The Sweep Winner

The Sweep Winner
By Nat Gould
London John Long, Limited 12, 13 & 14 Norris Street, Haymarket
All rights reserved

A man on horseback shaded his eyes with his hands as he looked along the glittering line of wire which runs for hundreds of miles between New South Wales and Queensland, and forms the great rabbit-proof fence, of which he was one of the keepers.
The blazing sunlight scorched all things living. Not a blade of grass was to be seen. The baked ground gasped with thirst. The slight breeze was like the breath from a huge furnace.
The wire was hot and dazzling. Millions of glimmering specks and hundreds of thousands of electric sparks danced on it in revelry. Merely to look at the shimmering wire blinded the eyes. The horse turned his head away. He was dried, shrivelled, mere skin and bone. Yet he was strong, enduring, capable of going long journeys; an heroic beast, fighting a terrific battle against tremendous odds; a faithful companion, a true friend—always reliable. There was a mute appeal in his puzzled pathetic eyes, which questioned why such things were; why he should be rewarded for his efforts with a parched throat, an empty stomach, and a hot skin.
The man dismounted, carelessly placing his hand on the wire, then snatching it back quickly, with a sharp oath.
Everything burns in this cursed country, he muttered.
The horse rubbed his nose against the man's arm.
Ping, old fellow, it's hotter than hell. Thirsty? of course; so am I. We'll have to thirst until we reach the next hole.