ntain makes his monument;
The northers, moaning o'er the low divide,
Go gently past his long deserted camps.
No more his rangers guard the wild frontier,
No more he leads them in the border fight.
No more the mavericks, winding stream of horns
To Kansas bound; the dust, the cowboy songs
And cries, the pistol's sharp report,--the free,
Wild days in Texas by the Rio Grande.
And some men say when dusky night shuts down,
Dark, cloudy nights without a kindly star,
One sees dim horsemen skimming o'er the plain
Hard by Mackenzie's trail; and keener ears
Have heard from deep within the bordering hills
The tramp of ghostly hoofs, faint cattle lows,
The rumble of a moving wagon train,
Sometimes far echoes of a frontier song;
Then sounds grow fainter, shadows troop away,--
On westward, westward, as they in olden time
Went rangeing o'er the old Mackenzie Trail.
_John A. Lomax._

THE SHEEP-HERDER[3]

ALL day across the sagebrush flat,
Beneath the sun of June,
My sheep they loaf and feed and bleat
Their never changin' tune.
And then, at night time, when they lay
As quiet as a stone,
I hear the gray wolf far away,
"Alo-one!" he says, "Alo-one!"

A-a! ma-a! ba-a! eh-eh-eh!
The tune the woollies sing;
It's rasped my ears, it seems, for years,
Though really just since Spring;
And nothin', far as I can see
Around the circle's sweep,
But sky and plain, my dreams and me
And them infernal sheep.

I've got one book--it's poetry--
A bunch of pretty wrongs
An Eastern lunger gave to me;
He said 'twas "shepherd songs."
But, though that poet sure is deep
And has sweet things to say,
He never seen a herd of sheep
Or smelt them, anyway.

A-a! ma-a! ba-a! eh-eh-eh!
My woollies greasy gray,
An awful change has hit the range
Since that old poet's day.
For you're just silly, on'ry brutes
And I look like distress,
And my pipe ain't the kind that toots
And there's no "shepherdess."

Yet 'way down home in Kansas State,
Bliss Township, Section Five,
There's one that's promised me to wait,
The sweetest girl alive;
That's why I salt my wages down
And mend my clothes with strings,
While others blow their pay in town
For