hair:
A ribby cow-hawse thundered by,
A lion trailed along,
A rider, ga’nt, but chin on high,
Yelled out a crazy song.
“Oh, glory be to me!” cries he,
“And to my noble noose!
O stranger, tell my pards below
I took a rampin’ dream in tow,
And if I never lay him low,
I’ll never turn him loose!”
High Chin Bob
’Way high up in the Mokiones, among the mountain tops,
A lion cleaned a yearling’s bones and licks his thankful chops;
And who upon the scene should ride, a-trippin’ down the slope,
But High Chin Bob of sinful pride and maverick-hungry rope.
“Oh, glory be to me!” says he, “an’ fame’s unfadin’ flowers;
I ride my good top hoss today and I’m top hand of Lazy-J,
So, kitty-cat, you’re ours!”
The lion licked his paws so brown, and dreamed soft dreams of veal,
As High Chin’s rope came circlin’ down and roped him round his meal;
She yowled quick fury to the world and all the hills yelled back;
That top horse gave a snort and whirled and Bob took up the slack.
“Oh, glory be to me!” says he, “we’ll hit the glory trail.
No man has looped a lion’s head and lived to drag the critter dead
Till I shall tell the tale.”
’Way high up in the Mokiones that top hoss done his best,
’Mid whippin’ brush and rattlin’ stones from canon-floor to crest;
Up and down and round and cross Bob pounded weak and wan,
But pride still glued him to his hoss and glory spurred him on.
“Oh, glory be to me!” says he, “this glory trail is rough!
But I’ll keep this dally round the horn until the toot of judgment morn
Before I’ll holler ’nough!”
Three suns had rode their circle home, beyond the desert rim,
And turned their star herds loose to roam the ranges high and dim;
And whenever Bob turned and hoped the limp remains to find,
A red-eyed lion, belly roped, but healthy, loped behind!
“Oh, glory be to me,” says Bob, “he caint be drug to death!
These heroes that I’ve read about were only fools that stuck it out
To the end of mortal breath.”
’Way high up in the Mokiones, if you ever camp there at night,
You’ll hear a rukus among the stones that’ll lift your hair with fright;
You’ll see a cow-hoss thunder by—a lion trail along,
And the rider bold, with his chin on high, sings forth his glory song:
“Oh, glory be to me!” says he, “and to my mighty noose.
Oh, pardner, tell my friends below I took a ragin’ dream in tow,
And if I didn’t lay him low, I never turned him loose!”
To Hear Him Tell It
I was just about to take a drink—
I was mighty dry—
So I hailed an old time cowman
Who was passing by,
“Come in, Ole Timer! have a drink!
Kinda warm today!”
As we leaned across the bar-rail—
“How’s things up your way?”
“Stock is doin’ fairly good,
Range is gettin’ fine;
I jes dropped down to meetin’ here
To spend a little time.
Con’sidable stuff a-movin’ now—
Cows an’ hosses, too,
Prices high an’ a big demand—
Now I’m tellin’ you!
“I’ve loaded out my feeders,
Got a good price all aroun’;
Sold ’em in Kansas City
To a commission man named Brown.
A thousand told o’ mixed stuff,
In pretty fair shape, too,”
Said the old Texas cowman,
“Now I’m tellin’ you!
“I’ve been in this yere country
Since late in fifty-nine,
I know every foot o’ sage brush
Clear to the southern line.
Got my first bunch started up
Long in seventy-two,
Had to ride range with a long rope—
Now I’m tellin’ you!
“Lordy, I kin remember
Them good ole early days
When we ust t’ trail the herds north
’N forty different ways.
Jes’n point ’em from the beddin’ groun’
An’ let ’em drift right through,”
Said the reminiscent cowman,
“Now I’m tellin’ you!
“Yessir, trailed ’em up to Wichita,
Cross the Kansas line,
Made deliveries at Benton
As early as fifty-nine.
Turned ’em most to soldiers,
Some went to Injuns, too,
Beef wasn’t nigh so high then—
Now I’m tellin’ you!
“Son, I’ve fit nigh every Injun
That ever roamed the plains,
’N I was one o’ the best hands
That ever pulled bridle reins.
Why, you boys don’t know range life—
You don’t seem to git the ways,
Like we did down in Texas
In them good ol’ early days!
“Yes, thing’s a heap sight diff’rent now!
’Tain’t like in them ol’ days
When cowmen trailed their herds north
’N forty diff’rent ways.
We ship ’em on the railroad now,
Load out on the big S. P.,”
Says the relic of Texas cowman
As he takes a drink with me.
“I figger on buyin’ more feeders,
From down across the line—
Chihuahua an’ Sonora stuff,
An’ hold ’em till they’re prime.
So here’s to the steers an’ yearlin’s!”
As we clink our glasses two,
“Things ain’t the same as they used to be,
Now I’m tellin’ you!
“I got t’ git out an’ hustle,
I ain’t got time t’ stay;
Jes’ want t’ see some uh the boys
’N then I’m on my way.
There’s many a hand here right now
That I know’d long, long ago,
When ranch land was free an’ open
An’ the plowman had a show.
“ ’Tain’t often we git together
To swap yarns an’ tell our lies,”
Said the old time Texas cowman
As a mist comes to his eyes.
“So let’s drink up; here’s how!”
As we drain our glasses two,
“Them was good ol’ days an’ good ol’ ways—
Now I’m tellin’ you!”
He talked and talked and yarned away,
He harped on days of yore—
My head it ached and I grew faint;
My legs got tired and sore.
Then a woman yelled, “You come here, John!”
And Lordy! how he flew!
And the last I heard as he broke and ran
Was, “Now I’m tellin’ you!”
I won’t never hail old timers
To have a drink with me,
To learn the history of the range
As far back as seventy-three.
And the next time that I’m thirsty
And feeling kind of blue,
I’ll step right up and drink alone—
Now I’m tellin’ you!
The Clown’s Baby
It was on the western frontier—
The miners, rugged and brown,
Were gathered round the posters,
The circus had come to town!
The great tent shone in the darkness
Like a wonderful palace of light,
And rough men crowded the entrance—
Shows didn’t come every night!
Not a woman’s face among them;
Many a face that was bad,
And some that were only vacant,
And some that were
