So Stingy Smith and the fighting man, they lifted him from the ground,
And sent to home for a brandy-flask, and they slowly fetched him round;
But his head was bad, and his jaw was hurt --
in fact, he could scarcely speak --
So they let him spell till he got his wits, and he camped on the run a week,
While the travelling sheep went here and there, wherever they liked to stray,
Till Saltbush Bill was fit once more for the track to the Castlereagh.
. . . . .
Then Stingy Smith he wrote a note, and gave to the fighting man:
'Twas writ to the boss of the neighbouring run, and thus the missive ran:
`The man with this is a fighting man, one Stiffener Joe by name;
He came near murdering Saltbush Bill, and I found it a costly game:
But it's worth your while to employ the chap,
for there isn't the slightest doubt
You'll have no trouble from Saltbush Bill while this man hangs about ----'
But an answer came by the next week's mail, with news that might well appal:
`The man you sent with a note is not a fighting man at all!
He has shaved his beard, and has cut his hair, but I spotted him at a look;
He is Tom Devine, who has worked for years for Saltbush Bill as cook.
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