seven jolly punchers tackle “Turkey in the Straw.”
Freezy was the day’s ride, lengthy was the trail,
Ev’ry steer was haughty with a high-arched tail,
But we held ’em and we shoved ’em for our longin’ hearts were tried
By a yearnin’ for tobaccer and our dear fireside.
Swing ’er into stop-time, don’t you let ’er droop
(You’re about as tuneful as a coyote with the croup!)
Ay, the cold wind bit when we drifted down the draw,
But we drifted on to comfort and to “Turkey in the Straw.”
Snarlin’ when the rain whipped, cussin’ at the ford—
Ev’ry mile of twenty was a long discord,
But the night is brimmin’ music and its glory is complete
When the eye is razzle-dazzled by the flip o’ Shorty’s feet!
Snappy for the dance, now, till she up and shoots!
(Don’t he beat the devil’s wife for jiggin’ in his boots?)
Shorty got throwed high and we laughed till he was raw,
But tonight he’s done forgot it prancin’ “Turkey in the Straw.”
Rainy dark or firelight, bacon rind or pie,
Livin’ is a luxury that don’t come high;
Oh, be happy and onruly while our years and luck allow,
For we all must die or marry less than forty years from now!
Lively on the last turn! Lope’er to the death!
(Reddy’s soul is willin’ but he’s gettin’ short o’ breath.)
Ay, the storm wind sings and old trouble sucks his paw
When we have an hour of firelight set to “Turkey in the Straw.”
The Cowboy’s Dance Song
You can’t expect a cowboy to agitate his shanks
In etiquettish manner in aristocratic ranks
When he’s always been accustomed to shake the heel and toe
At the rattling rancher dances where much etiquet don’t go.
You can bet I set them laughing in quite an excited way,
A-giving of their squinters an astonished sort of play,
When I happened into Denver and was asked to take a prance
In the smooth and easy mazes of a high-toned dance.
When I got among the ladies in their frocks of fleecy white,
And the dudes togged out in wrappings that were simply out of sight,
Tell you what, I was embarrassed, and somehow I couldn’t keep
From feeling like a burro in a pretty flock of sheep.
Every step I made was awkward and I blushed a fiery red
Like the principal adornment of a turkey gobbler’s head.
The ladies said ’twas seldom that they had had the chance
To see an old-time puncher at a high-toned dance.
I cut me out a heifer from a bunch of pretty girls
And yanked her to the center to dance the dreamy whirls.
She laid her head upon my bosom in a loving sort of way
And we drifted into heaven as the band began to play.
I could feel my neck a-burning from her nose’s breathing heat,
And she do‑ce‑doed around me, half the time upon my feet;
She peered up in my blinkers with a soul-dissolving glance
Quite conducive to the pleasures of a high-toned dance.
Every nerve just got a-dancing to the music of delight
As I hugged the little sagehen uncomfortably tight;
But she never made a bellow and the glances of her eyes
Seemed to thank me for the pleasure of a genuine surprise.
She snuggled up against me in a loving sort of way,
And I hugged her all the tighter for her trustifying play—
Tell you what the joys of heaven ain’t a cussed circumstance
To the hug-a-mania pleasures of a high-toned dance.
When they struck the old cotillion on the music bill of fare,
Every bit of devil in me seemed to burst out on a tear.
I fetched a cowboy whoop and started in to rag,
And cut her with my trotters till the floor began to sag;
Swung my pardner till she got sea-sick and rushed for a seat;
I balanced to the next one but she dodged me slick and neat.—
Tell you what, I shook the creases from my go-to-meeting pants
When I put the cowboy trimmings on that high-toned dance.
The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball
Way out in Western Texas, where the Clear Fork’s waters flow,
Where the cattle are “a-browzin’ ” and the Spanish ponies grow;
Where the Norther “comes a-whistlin’ ” from beyond the Neutral strip
And the prairie dogs are sneezin’, as if they had “the Grip”;
Where the coyotes come a-howlin’ round the ranches after dark,
And the mocking-birds are singin’ to the lovely “medder lark”;
Where the possum and the badger, and rattle-snakes abound,
And the monstrous stars are winkin’ o’er a wilderness profound;
Where lonesome, tawny prairies melt into airy streams,
While the Double Mountains slumber in heavenly kinds of dreams;
Where the antelope is grazin’ and the lonely plovers call—
It was there that I attended “The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball.”
The town was Anson City, old Jones’s county seat,
Where they raise Polled Angus cattle, and waving whiskered wheat;
Where the air is soft and “bammy,” an’ dry an’ full of health,
And the prairies is explodin’ with agricultural wealth;
Where they print the Texas Western, that Hec. McCann supplies,
With news and yarns and stories, of most amazin’ size;
Where Frank Smith “pulls the badger,” on knowin’ tender feet,
And Democracy’s triumphant, and mighty hard to beat;
Where lives that good old hunter, John Milsap from Lamar,
Who “used to be the sheriff, back East, in Paris, sah!”
’Twas there, I say, at Anson, with the lively “Widder Wall,”
That I went to that reception, “The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball.”
The boys had left the ranches and come to town in piles;
The ladies—“kinder scatterin’ ”—had gathered in for miles.
And yet the place was crowded, as I remember well,
’Twas got for the occasion at “The Morning Star Hotel.”
The music was a fiddle and a lively tambourine,
And a “viol come imported,” by stage from Abilene.
The room was togged out gorgeous—with mistletoe and shawls,
And candles flickered frescoes around the airy walls.
The “wimmin folks” looked lovely—the boys looked kinder treed,
Till their leader commenced yellin’: “Whoa, fellers, let’s stampede.”
The music started sighin’ and a-wailin’ through the hall,
As a kind of introduction to “The Cowboys’ Christmas Ball.”
The leader was a fellow that came from Swenson’s Ranch,
They called him “Windy Billy,” from “little Dead-man’s Branch.”
His rig was “kinder keerless,” big spurs and high-heeled boots;
He had the reputation that comes when “fellers shoots.”
His voice was
