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There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around that the colt from Old Regret had got awayAnd had joined the wild bush horses, he was worth a thousand pounds, so all the cracks had gathered to the frayAll the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far had mustered at the homestead overnightFor the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are and the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup and the old man with his hair as white as snowBut few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up, he would go wherever horse or man could goAnd Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand, no better horseman ever held the reinsFor never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand and he learnt to ride while droving on the plains And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast, he was something like a racehorse undersizedWith a touch of Timor pony, three parts thoroughbred at least and such as are by mountain horsemen prizedHe was hard and tough and wiry, just the sort that won't say die, there was courage in his quick impatient treadAnd he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye and the proud and lofty carriage of his head But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay and the old man said, that horse will never doFor a long and tiring gallop lad, you'd better stop away, those hills are far too rough for such as youSo he waited sad and wistful, only Clancy stood his friend, oh I think we ought to let him come, he saidAnd I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end, for both his horse and he are mountain bred Oh he hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side, where the hills From Letras Mania