The Road to Hogan's Gap

Now look, you see, it's this way like,

You cross the broken bridge

And run the crick down till you strike

The second right-hand ridge.

The track is hard to see in parts,

But still it's pretty clear;

There's been two Injin hawkers’ carts

Along that road this year.

Well, run that right-hand ridge along —

It ai n't, to say, too steep —

There's two fresh tracks might put you wrong

Where blokes went out with sheep.

But keep the crick upon your right,

And follow pretty straight

Along the spur, until you sight

A wire and sapling gate.

Well, that's where Hogan's old grey mare

Fell off and broke her back;

You'll see her carcase layin’ there,

Jist down below the track.

And then you drop two mile, or three,

It's pretty steep and blind;

You want to go and fall a tree

And tie it on behind.

And then you pass a broken cart

Below a granite bluff;

And that is where you strike the part

They reckon pretty rough.

But by the time you've got that far

It's either cure or kill,

So turn your horses round the spur

And face‘ em up the hill.

For look, if you should miss the slope

And get below the track,

You have n't got the whitest hope

Of ever gettin’ back.

An’ half way up you'll see the hide

Of Hogan's brindled bull;

Well, mind and keep the right-hand side,

The left's too steep a pull.

And both the banks is full of cracks;

An’ just about at dark

You'll see the last year's bullock tracks

Where Hogan drew the bark.

The marks is old and pretty faint

And grown with scrub and such;

Of course the track to Hogan's ai n't

A road that's travelled much.

But turn and run the tracks along

For half a mile or more,

And then, of course, you can n't go wrong —

You're right at Hogan's door.

When first you come to Hogan's gate

He might n't show, perhaps;

He's pretty sure to plant and wait

To see it ai n't the traps.

I would n't call it good enough

To let your horses out;

There's some that's pretty extra rough

Is livin’ round about.

It's likely if your horses did

Get feedin’ near the track,

It's goin’ to cost at least a quid

Or more to get them back.

So, if you find they're off the place,

It's up to you to go

And flash a quid in Hogan's face —

He'll know the blokes that know.

But listen, if you're feelin’ dry,

Just see there's no one near,

And go and wink the other eye

And ask for ginger beer.

The blokes come in from near and far

To sample Hogan's pop;

They reckon once they breast the bar

They stay there till they drop.

On Sundays you can see them spread

Like flies around the tap.

It's like that song “The Livin’ Dead”

Up there at Hogan's Gap.

They like to make it pretty strong

Whenever there's a charnce;

So when a stranger comes along

They always holds a darnce.

There's recitations, songs, and fights —

A willin’ lot you'll meet.

There's one long bloke up there recites,

I tell you — he's a treat.

They're lively blokes all right up there,

It's never dull a day.

I'd go meself if I could spare

The time to get away.

The stranger turned his horses quick.

He did n't cross the bridge;

He did n't go along the crick

To strike the second ridge;

He did n't make the trip, because

He was n't feeling fit.

His business up at Hogan's was

To serve him with a writ.

He reckoned if he faced the pull

And climbed the rocky stair,

The next to come might find his hide

A land-mark on the mountain side,

Along with Hogan's brindled bull

And Hogan's old grey mare!