JACK DEMPSEY'S GRAVE

I SHOT him where the Rio flows;I shot him when the moon arose;And where he lies the vulture knowsAlong the Tinto River.In schools of eastern culture paleMy cloistered flesh began to fail;They bore me where the deserts quailTo winds from out the sun.I looked upon the land and sky,Nor hoped to live nor feared to die;And from my hollow breast a sighFell o'er the burning waste.But strong I grew and tall I grew;I drank the region's balm and dew,—It made me lithe in limb and thew,—How swift I rode and ran!And oft it was my joy to rideOver the sand-blown ocean wideWhile, ever smiling at my side,Rode Marta of Milrone.p. 47A flood of horned heads before,The trampled thunder, smoke and roar,Of full four thousand hoofs, or more —A cloud, a sea, a storm!Oh, wonderful the desert gleamed,As, man and maid, we spoke and dreamedOf love in life, till white wastes seemedLike plains of paradise.Her eyes with Love's great magic shone."Be mine, O Marta of Milrone,—Your hand, your heart be all my own!"Her lips made sweet response."I love you, yes; for you are heWho from the East should come to me —And I have waited long!" Oh, weWere happy as the sun.There came upon a hopeless quest,With hell and hatred in his breast,A stranger, who his love confessedTo Marta long in vain.To me she spoke: "Chosen mate,His eyes are terrible with fate,—I fear his love, I fear his hate,—I fear some looming ill!"p. 48Then to the church we twain did ride,I kissed her as she rode beside.How fair — how passing fair my brideWith gold combs in her hair!Before the Spanish priest we stoodOf San Gregorio's brotherhood —A shot rang out! — and in her bloodMy dark-eyed darling lay.O God! I carried her besideThe Virgin's altar where she cried,—Smiling upon me ere she died,—"Adieu, my love, adieu!"I knelt before St. Mary's shrineAnd held my dead one's hand in mine,"Vengeance," I cried, "O Lord, be thine,But I thy minister!"I kissed her thrice and sealed my vow,—Her eyes, her sea-cold lips and brow,—"Farewell, my heart is dying now,O Marta of Milrone!"Then swift upon my steed I lept;My streaming eyes the desert swept;I saw the accursed where he creptAgainst the blood-red sun.p. 49I galloped straight upon his track,And never more my eyes looked back;The world was barred with red and black;My heart was flaming coal.Through the delirious twilight dimAnd the black night I followed him;Hills did we cross and rivers swim,—My fleet foot horse and I.The morn burst red, a gory wound,O'er iron hills and savage ground;And there was never another soundSave beat of horses' hoofs.Unto the murderer's ear they said,"Thou'rt of the dead! Thou'rt of the dead!"Still on his stallion black he spedWhile death spurred on behind.Fiery dust from the blasted plainBurnt like lava in every vein;But I rode on with steady reinThough the fierce sand-devils spun.Then to a sullen land we came,Whose earth was brass, whose sky was flame;I made it balm with her blessed nameIn the land of Mexico.p. 50With gasp and groan my poor horse fell, —Last of all things that loved me well!I turned my head — a smoking shellVeiled me his dying throes.But fast on vengeful foot was I;His steed fell, too, and was left to die;He fled where a river's channel dryMade way to the rolling stream.Red as my rage the huge sun sank.My foe bent low on the river's bankAnd deep of the kindly flood he drankWhile the giant stars broke forth.Then face to face and man to manI fought him where the river ran,While the trembling palm held up its fanAnd the emerald serpents lay.The mad, remorseless bullets brokeFrom tongues of flame in the sulphur smoke;The air was rent till the desert spokeTo the echoing hills afar.Hot from his lips the curses burst;He fell! The sands were slaked of thirst;A stream in the stream ran dark at first,And the stones grew red as hearts.p. 51I shot him where the Rio flows;I shot him when the moon arose;And where he lies the vulture knowsAlong the Tinto River.But where she lies to none is knownSave to my poor heart and a lonely stoneOn which I sit and weep aloneWhere the cactus stars are white.Where I shall lie, no man can say;The flowers all are fallen away;The desert is so drear and grey,O Marta of Milrone!Herman Scheffauer.p. 52JACK DEMPSEY'S GRAVEFAR out in the wilds of Oregon,On a lonely mountain side,Where Columbia's mighty watersRoll down to the Ocean's tide;Where the giant fir and cedarAre imaged in the wave,O'ergrown with ferns and lichens,I found poor Dempsey's grave.I found no marble monolith,No broken shaft nor stone,Recording sixty victoriesThis vanquished victor won;No rose, no shamrock could I find,No mortal here to tellWhere sleeps in this forsaken spotThe immortal Nonpareil.A winding, wooded canyon roadThat mortals seldom treadLeads up this lonely mountainTo this desert of the dead.And the western sun was sinkingIn Pacific's golden wave;And these solemn pines kept watchingOver poor Jack Dempsey's grave.p. 53That man of honor and of iron,That man of heart and steel,That man who far out-classed his classAnd made mankind to feelThat Dempsey's name and Dempsey's fameShould live in serried stone,Is now at rest far in the WestIn the wilds of Oregon.Forgotten by ten thousand throatsThat thundered his acclaim —Forgotten by his friends and foesThat cheered his very name;Oblivion wraps his faded form,But ages hence shall saveThe memory of that Irish ladThat fills poor Dempsey's grave.O Fame, why sleeps thy favored sonIn wilds, in woods, in weeds?And shall he ever thus sleep on —Interred his valiant deeds?'Tis strange New York should thus forgetIts "bravest of the brave,"And in the wilds of OregonUnmarked, leave Dempsey's grave.MacMahon.p. 54THE CATTLE ROUND-UPONCE more are we met for a season of pleasure,That shall smooth from our brows every furrow of care,For the sake of old times shall we each tread a measureAnd drink to the lees in the eyes of the fair.Once more let the hand-clasp of years past be given;Let us once more be boys and forget we are men;Let friendships the chances of fortune have rivenBe renewed and the smiling past come back again.The past, when the prairie was big and the cattleWere as "scary" as ever the antelope grew —When to carry a gun, to make our spurs rattle,And to ride a blue streak was the most that we knew;The past when we headed each year for Dodge CityAnd punched up the drags on the old Chisholm Trail;When the world was all bright and the girls were all pretty,And a feller could "mav'rick" and stay out of jail.Then here's to the eyes that like diamonds are gleaming,And make the lamps blush that their duties are o'er;And here's to the lips where young love lies a-dreaming;p. 55And here's to the feet light as air on the floor;And here's to the memories — fun's sweetest sequel;And here's to the night we shall ever recall;And here's to the time — time shall know not its equalWhen we danced the day in at the Cattlemen's Ball.H. D. C. McLaclachlan.p. 56p. 57PART IITHE COWBOY OFF GUARDp. 58I am the plain, barren since time began.Yet do I dream of motherhood, when manOne day at last shall look upon my charmsAnd give me towns, like children, for my arms.p. 59A COWBOY'S WORRYING LOVEI UST to read in the novel books 'bout fellers that got the prodFrom an arrer shot from his hidin' place by the hand o' the Cupid god,An' I'd laugh at the cussed chumps they was a-wastin' their breath in sighsAn' goin' around with a locoed look a-campin' inside their eyes.I've read o' the gals that broke 'em up a-sailin' in airy flightOn angel pinions above their beds as they dreampt o' the same at night,An' a sort o' disgusted frown'd bunch the wrinkles acrost my brow,An' I'd call 'em a lot o' sissy boys — but I'm seein' it different now.I got the jab in my rough ol' heart, an' I got it a-plenty, too,A center shot from a pair o' eyes of the winninest sort o' blue,An' I ride the ranges a-sighin' sighs, as cranky as a locoed steer —A durned heap worse than the novel blokes that the narrative gals'd queer.p. 60Just hain't no energy left no mo', go 'round like a orphant calfA-thinkin' about that sagehen's eyes that give me the Cupid gaff,An' I'm all skeered up when I hit the thought some other rider mightCut in ahead on a faster hoss an' rope her afore my sight.There ain't a heifer that ever run in the feminine beauty herdCould switch a tail on the whole durned range 'long-side o' that little bird;A figger plump as a prairy dog's that's feedin' on new spring grass,An' as purty a face as was ever flashed in front of a lookin' glass.She's got a smile that 'd raise the steam in the icyist sort o' heart,A couple o' soul inspirin' eyes, an' the nose that keeps 'em apartIs the cutest thing in the sassy line that ever occurred to actAs a ornament stuck on a purty face, an' that's a dead open fact.I'm a-goin' to brace her by an' by to see if there's any hope,To see if she's liable to shy when I'm ready to pitch the rope;p. 61To see if she's goin' to make a stand, or fly like a skeered up doveWhen I make a pass with the brandin' iron that's het in the fire o' love.I'll open the little home corral an' give her the level hunchTo make a run fur the open gate when I cut her out o' the bunch,Fur there ain't no sense in a-jammin' round with a heart that's as soft as doughAn' a-throwin' the breath o' life away bunched up into sighs. Heigh-ho!James Barton Adams.p. 62THE COWBOY AND THE MAIDFUNNY how it come about!Me and Texas Tom was outTakin' of a moonlight walk,Fillin' in the time with talk.Every star up in the skySeemed to wink the other eyeAt each other, 'sif theySmelt a mouse around our way!Me and Tom had never grewSpoony like some couples do;Never billed and cooed and sighed;He was bashful like and I'dNotions of my own that itWasn't policy to gitToo abundant till I'd gotOf my feller good and caught.As we walked along that nightHe got talkin' of the brightProspects that he had, and ISomehow felt, I dunno why,That a-fore we cake-walked backTo the ranch he'd make a crackp. 63Fer my hand, and I was plumAchin' fer the shock to come.By and by he says, "I've gotFifty head o' cows, and notOne of 'em but, on the dead,Is a crackin' thoroughbred.Got a daisy claim staked out,And I'm thinkin' it's aboutTime fer me to make a shyAt a home." "O Tom!" says I."Bin a-lookin' round," says he,"Quite a little while to see'F I could git a purty faceFer to ornament the place.Plenty of 'em in the land;But the one 'at wears my brandMust be sproutin' wings to fly!""You deserve her, Tom," says I."Only one so fur," says he,"Fills the bill, and mebbe sheMight shy off and bust my hopeIf I should pitch the poppin' rope.Mebbe she'd git hot an' sayThat it was a silly playAskin' her to make a tie.""She would be a fool," says I.p. 64'Tain't nobody's business whatHappened then, but I jist thoughtI could see the moon-man smileCutely down upon us, whileMe and him was walkin' back,—Stoppin' now and then to smackLips rejoicin' that at lastThe dread crisis had been past.Anonymous.p. 65A COWBOY'S LOVE SONGOH, the last steer has been brandedAnd the last beef has been shipped,And I'm free to roam the prairiesThat the round-up crew has stripped;I'm free to think of Susie,—Fairer than the stars above,—She's the waitress at the stationAnd she is my turtle dove.Biscuit-shootin' Susie,—She's got us roped and tied;Sober men or woozyLook on her with pride.Susie's strong and able,And not a one gits rashWhen she waits on the tableAnd superintends the hash.Oh, I sometimes think I'm locoedAn' jes fit fer herdin' sheep,'Cause I only think of SusieWhen I'm wakin' or I'm sleep.I'm wearin' Cupid's hobbles,An' I'm tied to Love's stake-pin,And when my heart was brandedThe irons sunk deep in.p. 66Chorus: —I take my saddle, Sundays,—The one with inlaid flaps,—And don my new sombreroAnd my white angora chaps;Then I take a bronc for SusieAnd she leaves her pots and pansAnd we figure out our futureAnd talk o'er our homestead plans.Chorus: —Anonymous.p. 67A BORDER AFFAIRSPANISH is the lovin' tongue,Soft as music, light as spray;'Twas a girl I learnt it fromLivin' down Sonora way.I don't look much like a lover,Yet I say her love-words overOften, when I'm all alone —"Mi amor, mi corazón."Nights when she knew where I'd rideShe would listen for my spurs,Throw the big door open wide,Raise them laughin' eyes of hers,And my heart would nigh stop beatin'When I'd hear her tender greetin'Whispered soft for me alone —"Mi amor! mi corazón!"Moonlight in the patio,Old Señora noddin' near,Me and Juana talkin' lowSo the "madre" couldn't hear —How those hours would go a-flyin',And too soon I'd hear her sighin',In her little sorry-tone —"Adiós, mi corazón."p. 68But one time I had to flyFor a foolish gamblin' fight,And we said a swiftgood-byeOn that black, unlucky night.When I'd loosed her arms from clingin',With her words the hoofs kept ringin',As I galloped north alone —"Adiós, mi corazón."Never seen her since that night;I kaint cross the Line, you know.She was Mex. and I was white;Like as not it's better so.Yet I've always sort of missed herSince that last, wild night I kissed her,Left her heart and lost my own —"Adiós, mi corazón."Charles B. Clark, Jr.p. 69SNAGTOOTH SALI WAS young and happy and my heart was light and gay,Singin', always singin' through the sunny summer day;Happy as a lizard in the wavin' chaparral,Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.Sal, Sal,My heart is broke today —Broke in two forever when they laid you in the clay;I would give creation to be walkin' with my gal —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.Bury me tomorrow where the lily blossoms springUnderneath the willows where the little robins sing.You will yearn to see me — but ah, nevermore you shall —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.Refrain: —Plant a little stone above the little mound of sod;Write: "Here lies a lovin' an' a busted heart, begod!p. 70Nevermore you'll see him walkin' proudly with his gal —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal."Sal, Sal,My heart is broke today —Broke in two forever when they laid you in the clay;I would give creation to be walkin' with my gal —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.Lowell O. Reese,In the Saturday Evening Post.p. 71LOVE LYRICS OF A COWBOYIT hain't no use fer me to sayThere's others with a style an' wayThat beats hers to a fare-you-well,Fer, on the square, I'm here to tellI jes can't even start to seeBut what she's perfect as kin be.Fer any fault I finds excuse —I'll tell you, pard, it hain't no useFer me to try to raise a hand,When on my heart she's run her brand.The bunk-house ain't the same to me;The bunch jes makes me weary — Gee!I never knew they was so coarse —I warps my face to try to forceA smile at each old gag they spring;Fer I'd heap ruther hear her sing"Sweet Adeline," or softly playThe "Dream o' Heaven" that-a-way.Besides this place, most anywhereI'd ruther be — so she was there.She called me "dear," an' do you know,My heart jes skipped a beat, an' tho'I'm hard to feaze, I'm free to yipp. 72My reason nearly lost its grip.She called me "dear," jes sweet an' slow,An' lookin' down an' speakin' low;An' if I had ten lives to live,With everything the world could give,I'd shake 'em all without one fearIf 'fore I'd go she'd call me "dear."You wonders why I slicks up soOn Sundays, when I gits to goTo see her — well, I'm free to sayShe's like religion that-a-way.Jes sort o' like some holy thing,As clean as young grass in the spring;An' so before I rides to herI looks my best from hat to spur —But even then I hain't no rightTo think I look good in her sight.If she should pass me up — say, boy,You jes put hobbles on your joy;First thing you know, you gits so gayYour luck stampedes and gits away.An' don't you even start a guessThat you've a cinch on happiness;Fer few e'er reach the Promised LandIf they starts headed by a band.Ride slow an' quiet, humble, too,Or Fate will slap its brand on you.p. 73The old range sleeps, there hain't a stir.Less it's a night-hawk's sudden whir,Or cottonwoods a-whisperin whileThe red moon smiles a lovin' smile.An' there I set an' hold her handSo glad I jes can't understandThe reason of it all, or seeWhy all the world looks good to me;Or why I sees in it heap moreOf beauty than I seen before.Fool talk, perhaps, but it jes seemsWe're ridin' through a range o' dreams;Where medder larks the year round sing,An' it's jes one eternal spring.An' time — why time is gone — by gee!There's no such thing as time to meUntil she says, "Here, boy, you knowYou simply jes have got to go;It's nearly twelve." I rides away,"Dog-gone a clock!" is what I say.R. V. Carr.p. 74THE BULL FIGHTTHE couriers from Chihuahua goTo distant Cusi and Santavo,Announce the feast of all the year the crown —Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.The rancherias on the mountain side,The haciendas of the Llano wide,Are quickened by the matador's renown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.The women that on ambling burros ride,The men that trudge behind or close besideMake groups of dazzling red and white and brown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.Or else the lumbering carts are brought in play,That jolt and scream and groan along the way,But to their happy tenants cause no frown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.The Plaza De Los Toros offers seats,Some deep in shade, on some the fierce sun beats;p. 75These for the don, those for the rustic clown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.Pepita sits, so young and sweet and fresh,The sun shines on her hair's dusky mesh.Her day of days, how soon it will be flown!Se corren los toros!And Juan's brought his Pepita into town.The bull is harried till the governor's wordBids the Diestro give the agile sword;Then shower the bravos and the roses down!'Sta muerto el toro!And Juan takes his Pepita back from the town.L. Worthington Green.p. 76THE COWBOY'S VALENTINESAY, Moll, now don't you 'llow to quitA-playin' maverick?Sech stock should be corralled a bitAn' hev a mark 't 'll stick.Old Val's a-roundin'-up todayUpon the Sweetheart Range,'N me a-helpin', so to say,Though this yere herd is strangeTo me —'n yit, ef I c'd ropeJesoneto wear my brandI'd strike f'r Home Ranch on a lope,The happiest in the land.Yo' savvy who I'm runnin' so,Yo' savvy who I be;Now, can't yo' take that brand — yo' know,—TheHeartM-I-N-E.C. F. Lummis.p. 77A COWBOY'S HOPELESS LOVEI'VE heard that story ofttimes about that little chapA-cryin' for the shiney moon to fall into his lap,An' jes a-raisin' merry hell because he couldn't gitThe same to swing down low so's he could nab a-holt of it,An' I'm a-feelin' that-a-way, locoed I reckon, wussThan that same kid, though maybe not a-makin' sich a fuss,—A-goin' round with achin' eyes a-hankerin' fer a peachThat's hangin' on the beauty tree, too high fer me to reach.I'm jes a rider of the range, plumb rough an' on-refined,An' wild an' keerless in my ways, like others of my kind;A reckless cuss in leather chaps, an' tanned an' blackened soYou'd think I wuz a Greaser from the plains of Mexico.I never learnt to say a prayer, an' guess my style o' talk,If fired off in a Sunday School would give 'em all a shock;p. 78An' yet I got a-mopin' round as crazy as a loonAn' actin' like the story kid that bellered fer the moon.I wish to God she'd never come with them bright laughin' eyes,—Had never flashed that smile that seems a sunburst from the skies,—Had stayed there in her city home instead o' comin' hereTo visit at the ranch an' knock my heart plumb out o' gear.I wish to God she'd talk to me in a way to fit the case,—In words t'd have a tendency to hold me in my place,—Instead o' bein' sociable an' actin' like she thoughtUs cowboys good as city gents in clothes that's tailor bought.If I would hint to her o' love, she'd hit that love a jarAn' laugh at sich a tough as me a-tryin' to rope a star;She'd give them fluffy skirts a flirt, an' skate out o' my sight,An' leave me paralyzed,—an' it'd serve me cussed right.I wish she'd pack her pile o' trunks an' hit the city track,p. 79An' maybe I'd recover from this violent attack;An' in the future know enough to watch my feedin' groundAn' shun the loco weed o' love when there's an angel round.James Barton Adams.p. 80THE CHASEHERE'S a moccasin track in the drifts,It's no more than the length of my hand;An' her instep,— just see how it lifts!If that ain't the best in the land!For the maid ran as free as the windAnd her foot was as light as the snow.Why, as sure as I follow, I'll findMe a kiss where her red blushes grow.Here's two small little feet and a skirt;Here's a soft little heart all aglow.See me trail down the dear little flirtBy the sign that she left in the snow!Did she run? 'Twas a sign to make haste.An' why bless her! I'm sure she won't mind.If she's got any kisses to waste,Why, she knew that a man was behind.Did she run 'cause she's only afraid?No! For sure 'twas to set me the pace!An' I'll follow in love with a maidWhen I ain't had a sight of her face.There she is! An' I knew she was near.Will she pay me a kiss to be free?Will she hate? Will she love? Will she fear?Why, the darling! She's waiting to see!Pocock in "Curley."p. 81RIDING SONGLET us ride together,—Blowing mane and hair,Careless of the weather,Miles ahead of care,Ring of hoof and snaffle,Swing of waist and hip,Trotting down the twisted roadWith the world let slip.Let us laugh together,—Merry as of oldTo the creak of leatherAnd the morning cold.Break into a canter;Shout to bank and tree;Rocking down the waking trail,Steady hand and knee.Take the life of cities,—Here's the life for me.'Twere a thousand pitiesNot to gallop free.So we'll ride together,Comrade, you and I,Careless of the weather,Letting care go by.Anonymous.p. 82OUR LITTLE COWGIRLTHAR she goes a-lopin', stranger,Khaki-gowned, with flyin' hair,Talk about your classy ridin',—Wal, you're gettin' it right thar.Jest a kid, but lemme tell youWhen she warms a saddle seatOn that outlaw bronc a-straddleShe is one that can't be beat!Every buckaroo that sees herTearin' cross the range astrideHas some mighty jealous feelin'sWishin' he knowed how to ride.Why, she'll take a deep barrancaSix-foot wide and never peep;That 'ere cayuse she's a-forkin'Sure's somethin' on the leap.Ride? Why, she can cut a critterFrom the herd as neat as pie,Read a brand out on the rangesJust as well as you or I.Ain't much yet with the riata,But you give her a few yearsAnd no puncher with the outfitWill beat her a-ropin' steers.p. 83Proud o' her? Say, lemme tell you,She's the queen of all the range;Got a grip upon our heart-stringsMighty strong, but that ain't strange;'Cause she loves the lowin' cattle,Loves the hills and open air,Dusty trails on blossomed canonsGod has strung around out here.Hoof-beats poundin' down the mesa,Chicken-time in lively tune,Jest below the trail to Keeber's,—Wait, you'll see her pretty soon.You kin bet I know that ridin',—Now she's toppin' yonder swell.Thar she is; that's her a-smilin'At the bars of the corral.Anonymous.p. 84I WANT MY TIME

I SHOT him where the Rio flows;I shot him when the moon arose;And where he lies the vulture knowsAlong the Tinto River.

In schools of eastern culture paleMy cloistered flesh began to fail;They bore me where the deserts quailTo winds from out the sun.

I looked upon the land and sky,Nor hoped to live nor feared to die;And from my hollow breast a sighFell o'er the burning waste.

But strong I grew and tall I grew;I drank the region's balm and dew,—It made me lithe in limb and thew,—How swift I rode and ran!

And oft it was my joy to rideOver the sand-blown ocean wideWhile, ever smiling at my side,Rode Marta of Milrone.p. 47

A flood of horned heads before,The trampled thunder, smoke and roar,Of full four thousand hoofs, or more —A cloud, a sea, a storm!

Oh, wonderful the desert gleamed,As, man and maid, we spoke and dreamedOf love in life, till white wastes seemedLike plains of paradise.

Her eyes with Love's great magic shone."Be mine, O Marta of Milrone,—Your hand, your heart be all my own!"Her lips made sweet response.

"I love you, yes; for you are heWho from the East should come to me —And I have waited long!" Oh, weWere happy as the sun.

There came upon a hopeless quest,With hell and hatred in his breast,A stranger, who his love confessedTo Marta long in vain.

To me she spoke: "Chosen mate,His eyes are terrible with fate,—I fear his love, I fear his hate,—I fear some looming ill!"p. 48

Then to the church we twain did ride,I kissed her as she rode beside.How fair — how passing fair my brideWith gold combs in her hair!

Before the Spanish priest we stoodOf San Gregorio's brotherhood —A shot rang out! — and in her bloodMy dark-eyed darling lay.

O God! I carried her besideThe Virgin's altar where she cried,—Smiling upon me ere she died,—"Adieu, my love, adieu!"

I knelt before St. Mary's shrineAnd held my dead one's hand in mine,"Vengeance," I cried, "O Lord, be thine,But I thy minister!"

I kissed her thrice and sealed my vow,—Her eyes, her sea-cold lips and brow,—"Farewell, my heart is dying now,O Marta of Milrone!"

Then swift upon my steed I lept;My streaming eyes the desert swept;I saw the accursed where he creptAgainst the blood-red sun.p. 49

I galloped straight upon his track,And never more my eyes looked back;The world was barred with red and black;My heart was flaming coal.

Through the delirious twilight dimAnd the black night I followed him;Hills did we cross and rivers swim,—My fleet foot horse and I.

The morn burst red, a gory wound,O'er iron hills and savage ground;And there was never another soundSave beat of horses' hoofs.

Unto the murderer's ear they said,"Thou'rt of the dead! Thou'rt of the dead!"Still on his stallion black he spedWhile death spurred on behind.

Fiery dust from the blasted plainBurnt like lava in every vein;But I rode on with steady reinThough the fierce sand-devils spun.

Then to a sullen land we came,Whose earth was brass, whose sky was flame;I made it balm with her blessed nameIn the land of Mexico.p. 50

With gasp and groan my poor horse fell, —Last of all things that loved me well!I turned my head — a smoking shellVeiled me his dying throes.

But fast on vengeful foot was I;His steed fell, too, and was left to die;He fled where a river's channel dryMade way to the rolling stream.

Red as my rage the huge sun sank.My foe bent low on the river's bankAnd deep of the kindly flood he drankWhile the giant stars broke forth.

Then face to face and man to manI fought him where the river ran,While the trembling palm held up its fanAnd the emerald serpents lay.

The mad, remorseless bullets brokeFrom tongues of flame in the sulphur smoke;The air was rent till the desert spokeTo the echoing hills afar.

Hot from his lips the curses burst;He fell! The sands were slaked of thirst;A stream in the stream ran dark at first,And the stones grew red as hearts.p. 51

I shot him where the Rio flows;I shot him when the moon arose;And where he lies the vulture knowsAlong the Tinto River.

But where she lies to none is knownSave to my poor heart and a lonely stoneOn which I sit and weep aloneWhere the cactus stars are white.

Where I shall lie, no man can say;The flowers all are fallen away;The desert is so drear and grey,O Marta of Milrone!Herman Scheffauer.

p. 52

FAR out in the wilds of Oregon,On a lonely mountain side,Where Columbia's mighty watersRoll down to the Ocean's tide;Where the giant fir and cedarAre imaged in the wave,O'ergrown with ferns and lichens,I found poor Dempsey's grave.I found no marble monolith,No broken shaft nor stone,Recording sixty victoriesThis vanquished victor won;No rose, no shamrock could I find,No mortal here to tellWhere sleeps in this forsaken spotThe immortal Nonpareil.A winding, wooded canyon roadThat mortals seldom treadLeads up this lonely mountainTo this desert of the dead.And the western sun was sinkingIn Pacific's golden wave;And these solemn pines kept watchingOver poor Jack Dempsey's grave.p. 53That man of honor and of iron,That man of heart and steel,That man who far out-classed his classAnd made mankind to feelThat Dempsey's name and Dempsey's fameShould live in serried stone,Is now at rest far in the WestIn the wilds of Oregon.Forgotten by ten thousand throatsThat thundered his acclaim —Forgotten by his friends and foesThat cheered his very name;Oblivion wraps his faded form,But ages hence shall saveThe memory of that Irish ladThat fills poor Dempsey's grave.O Fame, why sleeps thy favored sonIn wilds, in woods, in weeds?And shall he ever thus sleep on —Interred his valiant deeds?'Tis strange New York should thus forgetIts "bravest of the brave,"And in the wilds of OregonUnmarked, leave Dempsey's grave.MacMahon.

I found no marble monolith,No broken shaft nor stone,Recording sixty victoriesThis vanquished victor won;No rose, no shamrock could I find,No mortal here to tellWhere sleeps in this forsaken spotThe immortal Nonpareil.

A winding, wooded canyon roadThat mortals seldom treadLeads up this lonely mountainTo this desert of the dead.And the western sun was sinkingIn Pacific's golden wave;And these solemn pines kept watchingOver poor Jack Dempsey's grave.p. 53

That man of honor and of iron,That man of heart and steel,That man who far out-classed his classAnd made mankind to feelThat Dempsey's name and Dempsey's fameShould live in serried stone,Is now at rest far in the WestIn the wilds of Oregon.

Forgotten by ten thousand throatsThat thundered his acclaim —Forgotten by his friends and foesThat cheered his very name;Oblivion wraps his faded form,But ages hence shall saveThe memory of that Irish ladThat fills poor Dempsey's grave.

O Fame, why sleeps thy favored sonIn wilds, in woods, in weeds?And shall he ever thus sleep on —Interred his valiant deeds?'Tis strange New York should thus forgetIts "bravest of the brave,"And in the wilds of OregonUnmarked, leave Dempsey's grave.MacMahon.

p. 54

ONCE more are we met for a season of pleasure,That shall smooth from our brows every furrow of care,For the sake of old times shall we each tread a measureAnd drink to the lees in the eyes of the fair.Once more let the hand-clasp of years past be given;Let us once more be boys and forget we are men;Let friendships the chances of fortune have rivenBe renewed and the smiling past come back again.The past, when the prairie was big and the cattleWere as "scary" as ever the antelope grew —When to carry a gun, to make our spurs rattle,And to ride a blue streak was the most that we knew;The past when we headed each year for Dodge CityAnd punched up the drags on the old Chisholm Trail;When the world was all bright and the girls were all pretty,And a feller could "mav'rick" and stay out of jail.Then here's to the eyes that like diamonds are gleaming,And make the lamps blush that their duties are o'er;And here's to the lips where young love lies a-dreaming;p. 55And here's to the feet light as air on the floor;And here's to the memories — fun's sweetest sequel;And here's to the night we shall ever recall;And here's to the time — time shall know not its equalWhen we danced the day in at the Cattlemen's Ball.H. D. C. McLaclachlan.

Then here's to the eyes that like diamonds are gleaming,And make the lamps blush that their duties are o'er;And here's to the lips where young love lies a-dreaming;p. 55And here's to the feet light as air on the floor;And here's to the memories — fun's sweetest sequel;And here's to the night we shall ever recall;And here's to the time — time shall know not its equalWhen we danced the day in at the Cattlemen's Ball.H. D. C. McLaclachlan.

p. 56

p. 57

p. 58

I am the plain, barren since time began.Yet do I dream of motherhood, when manOne day at last shall look upon my charmsAnd give me towns, like children, for my arms.

p. 59

I UST to read in the novel books 'bout fellers that got the prodFrom an arrer shot from his hidin' place by the hand o' the Cupid god,An' I'd laugh at the cussed chumps they was a-wastin' their breath in sighsAn' goin' around with a locoed look a-campin' inside their eyes.I've read o' the gals that broke 'em up a-sailin' in airy flightOn angel pinions above their beds as they dreampt o' the same at night,An' a sort o' disgusted frown'd bunch the wrinkles acrost my brow,An' I'd call 'em a lot o' sissy boys — but I'm seein' it different now.I got the jab in my rough ol' heart, an' I got it a-plenty, too,A center shot from a pair o' eyes of the winninest sort o' blue,An' I ride the ranges a-sighin' sighs, as cranky as a locoed steer —A durned heap worse than the novel blokes that the narrative gals'd queer.p. 60Just hain't no energy left no mo', go 'round like a orphant calfA-thinkin' about that sagehen's eyes that give me the Cupid gaff,An' I'm all skeered up when I hit the thought some other rider mightCut in ahead on a faster hoss an' rope her afore my sight.There ain't a heifer that ever run in the feminine beauty herdCould switch a tail on the whole durned range 'long-side o' that little bird;A figger plump as a prairy dog's that's feedin' on new spring grass,An' as purty a face as was ever flashed in front of a lookin' glass.She's got a smile that 'd raise the steam in the icyist sort o' heart,A couple o' soul inspirin' eyes, an' the nose that keeps 'em apartIs the cutest thing in the sassy line that ever occurred to actAs a ornament stuck on a purty face, an' that's a dead open fact.I'm a-goin' to brace her by an' by to see if there's any hope,To see if she's liable to shy when I'm ready to pitch the rope;p. 61To see if she's goin' to make a stand, or fly like a skeered up doveWhen I make a pass with the brandin' iron that's het in the fire o' love.I'll open the little home corral an' give her the level hunchTo make a run fur the open gate when I cut her out o' the bunch,Fur there ain't no sense in a-jammin' round with a heart that's as soft as doughAn' a-throwin' the breath o' life away bunched up into sighs. Heigh-ho!James Barton Adams.

I got the jab in my rough ol' heart, an' I got it a-plenty, too,A center shot from a pair o' eyes of the winninest sort o' blue,An' I ride the ranges a-sighin' sighs, as cranky as a locoed steer —A durned heap worse than the novel blokes that the narrative gals'd queer.p. 60Just hain't no energy left no mo', go 'round like a orphant calfA-thinkin' about that sagehen's eyes that give me the Cupid gaff,An' I'm all skeered up when I hit the thought some other rider mightCut in ahead on a faster hoss an' rope her afore my sight.

There ain't a heifer that ever run in the feminine beauty herdCould switch a tail on the whole durned range 'long-side o' that little bird;A figger plump as a prairy dog's that's feedin' on new spring grass,An' as purty a face as was ever flashed in front of a lookin' glass.She's got a smile that 'd raise the steam in the icyist sort o' heart,A couple o' soul inspirin' eyes, an' the nose that keeps 'em apartIs the cutest thing in the sassy line that ever occurred to actAs a ornament stuck on a purty face, an' that's a dead open fact.

I'm a-goin' to brace her by an' by to see if there's any hope,To see if she's liable to shy when I'm ready to pitch the rope;p. 61To see if she's goin' to make a stand, or fly like a skeered up doveWhen I make a pass with the brandin' iron that's het in the fire o' love.I'll open the little home corral an' give her the level hunchTo make a run fur the open gate when I cut her out o' the bunch,Fur there ain't no sense in a-jammin' round with a heart that's as soft as doughAn' a-throwin' the breath o' life away bunched up into sighs. Heigh-ho!James Barton Adams.

p. 62

FUNNY how it come about!Me and Texas Tom was outTakin' of a moonlight walk,Fillin' in the time with talk.Every star up in the skySeemed to wink the other eyeAt each other, 'sif theySmelt a mouse around our way!Me and Tom had never grewSpoony like some couples do;Never billed and cooed and sighed;He was bashful like and I'dNotions of my own that itWasn't policy to gitToo abundant till I'd gotOf my feller good and caught.As we walked along that nightHe got talkin' of the brightProspects that he had, and ISomehow felt, I dunno why,That a-fore we cake-walked backTo the ranch he'd make a crackp. 63Fer my hand, and I was plumAchin' fer the shock to come.By and by he says, "I've gotFifty head o' cows, and notOne of 'em but, on the dead,Is a crackin' thoroughbred.Got a daisy claim staked out,And I'm thinkin' it's aboutTime fer me to make a shyAt a home." "O Tom!" says I."Bin a-lookin' round," says he,"Quite a little while to see'F I could git a purty faceFer to ornament the place.Plenty of 'em in the land;But the one 'at wears my brandMust be sproutin' wings to fly!""You deserve her, Tom," says I."Only one so fur," says he,"Fills the bill, and mebbe sheMight shy off and bust my hopeIf I should pitch the poppin' rope.Mebbe she'd git hot an' sayThat it was a silly playAskin' her to make a tie.""She would be a fool," says I.p. 64'Tain't nobody's business whatHappened then, but I jist thoughtI could see the moon-man smileCutely down upon us, whileMe and him was walkin' back,—Stoppin' now and then to smackLips rejoicin' that at lastThe dread crisis had been past.Anonymous.

Me and Tom had never grewSpoony like some couples do;Never billed and cooed and sighed;He was bashful like and I'dNotions of my own that itWasn't policy to gitToo abundant till I'd gotOf my feller good and caught.

As we walked along that nightHe got talkin' of the brightProspects that he had, and ISomehow felt, I dunno why,That a-fore we cake-walked backTo the ranch he'd make a crackp. 63Fer my hand, and I was plumAchin' fer the shock to come.

By and by he says, "I've gotFifty head o' cows, and notOne of 'em but, on the dead,Is a crackin' thoroughbred.Got a daisy claim staked out,And I'm thinkin' it's aboutTime fer me to make a shyAt a home." "O Tom!" says I.

"Bin a-lookin' round," says he,"Quite a little while to see'F I could git a purty faceFer to ornament the place.Plenty of 'em in the land;But the one 'at wears my brandMust be sproutin' wings to fly!""You deserve her, Tom," says I.

"Only one so fur," says he,"Fills the bill, and mebbe sheMight shy off and bust my hopeIf I should pitch the poppin' rope.Mebbe she'd git hot an' sayThat it was a silly playAskin' her to make a tie.""She would be a fool," says I.p. 64

'Tain't nobody's business whatHappened then, but I jist thoughtI could see the moon-man smileCutely down upon us, whileMe and him was walkin' back,—Stoppin' now and then to smackLips rejoicin' that at lastThe dread crisis had been past.Anonymous.

p. 65

OH, the last steer has been brandedAnd the last beef has been shipped,And I'm free to roam the prairiesThat the round-up crew has stripped;I'm free to think of Susie,—Fairer than the stars above,—She's the waitress at the stationAnd she is my turtle dove.Biscuit-shootin' Susie,—She's got us roped and tied;Sober men or woozyLook on her with pride.Susie's strong and able,And not a one gits rashWhen she waits on the tableAnd superintends the hash.Oh, I sometimes think I'm locoedAn' jes fit fer herdin' sheep,'Cause I only think of SusieWhen I'm wakin' or I'm sleep.I'm wearin' Cupid's hobbles,An' I'm tied to Love's stake-pin,And when my heart was brandedThe irons sunk deep in.p. 66Chorus: —I take my saddle, Sundays,—The one with inlaid flaps,—And don my new sombreroAnd my white angora chaps;Then I take a bronc for SusieAnd she leaves her pots and pansAnd we figure out our futureAnd talk o'er our homestead plans.Chorus: —Anonymous.

Biscuit-shootin' Susie,—She's got us roped and tied;Sober men or woozyLook on her with pride.Susie's strong and able,And not a one gits rashWhen she waits on the tableAnd superintends the hash.

Oh, I sometimes think I'm locoedAn' jes fit fer herdin' sheep,'Cause I only think of SusieWhen I'm wakin' or I'm sleep.I'm wearin' Cupid's hobbles,An' I'm tied to Love's stake-pin,And when my heart was brandedThe irons sunk deep in.p. 66

Chorus: —

I take my saddle, Sundays,—The one with inlaid flaps,—And don my new sombreroAnd my white angora chaps;Then I take a bronc for SusieAnd she leaves her pots and pansAnd we figure out our futureAnd talk o'er our homestead plans.

Chorus: —Anonymous.

p. 67

SPANISH is the lovin' tongue,Soft as music, light as spray;'Twas a girl I learnt it fromLivin' down Sonora way.I don't look much like a lover,Yet I say her love-words overOften, when I'm all alone —"Mi amor, mi corazón."Nights when she knew where I'd rideShe would listen for my spurs,Throw the big door open wide,Raise them laughin' eyes of hers,And my heart would nigh stop beatin'When I'd hear her tender greetin'Whispered soft for me alone —"Mi amor! mi corazón!"Moonlight in the patio,Old Señora noddin' near,Me and Juana talkin' lowSo the "madre" couldn't hear —How those hours would go a-flyin',And too soon I'd hear her sighin',In her little sorry-tone —"Adiós, mi corazón."p. 68But one time I had to flyFor a foolish gamblin' fight,And we said a swiftgood-byeOn that black, unlucky night.When I'd loosed her arms from clingin',With her words the hoofs kept ringin',As I galloped north alone —"Adiós, mi corazón."Never seen her since that night;I kaint cross the Line, you know.She was Mex. and I was white;Like as not it's better so.Yet I've always sort of missed herSince that last, wild night I kissed her,Left her heart and lost my own —"Adiós, mi corazón."Charles B. Clark, Jr.

Nights when she knew where I'd rideShe would listen for my spurs,Throw the big door open wide,Raise them laughin' eyes of hers,And my heart would nigh stop beatin'When I'd hear her tender greetin'Whispered soft for me alone —"Mi amor! mi corazón!"

Moonlight in the patio,Old Señora noddin' near,Me and Juana talkin' lowSo the "madre" couldn't hear —How those hours would go a-flyin',And too soon I'd hear her sighin',In her little sorry-tone —"Adiós, mi corazón."p. 68

But one time I had to flyFor a foolish gamblin' fight,And we said a swiftgood-byeOn that black, unlucky night.When I'd loosed her arms from clingin',With her words the hoofs kept ringin',As I galloped north alone —"Adiós, mi corazón."

Never seen her since that night;I kaint cross the Line, you know.She was Mex. and I was white;Like as not it's better so.Yet I've always sort of missed herSince that last, wild night I kissed her,Left her heart and lost my own —"Adiós, mi corazón."Charles B. Clark, Jr.

p. 69

I WAS young and happy and my heart was light and gay,Singin', always singin' through the sunny summer day;Happy as a lizard in the wavin' chaparral,Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.Sal, Sal,My heart is broke today —Broke in two forever when they laid you in the clay;I would give creation to be walkin' with my gal —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.Bury me tomorrow where the lily blossoms springUnderneath the willows where the little robins sing.You will yearn to see me — but ah, nevermore you shall —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.Refrain: —Plant a little stone above the little mound of sod;Write: "Here lies a lovin' an' a busted heart, begod!p. 70Nevermore you'll see him walkin' proudly with his gal —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal."Sal, Sal,My heart is broke today —Broke in two forever when they laid you in the clay;I would give creation to be walkin' with my gal —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.Lowell O. Reese,In the Saturday Evening Post.

I WAS young and happy and my heart was light and gay,Singin', always singin' through the sunny summer day;Happy as a lizard in the wavin' chaparral,Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.

Sal, Sal,My heart is broke today —Broke in two forever when they laid you in the clay;I would give creation to be walkin' with my gal —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.

Bury me tomorrow where the lily blossoms springUnderneath the willows where the little robins sing.You will yearn to see me — but ah, nevermore you shall —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.

Refrain: —

Plant a little stone above the little mound of sod;Write: "Here lies a lovin' an' a busted heart, begod!p. 70Nevermore you'll see him walkin' proudly with his gal —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal."

Sal, Sal,My heart is broke today —Broke in two forever when they laid you in the clay;I would give creation to be walkin' with my gal —Walkin' down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.Lowell O. Reese,In the Saturday Evening Post.

p. 71

IT hain't no use fer me to sayThere's others with a style an' wayThat beats hers to a fare-you-well,Fer, on the square, I'm here to tellI jes can't even start to seeBut what she's perfect as kin be.Fer any fault I finds excuse —I'll tell you, pard, it hain't no useFer me to try to raise a hand,When on my heart she's run her brand.The bunk-house ain't the same to me;The bunch jes makes me weary — Gee!I never knew they was so coarse —I warps my face to try to forceA smile at each old gag they spring;Fer I'd heap ruther hear her sing"Sweet Adeline," or softly playThe "Dream o' Heaven" that-a-way.Besides this place, most anywhereI'd ruther be — so she was there.She called me "dear," an' do you know,My heart jes skipped a beat, an' tho'I'm hard to feaze, I'm free to yipp. 72My reason nearly lost its grip.She called me "dear," jes sweet an' slow,An' lookin' down an' speakin' low;An' if I had ten lives to live,With everything the world could give,I'd shake 'em all without one fearIf 'fore I'd go she'd call me "dear."You wonders why I slicks up soOn Sundays, when I gits to goTo see her — well, I'm free to sayShe's like religion that-a-way.Jes sort o' like some holy thing,As clean as young grass in the spring;An' so before I rides to herI looks my best from hat to spur —But even then I hain't no rightTo think I look good in her sight.If she should pass me up — say, boy,You jes put hobbles on your joy;First thing you know, you gits so gayYour luck stampedes and gits away.An' don't you even start a guessThat you've a cinch on happiness;Fer few e'er reach the Promised LandIf they starts headed by a band.Ride slow an' quiet, humble, too,Or Fate will slap its brand on you.p. 73The old range sleeps, there hain't a stir.Less it's a night-hawk's sudden whir,Or cottonwoods a-whisperin whileThe red moon smiles a lovin' smile.An' there I set an' hold her handSo glad I jes can't understandThe reason of it all, or seeWhy all the world looks good to me;Or why I sees in it heap moreOf beauty than I seen before.Fool talk, perhaps, but it jes seemsWe're ridin' through a range o' dreams;Where medder larks the year round sing,An' it's jes one eternal spring.An' time — why time is gone — by gee!There's no such thing as time to meUntil she says, "Here, boy, you knowYou simply jes have got to go;It's nearly twelve." I rides away,"Dog-gone a clock!" is what I say.R. V. Carr.

The bunk-house ain't the same to me;The bunch jes makes me weary — Gee!I never knew they was so coarse —I warps my face to try to forceA smile at each old gag they spring;Fer I'd heap ruther hear her sing"Sweet Adeline," or softly playThe "Dream o' Heaven" that-a-way.Besides this place, most anywhereI'd ruther be — so she was there.

She called me "dear," an' do you know,My heart jes skipped a beat, an' tho'I'm hard to feaze, I'm free to yipp. 72My reason nearly lost its grip.She called me "dear," jes sweet an' slow,An' lookin' down an' speakin' low;An' if I had ten lives to live,With everything the world could give,I'd shake 'em all without one fearIf 'fore I'd go she'd call me "dear."

You wonders why I slicks up soOn Sundays, when I gits to goTo see her — well, I'm free to sayShe's like religion that-a-way.Jes sort o' like some holy thing,As clean as young grass in the spring;An' so before I rides to herI looks my best from hat to spur —But even then I hain't no rightTo think I look good in her sight.

If she should pass me up — say, boy,You jes put hobbles on your joy;First thing you know, you gits so gayYour luck stampedes and gits away.An' don't you even start a guessThat you've a cinch on happiness;Fer few e'er reach the Promised LandIf they starts headed by a band.Ride slow an' quiet, humble, too,Or Fate will slap its brand on you.p. 73

The old range sleeps, there hain't a stir.Less it's a night-hawk's sudden whir,Or cottonwoods a-whisperin whileThe red moon smiles a lovin' smile.An' there I set an' hold her handSo glad I jes can't understandThe reason of it all, or seeWhy all the world looks good to me;Or why I sees in it heap moreOf beauty than I seen before.

Fool talk, perhaps, but it jes seemsWe're ridin' through a range o' dreams;Where medder larks the year round sing,An' it's jes one eternal spring.An' time — why time is gone — by gee!There's no such thing as time to meUntil she says, "Here, boy, you knowYou simply jes have got to go;It's nearly twelve." I rides away,"Dog-gone a clock!" is what I say.R. V. Carr.

p. 74

THE couriers from Chihuahua goTo distant Cusi and Santavo,Announce the feast of all the year the crown —Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.The rancherias on the mountain side,The haciendas of the Llano wide,Are quickened by the matador's renown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.The women that on ambling burros ride,The men that trudge behind or close besideMake groups of dazzling red and white and brown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.Or else the lumbering carts are brought in play,That jolt and scream and groan along the way,But to their happy tenants cause no frown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.The Plaza De Los Toros offers seats,Some deep in shade, on some the fierce sun beats;p. 75These for the don, those for the rustic clown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.Pepita sits, so young and sweet and fresh,The sun shines on her hair's dusky mesh.Her day of days, how soon it will be flown!Se corren los toros!And Juan's brought his Pepita into town.The bull is harried till the governor's wordBids the Diestro give the agile sword;Then shower the bravos and the roses down!'Sta muerto el toro!And Juan takes his Pepita back from the town.L. Worthington Green.

THE couriers from Chihuahua goTo distant Cusi and Santavo,Announce the feast of all the year the crown —Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.

The rancherias on the mountain side,The haciendas of the Llano wide,Are quickened by the matador's renown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.

The women that on ambling burros ride,The men that trudge behind or close besideMake groups of dazzling red and white and brown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.

Or else the lumbering carts are brought in play,That jolt and scream and groan along the way,But to their happy tenants cause no frown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.

The Plaza De Los Toros offers seats,Some deep in shade, on some the fierce sun beats;p. 75These for the don, those for the rustic clown.Se corren los toros!And Juan brings his Pepita into town.

Pepita sits, so young and sweet and fresh,The sun shines on her hair's dusky mesh.Her day of days, how soon it will be flown!Se corren los toros!And Juan's brought his Pepita into town.

The bull is harried till the governor's wordBids the Diestro give the agile sword;Then shower the bravos and the roses down!'Sta muerto el toro!And Juan takes his Pepita back from the town.L. Worthington Green.

p. 76

SAY, Moll, now don't you 'llow to quitA-playin' maverick?Sech stock should be corralled a bitAn' hev a mark 't 'll stick.Old Val's a-roundin'-up todayUpon the Sweetheart Range,'N me a-helpin', so to say,Though this yere herd is strangeTo me —'n yit, ef I c'd ropeJesoneto wear my brandI'd strike f'r Home Ranch on a lope,The happiest in the land.Yo' savvy who I'm runnin' so,Yo' savvy who I be;Now, can't yo' take that brand — yo' know,—TheHeartM-I-N-E.C. F. Lummis.

SAY, Moll, now don't you 'llow to quitA-playin' maverick?Sech stock should be corralled a bitAn' hev a mark 't 'll stick.

Old Val's a-roundin'-up todayUpon the Sweetheart Range,'N me a-helpin', so to say,Though this yere herd is strange

To me —'n yit, ef I c'd ropeJesoneto wear my brandI'd strike f'r Home Ranch on a lope,The happiest in the land.

Yo' savvy who I'm runnin' so,Yo' savvy who I be;Now, can't yo' take that brand — yo' know,—TheHeartM-I-N-E.C. F. Lummis.

p. 77

I'VE heard that story ofttimes about that little chapA-cryin' for the shiney moon to fall into his lap,An' jes a-raisin' merry hell because he couldn't gitThe same to swing down low so's he could nab a-holt of it,An' I'm a-feelin' that-a-way, locoed I reckon, wussThan that same kid, though maybe not a-makin' sich a fuss,—A-goin' round with achin' eyes a-hankerin' fer a peachThat's hangin' on the beauty tree, too high fer me to reach.I'm jes a rider of the range, plumb rough an' on-refined,An' wild an' keerless in my ways, like others of my kind;A reckless cuss in leather chaps, an' tanned an' blackened soYou'd think I wuz a Greaser from the plains of Mexico.I never learnt to say a prayer, an' guess my style o' talk,If fired off in a Sunday School would give 'em all a shock;p. 78An' yet I got a-mopin' round as crazy as a loonAn' actin' like the story kid that bellered fer the moon.I wish to God she'd never come with them bright laughin' eyes,—Had never flashed that smile that seems a sunburst from the skies,—Had stayed there in her city home instead o' comin' hereTo visit at the ranch an' knock my heart plumb out o' gear.I wish to God she'd talk to me in a way to fit the case,—In words t'd have a tendency to hold me in my place,—Instead o' bein' sociable an' actin' like she thoughtUs cowboys good as city gents in clothes that's tailor bought.If I would hint to her o' love, she'd hit that love a jarAn' laugh at sich a tough as me a-tryin' to rope a star;She'd give them fluffy skirts a flirt, an' skate out o' my sight,An' leave me paralyzed,—an' it'd serve me cussed right.I wish she'd pack her pile o' trunks an' hit the city track,p. 79An' maybe I'd recover from this violent attack;An' in the future know enough to watch my feedin' groundAn' shun the loco weed o' love when there's an angel round.James Barton Adams.

I'm jes a rider of the range, plumb rough an' on-refined,An' wild an' keerless in my ways, like others of my kind;A reckless cuss in leather chaps, an' tanned an' blackened soYou'd think I wuz a Greaser from the plains of Mexico.I never learnt to say a prayer, an' guess my style o' talk,If fired off in a Sunday School would give 'em all a shock;p. 78An' yet I got a-mopin' round as crazy as a loonAn' actin' like the story kid that bellered fer the moon.

I wish to God she'd never come with them bright laughin' eyes,—Had never flashed that smile that seems a sunburst from the skies,—Had stayed there in her city home instead o' comin' hereTo visit at the ranch an' knock my heart plumb out o' gear.I wish to God she'd talk to me in a way to fit the case,—In words t'd have a tendency to hold me in my place,—Instead o' bein' sociable an' actin' like she thoughtUs cowboys good as city gents in clothes that's tailor bought.

If I would hint to her o' love, she'd hit that love a jarAn' laugh at sich a tough as me a-tryin' to rope a star;She'd give them fluffy skirts a flirt, an' skate out o' my sight,An' leave me paralyzed,—an' it'd serve me cussed right.I wish she'd pack her pile o' trunks an' hit the city track,p. 79An' maybe I'd recover from this violent attack;An' in the future know enough to watch my feedin' groundAn' shun the loco weed o' love when there's an angel round.James Barton Adams.

p. 80

HERE'S a moccasin track in the drifts,It's no more than the length of my hand;An' her instep,— just see how it lifts!If that ain't the best in the land!For the maid ran as free as the windAnd her foot was as light as the snow.Why, as sure as I follow, I'll findMe a kiss where her red blushes grow.Here's two small little feet and a skirt;Here's a soft little heart all aglow.See me trail down the dear little flirtBy the sign that she left in the snow!Did she run? 'Twas a sign to make haste.An' why bless her! I'm sure she won't mind.If she's got any kisses to waste,Why, she knew that a man was behind.Did she run 'cause she's only afraid?No! For sure 'twas to set me the pace!An' I'll follow in love with a maidWhen I ain't had a sight of her face.There she is! An' I knew she was near.Will she pay me a kiss to be free?Will she hate? Will she love? Will she fear?Why, the darling! She's waiting to see!Pocock in "Curley."

Here's two small little feet and a skirt;Here's a soft little heart all aglow.See me trail down the dear little flirtBy the sign that she left in the snow!Did she run? 'Twas a sign to make haste.An' why bless her! I'm sure she won't mind.If she's got any kisses to waste,Why, she knew that a man was behind.

Did she run 'cause she's only afraid?No! For sure 'twas to set me the pace!An' I'll follow in love with a maidWhen I ain't had a sight of her face.There she is! An' I knew she was near.Will she pay me a kiss to be free?Will she hate? Will she love? Will she fear?Why, the darling! She's waiting to see!Pocock in "Curley."

p. 81

LET us ride together,—Blowing mane and hair,Careless of the weather,Miles ahead of care,Ring of hoof and snaffle,Swing of waist and hip,Trotting down the twisted roadWith the world let slip.Let us laugh together,—Merry as of oldTo the creak of leatherAnd the morning cold.Break into a canter;Shout to bank and tree;Rocking down the waking trail,Steady hand and knee.Take the life of cities,—Here's the life for me.'Twere a thousand pitiesNot to gallop free.So we'll ride together,Comrade, you and I,Careless of the weather,Letting care go by.Anonymous.

LET us ride together,—Blowing mane and hair,Careless of the weather,Miles ahead of care,Ring of hoof and snaffle,Swing of waist and hip,Trotting down the twisted roadWith the world let slip.

Let us laugh together,—Merry as of oldTo the creak of leatherAnd the morning cold.Break into a canter;Shout to bank and tree;Rocking down the waking trail,Steady hand and knee.

Take the life of cities,—Here's the life for me.'Twere a thousand pitiesNot to gallop free.So we'll ride together,Comrade, you and I,Careless of the weather,Letting care go by.Anonymous.

p. 82

THAR she goes a-lopin', stranger,Khaki-gowned, with flyin' hair,Talk about your classy ridin',—Wal, you're gettin' it right thar.Jest a kid, but lemme tell youWhen she warms a saddle seatOn that outlaw bronc a-straddleShe is one that can't be beat!Every buckaroo that sees herTearin' cross the range astrideHas some mighty jealous feelin'sWishin' he knowed how to ride.Why, she'll take a deep barrancaSix-foot wide and never peep;That 'ere cayuse she's a-forkin'Sure's somethin' on the leap.Ride? Why, she can cut a critterFrom the herd as neat as pie,Read a brand out on the rangesJust as well as you or I.Ain't much yet with the riata,But you give her a few yearsAnd no puncher with the outfitWill beat her a-ropin' steers.p. 83Proud o' her? Say, lemme tell you,She's the queen of all the range;Got a grip upon our heart-stringsMighty strong, but that ain't strange;'Cause she loves the lowin' cattle,Loves the hills and open air,Dusty trails on blossomed canonsGod has strung around out here.Hoof-beats poundin' down the mesa,Chicken-time in lively tune,Jest below the trail to Keeber's,—Wait, you'll see her pretty soon.You kin bet I know that ridin',—Now she's toppin' yonder swell.Thar she is; that's her a-smilin'At the bars of the corral.Anonymous.

Every buckaroo that sees herTearin' cross the range astrideHas some mighty jealous feelin'sWishin' he knowed how to ride.Why, she'll take a deep barrancaSix-foot wide and never peep;That 'ere cayuse she's a-forkin'Sure's somethin' on the leap.

Ride? Why, she can cut a critterFrom the herd as neat as pie,Read a brand out on the rangesJust as well as you or I.Ain't much yet with the riata,But you give her a few yearsAnd no puncher with the outfitWill beat her a-ropin' steers.p. 83

Proud o' her? Say, lemme tell you,She's the queen of all the range;Got a grip upon our heart-stringsMighty strong, but that ain't strange;'Cause she loves the lowin' cattle,Loves the hills and open air,Dusty trails on blossomed canonsGod has strung around out here.

Hoof-beats poundin' down the mesa,Chicken-time in lively tune,Jest below the trail to Keeber's,—Wait, you'll see her pretty soon.You kin bet I know that ridin',—Now she's toppin' yonder swell.Thar she is; that's her a-smilin'At the bars of the corral.Anonymous.

p. 84

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