Featherstonhaugh
Brookong station lay half-asleep
Dozed in the waning western glare
('Twas before the run had stocked with sheep
And only cattle depastured there)
As the Bluccap mob reined up at the door
And loudly saluted Featherstonhaugh.
"My saintly preacher," the leader cried,
"I stand no nonsense, as you're aware,
I've a word for you if you'll step outside,
just drop that pistol and have a care;
I'll trouble you, too, for the key of the store,
For we're short of tucker, friend Featherstonhaugh."
The muscular Christian showed no fear,
Though he handed the key with but small delay.
He never answered the ruffian's jeer
Except by a look which seemed to say -
"Beware, my friend, and think twice before
You raise the devil in Featherstonhaugh."
Two hours after he reined his horse
Up in Urana, and straightway went
To the barracks - the trooper was gone, of course,
Blindly nosing a week-old scent
Away in the scrub around Mount Galore.
"Confound the fellow!" quoth Featherstonhaugh.
"Will any man of you come with me
And give this Bluecap a dressing-down?"
They all regarded him silently
As he turned his horse, with a scornful frown.
"You're curs, the lot of you, to the core -
I'll go by myself," said Featherstonhaugh.
The scrub was thick on Urangeline
As he followed the tracks that twisted through
The box and dogwood and scented pine
(One of their horses had cast a shoe).
Steeped from his youth in forest lore,
He could track like a nigger, could Featherstonhaugh.
He paused as he saw the thread of smoke
From the outlaw camp, and he marked the sound
Of a hobble-check, as it sharply broke
The silence that held the scrub-land bound.
There were their horses - two, three, four -
"It's a risk, but I'll chance it!" quoth Featherstonhaugh.
He loosened the first, and it walked away,
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poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Added by Poetry Lover
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