Songs of the Prairie Part 7

In meek surprise The child said, "Like the air, and skies, And running water, flowers, and birds, And lullabies, and gentle words, And rosy sunsets, clouds, and storms, And G.o.d revealed in all His forms-- 'Tis plain the land's the right of birth Of every creature on the earth: _No man can make a grain of sand; How can he say he owns the land?_"

A RACE FOR LIFE

(_As related for the benefit of the New Arrival._)

Yes, stranger, I hev trailed the West Since I wuz a kid on a bob-tailed nag, I hev known the old land at its best, An' packed most ev'ry kind of jag; I hev rode fer life frum a prairie fire, An' tramped fer life through a snow blockade; I hev crumpled "bad men" by the quire, But only once hev I been afraid.

I hev lain alone while the red-men crep'

Aroun' me in their fightin'-paint; I have soothed the widow while she wep'

Because I'd made her man a saint; I hev la.s.sooed lobsters frum the East, Till ev'ry j'int in their system shook, An' I'd never run frum man or beast Until I run frum a chinook.

The chinook had his lair in Crow's Nest Pa.s.s, An' he foraged aroun' the Porcupine Hills, But he'd loafed so long that the ranchin' gra.s.s Had a wool-white cover frum the chills; An' me, like a chap that wuz not afraid Of anything with hide an' hair, Went out in a sleigh to the hills an' stayed Till the old chinook might find me there.

At last, when I thought I had tempted fate Enough fer a man with a past like mine, I hitched the bronks an' struck a gait Along the slopes of the Porcupine; An' the day wuz as cold as the Polar Sea, With a nip as keen as a she-wolf fang; But frost wuz just like food to me, An' boldly over the fields I sang:

_"I am the man frum the Hole in the Hills, Where the Great G. Whiliken capers 'round; I am the gent that pays the bills When they plant a greenhorn in the ground; I am the Finish of folks that think They can run a bluff on the prairie-bred, Fer I give their vitals a fatal kink When I open up with a shower of lead."_

An' the cold bit into my nose an' chin, An' drilled itself to the marrow-bone; My face wuz drawn in a frozen grin, An' my fingers rattled like lumps of stone; But my heart wuz as brave as an outlaw stag, An' I laughed though the frost cut like a knife; Till sudden I felt the hind bob drag, An' I knew I wuz in fer a race fer life.

Out from his lair the sly chinook Had hunted me with his fatal breath; I dared not turn aroun' to look, Fer to strand on the hillside there wuz death; The hot wind sizzled along my back, An' the sweat stood out on my shoulder-blade, So I yelled at the team through the frozen crack The roll of the tongue in my mouth had made--

"Get out o' here; by the Polar Star, The fiend of the South is on your heels!"

An' I felt the old sleigh cringe an' jar, An' fer once I prayed--fer a pair o' wheels; But the sleigh stood still as the hind bob stuck In mud that rolled to the bolster-rail; So I slipped the tongue an' cursed my luck As I straddled a bronk an' hit the trail.

Well, we beat it out by half a neck, But the broncho's tail was scorched a sight, An' I wuz a blistered, parboiled wreck, An' nearly dead o' heat an' fright; An' I squatted down in a shady spot An' fanned myself with a wisp o' hay, An' the boys on the lower ranches thought They heard a voice in the chinook say:

_"I am the dope that was made to feed, To fresh down-Easters just come out; They'll swallow it all in their greenhorn greed, An' send it home, beyond a doubt; I am the caricature an' bluff That is part of the play of the Western men"--_ What's that? You say you've had enough?

Well, pa.s.s it on to your neighbor, then.