The Freak
By Edward Dyson
Just beyond All Alone, going back,
Is the humpy of Hatter Magee.
We had travelled all day on the track,
And he offered us mutton and tea.
Mack is rather reserved, but will speak
On one theme, and with eloquence too,
Thats his angular chestnut, The Freak.
Heres a tale that he told through the week,
And I try to believe it is true:
True, he aint no account ez a nag,
An Im not goin to boast of his blood;
If I liked I could pitch you a mag
Bout his sire, once a prince of the stud;
Give performances coloured and plain,
An a pedigree long ez my arm,
Which is style, but Im straight in the main,
So he aint of the Wangdoodle strain,
Nor his dam wasnt Kate nor The Charm.
Fiddle-headed an spavined! Well, praps.
Yes, his legs is all over the shop,
An his pacins described by the chaps
Ez a sort of a wallaby hop.
He aint good over sticks, an a mile
In four-thirtys his best up to date;
An hes jest pure Gehenna fer guile,
But I wouldnt sell out fer a pile,
Cause Im not goin dog on a mate.
See, Im here, and hes yonder, of course,
But I might a been crow-bait by now,
Once my life seemed to hang on that horse,
An I didnt get left. That is how!
Theyve bin tellin you, Billy an Spence?
Ah, theyre mighty smart men down the creek,
An they wont allow horses has sense,
But jest guy it ez chance or pretence
When I tell what was done by The Freak.
But Im here, an hes there-thats enough!
We were out mong the Misery Hills.
Course you dont know the country. Its rough;
An the man that it corners it kills.
I cant figure what happened us quite,
But we came in a heap, me an him.
When I knew who I was it was night,
An my head an my chest wasnt right,
An the bone poked right outer this limb.
Fer a spell I felt horribly sick
While I held there a meetin of me;
Proposed, It is U P with Dick,
Put, an carried unanermously.
Broken-legged, fifteen mile from the Creek,
I weighed chances, an gave up the case,
But I didnt deal fair by The Freak,
Till he limped to me, staggered an weak,
An he flopped his ole lip in my face.
Do? I fondled his nose like a fool,
An I called him love names without end;
Though I aint a soft man as a rule,
There is times when I sorter unbend.
Taint no use now to talk of the pain,
I endoored ez I struggled to climb
To his back from a log, or explain
How I fell back again an again;
But I gave up exhausted in time,
An I flung myself down on the ground,
An I cursed an, yes, maybe I cried,
But The Freak he came nosin around,
An he rolled over right by my side.
Dont you try to explain, Im content
That he knew jest ez well ez could be,
Cos I looked in his eyes ez he bent,
By the Lord, an I saw what he meant,
An thats good enough talkin fer me.
Well, I crawled on his back ez he lay,
An he heaved himself up again, so,
An then struck out fer home, an till day
I hung on to him, how I dont know.
Not a thing do I mind after that
Fore I came round all right at the whim,
Spread out on the bunk of Big Mat,
With a doc. on the job from The Flat,
An my leg fairly timbered and trim.
Yes, Ive heard all the mag of the men,
That he wanted to roll or to die,
An its true that hes kicked me since then,
An hes likewise uncommonly sly;
But Im here. If they talk fer a week
That one fact isnt goin to change,
An I owe it this day to The Freak
That a crow isnt clippin his beak
On my rib-bones out back by the range.