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C J Dennis - Murray`s Ride
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I seldom get to hatin` men, nor had much cause to hate;
To me, it just a foolish game to play, at any rate.
  But it kills the hard thought in you, an` forgiveness is complete,
  To see the man you hated once a maimed thing at your feet.

We`d had a meetin` at the mill; the boss had said his say -
The good old boss, who stints himself to find the men their pay -
  He told us, fair an` honest, he was up against the game
  Unless he got the timber out before the Winter came.

I`ll say this much for decent men - an` decent men they were -
They saw the game that Murray played to give the boss a scare.
  We saw he`d pay near anything and Ben would do him brown;
  But a fair thing is a fair thing; so we truned Ben Murray down.

A truck was waitin` in the yard, full-loaded for the trip.
Just an easin` of the brake-rope was enough to let her rip
  For half a mile or more down-hill along  atrack, rough-made,
  To where the horses wait to haul her up the other grade.

The talk was done, the numbers up, the boss had won the day,
An` we were ready to go back an` earn our bit of pay;
  When Murray in a mad black rage, goes on to rave an` shout.
  "You`re sacked," the old man tells him plain.  "I`ve had enough. Get Out!"

For close on half a minute I expected Hell to pay;
But Murray glares around the mill - then turns an` walks away.
  He stops beside the loaded truck; an` each man in the mill
  Watched Murray with a sidelong look; an` each man wished him ill.

I knew Ben Murray for a gab; I knew him for a fool -
A decent man enough at heart when he was calm an` cool -
  Wild rage had hold on him that day, an`, maybe, madness too;
  An` scorn in me changed to dismay at what I saw him do.

He sprang behind the timber load an` leaped up to the back;
He loosed the rope to start the truck upon the down-hill track;
  An` if he meant to jump or stay no man will ever know.
  "If I go out," Ben Murray yelled, "this is the way I go!"

 
"Stop that mad fool!" howled old man Blair.  "He`ll wreck the track below!"
But now the truck had gathered way, an`, as we watched her go,
  Ben Murray, with the brake-rope slack, cursed us with all his might.
  She took the curve behind the huts, an` then went out of sight.

    .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

We found him near the wattle-clump, down in the little creek.
His head was by a coral fern, an` blood was on his cheek,
  An` blood was on the wooden rails, an` he lay very still,
  The man who half an hour ago had meant to boss the mill!

"He`s livin` yet" says old man Blair.  "Boys, we must do our best.
Lay hold there, Jim, an` you, young Dick, an` heave that off his chest.
  Man, but he`s crushed! The crazy fool! Now treat him gently, lad."
  "The track ain`t damaged much," says Pike; "but, gosh, he`s got it bad!"

    .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

Red stains were on the wooden track an` on the sunlight ground;
A wagtail twittered by the creek, an` hopped an` fussed around;
  The Laughin` Jacks were wild with mirth; but very still he lay,
  As we took poor Ben Murray up an` carried him away.
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