How Gilbert Died by Andrew Barton Paterson

There's never a stone at the sleeper's head, / There's never a fence beside, / And the wandering stock on the grave may tread / Unnoticed and undenied, / But the smallest child on the Watershed / Can tell you how Gilbert died.

For he rode at dusk, with his comrade Dunn / To the hut at the Stockman's Ford, / In the waning light of the sinking sun / They peered with a fierce accord. / They were outlaws both -- and on each man's head / Was a thousand pounds reward.