~ One Spur and the Arrow ~
Part 9: THE FOURTH RIDE
~ 311 ~
From the resting herd of cattle
In the sunlight of the day
The three brave stockmen thundered
Across the burning way
~ 312 ~
Their horses galloped easy
Saving strength and fire
For in the haze the plain was flat,
With fifty miles to tire.
~ 313 ~
One Spur's white eyed Arrow
Fought against the rein
But One Spur held him steady
Across the rough terrain.
~ 314 ~
John Stokes pure bred paint
Also fought the rein
As he galloped swift and powerful
With wildly flowing mane
~ 315 ~
But the faithful bay of Deacons
Just settled into pace
For his strain was not of fire,
To win a pounding race.
~ 316 ~
The hours passed and the day wore on,
But the horses held their stride
As in their wake the hurling sand
Sprayed many hoof thumps wide.
~ 317 ~
The sun grew hot with merciless heat
And strived to tire them down
But such men and horses would not tire
As they swiftly covered ground.
~ 318 ~
Then suddenly disaster struck
The blood paint broke a rein,
In the wind he opened stride
To display his gallant strain
~ 319 ~
With pounding hoof and flashing limb
He hammered through the dust
Cutting up the sun baked earth
From the hardened crust
~ 320 ~
John Stokes tried to hold him
But the paint had 'took' the bit
John new he could not stop him
As he ducked from flying grit.
~ 321 ~
"I'll slow him when he tires,"
Called John Stokes into the air
"Do not try to catch me
For your horses you must spare."
~ 322 ~
So deep into the desert
Ran the mighty stallion Sholt
Leaving One Spur and Deacon
To watch his lightning bolt.
~ 323 ~
So the two rode on and on,
Astride slowly tiring steeds
As in the distance the lofty hills
Displayed their towering trees
~ 324 ~
Soon the leaves flashed by them
As they hit the rugged slopes
And there the plunging gullies
Teased their pleasant hopes
~ 325 ~
This was The Arrow country
So slowed not his flashing stride
But Deacon's bay was striving
To stay by the stallion's side
~ 326 ~
The shale and pebbles whipped and flew
Dead twigs snapped and sped
The riders ducked from swishing branch
That could crush a human head
~ 327 ~
The land grew more rugged now
The bush was denser yet
The sun grew hotter in the sky
And the pace was slower set
~ 328 ~
A mile away deep in the scrub
A spark set up a blaze
And only moments later on
The forest was a crimson haze.
~ 329 ~
The riders smelt the swirling smoke
And saw the flames draw near
The Arrow felt the burning heat
And widened stride with fear
~ 330 ~
Deacon's bay grew skittish
And squealed a fearful scream
In the smoke brave One Spur cried,
"Head for the nearest stream!"
~ 331 ~
Asway in blackened saddle
One Spur turned his horse
To flee the roaring fire
From its terrible flaming force
~ 332 ~
Blind of eye but forced by fear
The Arrow toothed the bit
One Spur clutching at the mane
With now a stronger grip
~ 333 ~
Deacon now was riding
A wildly bucking bay
Amid the flames and choking smoke
Where the dying bushland lay
~ 334 ~
One Spur plunging hands to mane
Closed his eyes with fear.
"Go great horse!, Go wild Arrow
Show your courage here!"
~ 335 ~
And the great horse clothed in fire
With a flash of marvellous speed
Burst through the blazing trees
With a display of his wild breed
~ 336 ~
Plunged through the burning gullies
And over the charred black ground
Down the loose rocked ridge sides
His mighty hooves beat down.
~ 337 ~
Across the open country
The scattered trees flashed by
By the way a wide creek curved
a sight to please the eye
~ 338 ~
Deacon could not stay with them
Upon his faithful bay
And the fire ever closer
was cutting off his way
~ 339 ~
The bay was scorched and burned
Deacon bruised and cut
As all around the fire raged
Escape's only door was shut
~ 340 ~
But the bay with gallant effort
Stretched his sublime limb
Galloped with a pounding heart
Over the top of the blazing rim
~ 341 ~
Into a furnace of heat and pain
Into a wall of seething fire
Across the flats with smouldering mane
The stream his whole desire
~ 342 ~
There the creak a swirling pool
Bubbling through the bush
Begged the bay to reach its cool
Urged on his powerful rush
~ 343 ~
Then clear air was whipping by them
As they hurtled down the bank
Deacon falling from the saddle
Hit the creek and sank
~ 344 ~
The cold clear stream revived him
As he swam the stream to shore
Where he lay by the water's edge
Battered bruised and sore
~ 345 ~
There his faithful bay
Stood flank high in the creek
With steaming main and mattered hair
He dropped his head to drink