An old story written in prose from memory, so facts and history maybe a little different, or a lot, but I was just a kid, so don’t hold that against me. Cheers to you, Dad!
The son and the night horse…
Living in the told stories of times long since past, faded moments of a hero son to his father’s life, a place of changing days. It was down around Mitchell’s camp, a time when bushfires were on the move, in an age when the fergie tractor was a go’a, with that old heavy trailer caught in tow. Clearing firebreaks, and checking fences, as the day, it passed on by, while the heat and the work left both a little weary.
Then came a time, his father took a kip, on the back of the big old trailer, til’while passing through a gulley, the trailer it let go. Caught them by surprise, they almost didn’t know, as his father stopped the trailer, just above his nose, no his neck. While the fergie came to a sudden stop, the son he leapt down fast, to free his father from the trailer, with ropes upon the task. The son he made a sled or stretcher, as his father lay close by, though I don’t remember, I don’t recall, sometimes I wish I listened just a little more.
Soon he had his father on the stretcher, he lashed it tight on to the fergie, for Mitchell’s camp was still a ways off in the distance. But light it was now fading, and darkness it soon fell, as they pulled into the shack at Mitchell’s camp as light it now was gone. Soon the son he had his father, undercover and set up well, for here there was an old station horse, in the yards here at the camp, it knew its way back home, even in the dark. The son he took some rope, and grabbed a hand full of her mane, he let her have her head, as she headed straight for home.
Through the darkness of the moonless night she bolted, cutting through the backcountry, she led a wild and hairy ride. For soon, the hours passed a little rough, as the old girl made good the ride. The station house came into sight, the son a little cut and sore, as he let family know about his hurt and injured father’s score. Soon the station truck fired up, and made for Mitchell’s camp, as the son he too did join them, for the rescue on that night. When they found his father, they made back for the house, this was how I heard the story, of the son and that old night horse and how they both were champs…..