cries,
Like they laughed at him because he'd lost his mark,
And the smile that brands a fighter pulled his mouth a little tighter
As he set his spurs and rode on through the dark.

Came the moonlight on a trail that wriggled higher
Through the mountains that look into Mexico,
And the shadows strung his nerves like banjo wire
And the miles and minutes dragged unearthly slow.
Then a black mesquite spit out a thread of fire
And the canyon walls flung thunder back again,
And he caught himself and fumbled at his rifle while he grumbled
That his bridle arm had weight enough for ten.

Though his rifle pointed wavy-like and slack
And he grabbed for leather at his hawse's shy,
Yet he sent a soft-nosed exhortation back
That convinced the sinner--just above the eye.
So the sinner sprawled among the shadows black
While the ranger drifted north beneath the moon,
Wabblin' crazy in his saddle, workin' hard to stay a-straddle
While the hoofs beat out a slow and sorry tune.

When the sheriff got up early out of bed,
How he stared and vowed his soul a total loss,
As he saw the droopy thing all blotched with red
That came ridin' in aboard a tremblin' hawse.
But "I got 'im" was the most the ranger said
And you couldn't hire him, now, to tell the tale;
He was just a quiet ranger, just a ridin' pilgrim stranger
And he labored with the sinners of the trail.
_Charles Badger Clark, Jr._

THE INSULT

I'VE swum the Colorado where she runs close down to hell;
I've braced the faro layouts in Cheyenne;
I've fought for muddy water with a bunch of howlin' swine
An' swallowed hot tamales and cayenne;

I've rode a pitchin' broncho till the sky was underneath;
I've tackled every desert in the land;
I've sampled XX whiskey till I couldn't hardly see
An' dallied with the quicksands of the Grande;

I've argued with the marshals of a half a dozen burgs;
I've been dragged free and fancy by a cow;
I've had three years' campaignin' with the fightin', bitin' Ninth,
An' I never lost my temper till right now.

I've had the yeller fever and been shot plum full of holes;
I've grabbed an army mule plum by the tail;
But I've never been so snortin', really highfalutin' mad
As when you up and hands me ginger ale.
_Anon