Songs of the Cattle Trail and Cow Camp Part 10

The Caballeros throng to see Thy laughing face, Senorita, Lolita.

But well I know thy heart's for me, Thy charm, thy grace, Lolita!

I ride the range for thy dear sake, To earn thee gold, Senorita, Lolita; And steal the gringo's cows to make A ranch to hold Lolita!

_Poc.o.c.k in "Curley."_

A NEVADA COWPUNCHER TO HIS BELOVED

LONESOME? Well, I guess so!

This place is mighty blue; The silence of the empty rooms Jes' palpitates with--you.

The day has lost its beauty, The sun's a-shinin' pale; I'll round up my belongin's An' I guess I'll hit the trail.

Out there in the sage-brush A-harkin' to the "Coo-oo"

Of the wild dove in his matin'

I can think alone of you.

Perhaps a gaunt coyote Will go a-lopin' by An' linger on the mountain ridge An' c.o.c.k his wary eye.

An' when the evenin' settles, A-waitin' for the dawn Perhaps I'll hear the ground owl: "She's gone--she's gone--she's gone!"

_Anonymous._

THE COWBOY TO HIS FRIEND IN NEED

YOU'RE very well polished, I'm free to confess, Well balanced, well rounded, a power for right; But cool and collected,--no steel could be less; You're primed for continual fight.

Your voice is a bellicose bark of ill-will, On hatred and choler you seem to have fed; But when I control you, your temper is nil; In fact, you're most easily led.

Though lead is your diet and fight is your fun, I simply can't give you the jolt; For I love you, you blessed old son-of-a-gun,-- You forty-five caliber Colt!

_Burke Jenkins._

WHEN BOB GOT THROWED

THAT time when Bob got throwed I thought I sure would bust.

I like to died a-laffin'

To see him chewin' dust.

He crawled on that Andy bronc And hit him with a quirt.

The next thing that he knew He was wallowin' in the dirt.

Yes, it might a-killed him, I heard the old ground pop; But to see if he was injured You bet I didn't stop.

I just rolled on the ground And began to kick and yell; It like to tickled me to death To see how hard he fell.

'Twarn't more than a week ago That I myself got throwed, (But 'twas from a meaner horse Than old Bob ever rode).

D'you reckon Bob looked sad and said, "I hope that you ain't hurt!"

Naw! He just laffed and laffed and laffed To see me chewin' dirt.

I've been prayin' ever since For his horse to turn his pack; And when he done it, I'd a laffed If it had broke his back.

So I was still a-howlin'

When Bob, he got up lame; He seen his horse had run clean off And so for me he came.

He first chucked sand into my eyes, With a rock he rubbed my head, Then he twisted both my arms,-- "Now go fetch that horse," he said.

So I went and fetched him back, But I was feelin' good all day; For I sure enough do love to see A feller get throwed that way.

_Ray._

COWBOY VERSUS BRONCHO

HAVEN'T got no special likin' fur the toney sorts o' play, Chasin' foxes or that hossback polo game, Jumpin' critters over hurdles--sort o' things that any jay Could accomplish an' regard as rather tame.

None o' them is worth a mention, to my thinkin' p'int o' view, Which the same I hold correct without a doubt, As a-toppin' of a broncho that has got it in fur you An' concludes that's just the time to have it out.

Don't no sooner hit the saddle than the exercises start, An' they're lackin' in perliminary fuss; You kin hear his j'ints a-crackin' like he's breakin' 'em apart, An' the hide jes' seems a-rippin' off the cuss, An' you sometimes git a joltin' that makes everything turn blue, An' you want to strictly mind what you're about, When you're fightin' with a broncho that has got it in fur you An' imagines that's the time to have it out.

Bows his back when he is risin', sticks his nose between his knees, An' he shakes hisself while a-hangin' in the air; Then he hits the earth so solid that it somewhat disagrees With the usual peace an' quiet of your hair.

You imagine that your innards are a-gittin' all askew, An' your spine don't feel so cussed firm an' stout, When you're up agin a broncho that has got it in fur you Doin' of his level best to have it out.

He will rise to the occasion with a lightnin' jump, an' then When he hits the face o' these United States Doesn't linger half a second till he's in the air agin-- Occupies the earth an' then evacuates.

Isn't any sense o' comfort like a-settin' in a pew Listenin' to hear a sleepy parson spout When you're up on top a broncho that has got it in fur you An' is desputly a-tryin' to have it out.

Always feel a touch o' pity when he has to give it up After makin' sich a well intentioned buck An' is standin' broken hearted an' as gentle as a pup A reflectin' on the rottenness o' luck.

Puts your sympathetic feelin's, as you might say, in a stew, Though you're lame as if a-sufferin' from the gout, When you're lightin' off a broncho that has had it in fur you An' mistook the proper time to have it out.

_James Barton Adams._

WHEN YOU'RE THROWED

IF a feller's been a-straddle Since he's big enough to ride, And has had to sling his saddle On most any colored hide,-- Though it's nothin' they take pride in, Still most fellers I have knowed, If they ever done much ridin', Has at different times got throwed.