At last the Mayor of Wilcannia wired Bourke to know whether Dibbs or Parkes was dead, or democracy triumphant, or if not, wherefore the jubilation? Many telegrams of a like nature were received during that week, and the true explanation was sent in reply to each. But it wasn't believed, and to this day Bourke has the name of being the most drunken town on the river.
After dinner a humorous old hard case mysteriously took us aside and said he had a good yarn which we might be able to work up. We asked him how, but he winked a mighty cunning wink and said that he knew all about us. Then he asked us to listen. He said:
“There was an old feller down the Murrumbidgee named Kelly. He was a bit gone here. One day Kelly was out lookin' for some sheep, when he got lost. It was gettin' dark. Bymeby there came an old crow in a tree overhead.
“'Kel-ley, you're lo-o-st! Kel-ley, you're lo-o-st!' sez the crow.
“'I know I am,' sez Kelly.
“'Fol-ler me, fol-ler me,' sez the crow.
“'Right y'are,' sez Kelly, with a jerk of his arm. 'Go ahead.'
“So the crow went on, and Kelly follered, an' bymeby he found he was on the right track.
“Sometime after Kelly was washin' sheep (this was when we useter wash the sheep instead of the wool). Kelly was standin' on the platform with a crutch in his hand landin' the sheep, when there came a old crow in the tree overhead.
“'Kelly, I'm hun-gry! Kel-ley, I'm hun-ger-ry!' sez the crow.