He rode all night and he steered his course By the shining stars with a bushman's skill, And every time that he pressed his horse The Swagman answered him gamely still. He neared his home as the east was bright, The doctor met him outside the town: 'Carew! How far did you come last night?' 'A hundred miles since the sun went down.'
And his wife got round, and an oath he passed, So long as he or one of his breed Could raise a coin, though it took their last The Swagman never should want a feed. And Kate Carew, when her father died, She kept the horse and she kept him well: The pride of the district far and wide, He lived in style at the bush hotel.
Such was the Swagman; and Ryan knew Nothing about could pace the crack; Little he'd care for the man in blue If once he got on the Swagman's back. But how to do it? A word let fall Gave him the hint as the girl passed by; Nothing but 'Swagman -- stable-wall; 'Go to the stable and mind your eye.'
He caught her meaning, and quickly turned To the trooper: 'Reckon you'll gain a stripe By arresting me, and it's easily earned; Let's go to the stable and get my pipe, The Swagman has it.' So off they went, And soon as ever they turned their backs The girl slipped down, on some errand bent Behind the stable, and seized an axe.
The trooper stood at the stable door While Ryan went in quite cool and slow, And then (the trick had been played before) The girl outside gave the wall a blow. Three slabs fell out of the stable wall -- 'Twas done 'fore ever the trooper knew -- And Ryan, as soon as he saw them fall, Mounted the Swagman and rushed him through.
The trooper heard the hoof-beats ring In the stable yard, and he slammed the gate, But the Swagman rose with a mighty spring At the fence, and the trooper fired too late, As they raced away and his shots flew wide And Ryan no longer need care a rap, For never a horse that was lapped in hide Could catch the Swagman in Conroy's Gap.
And that's the story. You want to know If Ryan came back to his Kate Carew; Of course he should have, as stories go, But the worst of it is, this story's true: And in real life it's a certain rule, Whatever poets and authors say Of high-toned robbers and all their school, These horsethief fellows aren't built that way.