her for his arm is gettin' slow.
_Bow down! right in town--and sashay down the middle_;
Got to keep a-movin' for to see the show!

Yes, mam! Warm, mam? Want to rest a minute?
Like to get a breath of air lookin' at the stars?
All right! Fine night--Dance? There's nothin' in it!
That's my pony there, peekin' through the bars.

Bronc, mam? No, mam! Gentle as a kitten!
Here, boy! Shake a hand! Now, mam, you can see;
Night's cool. What a fool to dance, instead of sittin'
Like a gent and lady, same as you and me.

_Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! tunin' up the fiddle_;
Well, them as likes the exercise sure can have it all!
_Right wing, lady swings, and sashay down the middle..._
But this beats dancin' at the Cowboys' Ball.
_Henry Herbert Knibbs._

PART III

COWBOY TYPES

_DOWN where the Rio Grande ripples--
When there's water in its bed;
Where no man is ever drunken--
All prefer mescal instead;
Where no lie is ever uttered--
There being nothin' one can trade;
Where no marriage vows are broken
'Cause the same are never made._

THE COWBOY

HE wears a big hat and big spurs and all that,
And leggins of fancy fringed leather;
He takes pride in his boots and the pistol he shoots,
And he's happy in all kinds of weather;
He's fond of his horse, it's a broncho, of course,
For oh, he can ride like the devil;
He is old for his years and he always appears
Like a fellow who's lived on the level;
He can sing, he can cook, yet his eyes have the look
Of a man that to fear is a stranger;
Yes, his cool, quiet nerve will always subserve
For his wild life of duty and danger.
He gets little to eat, and he guys tenderfeet,
And for fashion, oh well! he's not in it;
He can rope a gay steer when he gets on its ear
At the rate of two-forty a minute;
His saddle's the best in the wild, woolly West,
Sometimes it will cost sixty dollars;
Ah, he knows all the tricks when he brands mavericks,
But his knowledge is not got from your scholars;
He is loyal as steel, but demands a square deal,
And he hates and despises a coward;
Yet the cowboy, you'll find, to women is kind
Though he'll fight till by death overpowered.
Hence I say unto you,--give the cowboy his due
And be kind, my friends, to his folly;
For he'