are slow And you are quite fresh to meet 'em, Sit down, and hustle him all you know With the whip and spurs, and he'll have to go -- Remember, you've GOT to beat 'em!'

The flag went down and we seemed to fly, And we made the timbers s.h.i.+ver Of the first big fence, as the stand flashed by, And I caught the ring of the trainer's cry: 'Go on! For the Mooki River!'

I jammed him in with a well-packed crush, And recklessly -- out for slaughter -- Like a living wave over fence and brush We swept and swung with a flying rush, Till we came to the dreaded water.

Ha, ha! I laugh at it now to think Of the way I contrived to work it.

Shut in amongst them, before you'd wink, He found himself on the water's brink, With never a chance to s.h.i.+rk it!

The thought of the horror he felt, beguiles The heart of this grizzled rover!

He gave a snort you could hear for miles, And a spring would have cleared the Channel Isles And carried me safely over!

Then we neared the scrub, and I pulled him back In the shade where the gum-leaves quiver: And I waited there in the shadows black While the rest of the horses, round the track, Went on like a rus.h.i.+ng river!

At the second round, as the field swept by, I saw that the pace was telling; But on they thundered, and by-and-bye As they pa.s.sed the stand I could hear the cry Of the folk in the distance, yelling!

Then the last time round! And the hoofbeats rang!

And I said, 'Well, it's now or never!'

And out on the heels of the throng I sprang, And the spurs bit deep and the whipcord sang As I rode! For the Mooki River!

We raced for home in a cloud of dust And the curses rose in chorus.

'Twas flog, and hustle, and jump you must!

And The Cow ran well -- but to my disgust There was one got home before us.

'Twas a big black horse, that I had not seen In the part of the race I'd ridden; And his coat was cool and his rider clean, And I thought that perhaps I had not been The only one that had hidden.

And the trainer came with a visage blue With rage, when the race concluded: Said he, 'I thought you'd have pulled us through, But the man on the black horse planted too, AND NEARER TO HOME THAN YOU DID!'

Alas to think that those times so gay Have vanished and pa.s.sed for ever!

You don't believe in the yarn you say?

Why, man! 'Twas a matter of every day When we raced on the Mooki River!