By Boyd Mould, from his Recollections of the Snowy River Stockmen
If a drought should hit the country – as I’ve seen it do before,
If the stock were slowly fading day by day,
If their hungry search proved fruitless and their future seemed unsure,
I’ll be looking to that range not far away.
If the waterholes were drying to a sunbaked bed of silt,
If that little creek had ceased to flow again,
If dr...
