Back again, stable the horses, we finished just in time for tea, to which we did ample justice, and allowed ourselves to drift into a better frame of mind. After tea we at last settled down in our tents, and had just dealt the cards for a quiet game of poker, when, lo and behold! the orderly corporal looked in and said, quite pleasantly and off-hand, too, “There will be an inspection at 9 a.m. to-morrow; all saddlery and gear to be cleaned and placed outside tents at 8 a.m.” Well, we looked at one another—we were past words. Slowly the hands were thrown in; more in sorrow than in anger we cleared the card-blanket away, and the last scene saw six queerly silent figures listlessly polishing up bits and stirrup irons and greasing leather gear, with the mutely suffering look in each face akin to the look of the dog which has just received a kick in the ribs as the grand finale to a series of ill-usages. So ended a day of rest. In that tent, that night, men went to bunk murmuring, “If this is rest, send us back to work.” “TRALAS.” [Illustration] [Illustration] THE MUKHTAR’S GOATS Said Breezy Bob to Baldy Bill, “I’m giving you the oil; There’s whips of blinking eatables on this ’ere virgin soil. So what abart a forage hunt, me bold and noble chief? It’s time we had some mutton now instead of bully-beef.” Now, Baldy Bill was leader of an enterprising mess; His cobbers all would back him up in deeds of wickedness. So when Old Bob suggested that the gang should have a hunt For tasty chops and cutlets, they agreed upon the stunt. It happened that the n’th Light Horse were camping in a grove Of olives, figs and oranges, the hedges interwove With prickly pear grown very thick, and on the other side The grazing land by cattle, sheep and goats was occupied. An Arab Chief, or Mukhtar, was the owner of the flock, Named “Abdul el Mahomed,” a monopolist in stock. Now Baldy Bill and Breezy Bob were socialistic coves Who spouted on equality amongst the olive groves. And so in tones of ecstasy the plot was duly laid, And in the hedge of prickly pear a hole was quickly made. Then Bob and Baldy sallied forth—a ration bag of oats Was carried by the doughty pair to snare the Mukhtar’s goats. They crawled along in silence, seeking shade from tree to tree, Until they came upon the flock all feeding peacefully. The Mukhtar, squatting in the shade, engaged in silent thought, Was dreaming of the prosperous times the “awful war” had brought. Now, Baldy in the ration bag had made a little spout, And as they crawled along the grass the oats were trickling out; But as they neared the Mukhtar’s flock they rose upon their feet, Salaamed in true Australian style, the pastoralist to greet.