Sun and Saddle Leather Part 2

But the bright campfire light only dances for a night, While the home-fire burns forever clear and true, So 'round the year I circle back to you, Old folks, 'Round the rovin' year I circle back to you.

Oh, mebbe it was good when the reckless Summer sun Had shot a charge of fire through my veins, And I milled around the whiskey and the fightin' and the fun 'Mong the other mav'ricks drifted from the plains.

Ay! the pot bubbled hot, while you reckoned I'd forgot, And the devil smacked the young blood in his stew, Yet I'm lovin' every mile that's nearer you, Good folks, Lovin' every blessed mile that's nearer you.

Oh, mebbe it was good at the roundup in the Fall When the clouds of bawlin' dust before us ran, And the pride of rope and saddle was a-drivin' of us all To a stretch of nerve and muscle, man and man.

But the pride sort of died when the man got weary eyed; 'Twas a sleepy boy that rode the night-guard through, And he dreamed himself along a trail to you, Old folks, Dreamed himself along a happy trail to you.

The coyote's Winter howl cuts the dusk behind the hill, But the ranch's shinin' window I kin see, And though I don't deserve it and, I reckon, never will, There'll be room beside the fire kep' for me.

Skimp my plate 'cause I'm late. Let me hit the old kid gait, For tonight I'm stumblin' tired of the new And I'm ridin' up the Christmas trail to you, Old folks, I'm a-ridin' up the Christmas trail to you.

A BORDER AFFAIR

Spanish is the lovin' tongue, Soft as music, light as spray.

'Twas a girl I learnt it from, Livin' down Sonora way.

I don't look much like a lover, Yet I say her love words over Often when I'm all alone-- "Mi amor, mi corazon."

Nights when she knew where I'd ride She would listen for my spurs, Fling the big door open wide, Raise them laughin' eyes of hers And my heart would nigh stop beatin'

When I heard her tender greetin', Whispered soft for me alone-- "Mi amor! mi corazon!"

Moonlight in the patio, Old Senora noddin' near, Me and Juana talkin' low So 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-- "Adios, mi corazon!"

But one time I had to fly For a foolish gamblin' fight, And we said a swift goodbye In that black, unlucky night.

When I'd loosed her arms from clingin'

With her words the hoofs kep' ringin'

As I galloped north alone-- "Adios, mi corazon!"

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 her Since that last wild night I kissed her, Left her heart and lost my own-- "Adios, mi corazon!"

THE BUNK-HOUSE ORCHESTRA

Wrangle up your mouth-harps, drag your banjo out, Tune your old guitarra till she tw.a.n.gs right stout, For the snow is on the mountains and the wind is on the plain, But we'll cut the chimney's moanin' with a livelier refrain.

_Shinin' 'dobe fireplace, shadows on the wall--_ _(See old Shorty's friv'lous toes a-twitchin' at the call:)_ _It's the best grand high that there is within the law_ _When 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 tobacker 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, fill she up and shoots!_ _(Don't he beat the devil's wife for jiggin' in 'is 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 OUTLAW

When my rope takes hold on a two-year-old, By the foot or the neck or the horn, He kin plunge and fight till his eyes go white But I'll throw him as sure as you're born.

Though the taut ropes sing like a banjo string And the latigoes creak and strain, Yet I got no fear of an outlaw steer And I'll tumble him on the plain.

_For a man is a man, but a steer is a beast,_ _And the man is the boss of the herd,_ _And each of the bunch, from the biggest to least,_ _Must come down when he says the word._

When my leg swings 'cross on an outlaw hawse And my spurs clinch into his hide, He kin r'ar and pitch over hill and ditch, But wherever he goes I'll ride.

Let 'im spin and flop like a crazy top Or flit like a wind-whipped smoke, But he'll know the feel of my rowelled heel Till he's happy to own he's broke.

_For a man is a man and a hawse is a brute,_ _And the hawse may be prince of his clan_ _But he'll bow to the bit and the steel-shod boot_ _And own that his boss is the man._

When the devil at rest underneath my vest Gets up and begins to paw And my hot tongue strains at its bridle reins, Then I tackle the real outlaw.

When I get plumb riled and my sense goes wild And my temper is fractious growed, If he'll hump his neck just a triflin' speck, Then it's dollars to dimes I'm throwed.

_For a man is a man, but he's partly a beast._ _He kin brag till he makes you deaf,_ _But the one lone brute, from the west to the east,_ _That he kaint quite break is himse'f._

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_The taut ropes sing like a banjo string_ _And the latigoes creak and strain._"]

THE LEGEND OF BOASTFUL BILL

At a roundup on the Gily, One sweet mornin' long ago, Ten of us was throwed right freely By a hawse from Idaho.

And we thought he'd go-a-beggin'

For a man to break his pride Till, a-hitchin' up one leggin, Boastful Bill cut loose and cried--

"_I'm a on'ry proposition for to hurt;_ _I fulfil my earthly mission with a quirt;_ _I kin ride the highest liver_ _'Tween the Gulf and Powder River,_ _And I'll break this thing as easy as I'd flirt._"

So Bill climbed the Northern Fury And they mangled up the air Till a native of Missouri Would have owned his brag was fair.

Though the plunges kep' him reelin'

And the wind it flapped his shirt, Loud above the hawse's squealin'

We could hear our friend a.s.sert