He didn’t care much for the shearing

Or the tending of the sheep

And I sometimes wondered how he earned his pay

This little man from Woolagong

Just south of Squatters Creek

That always rode that handsome dapple-grey,

Well I asked the boss about it

Once or twice and made complaint

That he’s as useful as a hot iron made of ice

And his wages would be better spent

On a couple of quarts of paint

“I’d sack the bludger boss”, was my advice,

But the boss just shrugged his shoulders

And said, “I’ll keep your thoughts in mind

But I’m the boss; it’s best you don’t forget,

‘Cause I’d sack you before old Shorty

Men like him are hard to find,

So I’d advise you treat him with respect,

“But boss”, I argued with him

“He’s half blind and almost deaf

And with respect, a bit long in the tooth”,

“Oh yeah”, the boss said sadly

“There’s not much of Shorty left

But what there is would still make two of you”,

“Why I could tell you yarns about him

That my father used to tell

When nights were cold around a stockman’s fire

About races he took part in

Where the greatest riders fell

And he rode the dapple-grey called Twilight Flyer”,

“Why there weren’t a horse nor rider

Dared to go where those two went

Not even Clancy from the Overflow

Of course the man from Snowy River

Might be cause for argument

But compared to Shorty even he’d be slow”,

Just then as we were speaking

Shorty shifted in his seat

It was the first I’d seen him move in quite a while

Then turning to the station boss

And pointing to the east

Said, “there’s a fire coming boss, about twenty mile”,

Well I’d seen no sign of danger

So I thought the man insane

And said to Shorty, “what is this, a joke?”

But then on the horizon

Came a mountainside of flame

Topped off by a cloud of solid smoke,

And right there in the middle

Was the station house and yard

 Thirty men and twenty thousand sheep

Well it looked like devastation

Had been written on the cards

From our look-out point

High up on Preacher’s Keep

The road back to the station

Would take us miles out the way

And the shortest route meant almost certain death

Well we looked towards old Shorty

And that handsome dapple-grey

But they were ridding towards the mountain crest

So we kicked our mounts to join him

And we matched him stride for stride

Until that steep decent came into view

Closer ever closer

Until both our horses shied

But that dapple-grey just sprouted wings and flew,

Yes they came off of that summit

And they never missed a step

Though that mountainside was steep as any wall

Strewn with rocks and boulders

Where a goat would be inept

And with every stride we thought that they might fall,

Yet Shorty spurred that dapple-grey

For even greater speed

As they jumped those boulders like they wasn’t there

And never did a pony

Ever satisfy the need

Of its rider as that dapple-grey did there,

We held our breaths in wonder

Every time that horse took flight

And Shorty didn’t even lose his hat

Landing just a graceful

As a ballerina might

And I wished to God that I could ride like that,

By the time they reached the scrubland

The wind had altered course

And the station was surrounded by the flames

Though most had made the safety

Of a local water source

Within the house a few stragglers remained,

The paint had started blistering

On the house and shearing sheds

And the smoke was thick enough to block the sky

We knew that those few stragglers

Would be surely burnt to death

And we shivered as we heard their mournful cries,

But Shorty and that dapple-grey

Were approaching like the wind

Strait into that searing wall of flame

Minutes seemed like hours

From the time that they rode in

But eventually they reappeared again,

And riding double on his saddle

Was the boss’s daughter Kay

Coughing like her lungs were fit to pop

Both their clothes were smouldering

As they rode that dapple-grey

But Shorty let her down and didn’t stop,

He wheeled that dapple-grey around

And rode back through the fire

Without thought for his own safety or his life

Then returning to the water source

Where we had just arrived

And lowered down my barely conscious wife,

Four times he made that journey

To the burning pits of Hell

Each time returning with somebody else

Till on that final journey

Both the horse and rider fell

No longer strong enough to help themselves,

Well we sifted through the ashes

When the blaze had burnt its course

And the smoke had cleared enough at break of day

The only ones left in there

Among the sheep the station lost

Were Shorty and his handsome dapple-grey

The smoke had over come them

As they searched for more to save

Fearful they might leave someone behind

And the boss’s words came to me

As I looked down on his face

“Men like him are very hard to find”,

They were lying close together

Shorty’s hand still held the reins

His other hand was laid across his chest

Gently, very gently

We carried his remains

Up to Preachers Keep to lie at rest,

The boss’s tears were flowing

As he said his last goodbye

And we placed those rocks upon the burial mound

Not one person up there

Hid the tears that filled their eyes

For those two brave souls we now laid underground

Although he didn’t care for shearing

Or the tending of the sheep

He gave his all when called upon that day

Now that little man from Woolagong

Lies peacefully asleep

Resting with his handsome dapple-grey

By S. E. Ralph