Sort o' think he's got men spotted an' is 'bout to make a throw
Fer to catch me an' corral me fer a stray till he can talk
On the wire an' tell the owner fer to come an' get his stock.

Yes, it's mighty strange an' funny fer a cowboy, as you say,
Fer to hit a camp like this one, so unanimously gay;
But I want to tell you, pardner, that a rider sich as me
Isn't built fer feedin' on sich crazy jamboree.
Every bone I got's a-achin', an' my feet as sore as if
I had hit a bed o' cactus, an' my hinges is as stiff
From a-hittin' these hot pavements as a feller's jints kin git,--
'Taint like holdin' down a broncho on the range, a little bit.

I'm hankerin', I tell you, fer to hit the trail an' run
Like a crazy, locoed yearlin' from this big cloud-burst o' fun
Back toward the cattle ranches, where a feller's breath comes free
An' he wears the clothes that fits him, 'stead o' this slick toggery.
Where his home is in the saddle, an' the heavens is his roof,
An' his ever'day companions wears the hide an' cloven hoof,
Where the beller of the cattle is the only sound he hears,
An' he never thinks o' nothin' but his grub an' hoss an' steers.
_Anonymous._

THE OLD COWMAN

I RODE across a valley range
I hadn't seen for years.
The trail was all so spoilt and strange
It nearly fetched the tears.
I had to let ten fences down,--
(The fussy lanes ran wrong)
And each new line would make me frown
And hum a mournin' song.

Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!
Hear 'em stretchin' of the wire!
The nester brand is on the land;
I reckon I'll retire.
While progress toots her brassy horn
And makes her motor buzz,
I thank the Lord I wasn't born
No later than I wuz!

'Twas good to live when all the sod,
Without no fence nor fuss,
Belonged in partnership to God,
The Government and us.
With skyline bounds from east to west
And room to go and come,
I loved my fellowman the best
When he was scattered some.

Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!
Close and closer cramps the wire!
There's hardly play to back away
And call a man a liar.
Their house has locks on every door;
Their land is in a crate.
There ain't the plains of God no more,
They'