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 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!’