rt tail's out an' floppin';
An' the saddle pulls like lead.

Then the boys all yell together
Fit to make a feller sick:
"Hey, you short horn, drop the leather!
Fan his fat an' ride him slick!"
Seems you're up-side-down an' flyin';
Then your spurs begin to slip.
There's no further use in tryin',
For the horn flies from your grip,

An' you feel a vague sensation
As upon the ground you roll,
Like a violent separation
'Twixt your body an' your soul.
Then you roll agin a hummock
Where you lay an' gasp for breath,
An' there's somethin' grips your stomach
Like the finger-grips o' death.

They all offers you prescriptions
For the grip an' for the croup,
An' they give you plain descriptions
How you looped the spiral loop;
They all swear you beat a circus
Or a hoochy-koochy dance,
Moppin' up the canon's surface
With the bosom of your pants.

Then you'll get up on your trotters,
But you have a job to stand;
For the landscape round you totters
An' your collar's full o' sand.
Lots of fellers give prescriptions
How a broncho should be rode,
But there's few that gives descriptions
Of the times when they got throwed.
_Anonymous._

PARDNERS

YOU bad-eyed, tough-mouthed son-of-a-gun,
Ye're a hard little beast to break,
But ye're good for the fiercest kind of a run
An' ye're quick as a rattlesnake.
Ye jolted me good when we first met
In the dust of that bare corral,
An' neither one of us will forget
The fight we fit, old pal.

But now--well, say, old hoss, if John
D. Rockefeller shud come
With all the riches his paws are on
And want to buy you, you bum,
I'd laugh in his face an' pat your neck
An' say to him loud an' strong:
"I wouldn't sell you this derned old wreck
For all your wealth--so long!"

For we have slept on the barren plains
An' cuddled against the cold;
We've been through tempests of drivin' rains
When the heaviest thunder rolled;
We've raced from fire on the lone prairee
An' run from the mad stampede;
An' there ain't no money could buy from me
A pard of your style an' breed.

So I reckon we'll stick together, pard,
Till one of us cashes in;
Ye're wirey an' tough an' mighty hard,
An' homlier, too, than sin.
B