ife and liberty and a free range.
There's some birds, and animals too, that either pine in a cage or kill
themselves, and I suppose it's the same way with some men. They can't
stand the cage of what's called honest labour, which means working
for some one else for twenty or thirty years, never having a day to
yourself, or doing anything you like, and saving up a trifle for your
old age when you can't enjoy it. I don't wonder youngsters break traces
and gallop off like a colt out of a team.

Besides, sometimes there's a good-looking girl even at a bush public,
the daughter or the barmaid, and it's odd, now, what a difference that
makes. There's a few glasses of grog going, a little noisy, rattling
talk, a few smiles and a saucy answer or two from the girl, a look at
the last newspaper, or a bit of the town news from the landlord; he's
always time to read. Hang him--I mean confound him--for he's generally a
sly old spider who sucks us fellows pretty dry, and then don't care what
becomes of us. Well, it don't amount to much, but it's life--the only
taste of it that chaps like us are likely to get. And people may talk as
much as they like; boys, and men too, will like it, and take to it, and
hanker after it, as long as the world lasts. There's danger in it, and
misery, and death often enough comes of it, but what of that? If a man
wants a swim on the seashore he won't stand all day on the beach because
he may be drowned or snapped up by a shark, or knocked against a rock,
or tired out and drawn under by the surf. No, if he's a man he'll jump
in and enjoy himself all the more because the waves are high and the
waters deep. So it was very good fun to us, simple as it might sound
to some people. It was pleasant to be bowling along over the firm green
turf, along the plain, through the forest, gully, and over the creek.
Our horses were fresh, and we had a scurry or two, of course; but there
wasn't one that could hold a candle to Jim's brown horse. He was a
long-striding, smooth goer, but he got over the ground in wonderful
style. He could jump, too, for Jim put him over a big log fence or two,
and he sailed over them like a forester buck over the head of a fallen
wattle.

Well, we'd had our lark at the Bundah Royal Hotel, and were coming home
to tea at the station, all in good spirits, but sober enough, when, just
as we were crossing one of the roads that came through the run--over the
'Pretty Plain', as they called it--we hea