in a race may be the boss,
But fer all day ridin' lemme have the
Ol'
Cow
Hawse!

When my soul seeks peace and quiet on the home ranch of the blest,
Where no storms or stampedes bother, an' the trails are trails o'
rest,
When my brand has been inspected an' pronounced to be O K,
An' the boss has looked me over an' has told me I kin stay,
Oh, I'm hopin' when I'm lopin' off across that blessed range
That I won't be in a saddle on a critter new an' strange,
But I'm prayin' every minnit that up there I'll ride across
That big heaven range o' glory on an
Ol'
Cow
Hawse
_E. A. Brinninstool._

THE BUNK-HOUSE ORCHESTRA

WRANGLE up your mouth-harps, drag your banjo out,
Tune your old guitarra till she twangs right stout,
For the snow is on the mountains and the wind is on the plain,
But we'll cut the chimney's moanin' with a livelier refrain.

_Shinin' dobe fire-place, shadows on the wall
(See old Shorty's friv'lous toes a-twitchin' at the call:)
It's the best grand high that there is within the law
When seven jolly punchers tackle "Turkey in the Straw."_

Freezy was the day's ride, lengthy was the trail,
Ev'ry steer was haughty with a high-arched tail,
But we held 'em and we shoved 'em for our longin' hearts were tried
By a yearnin' for tobaccer and our dear fireside.

_Swing 'er into stop-time, don't you let 'er droop
(You're about as tuneful as a coyote with the croup!)
Ay, the cold wind bit when we drifted down the draw,
But we drifted on to comfort and to "Turkey in the Straw."_

Snarlin' when the rain whipped, cussin' at the ford--
Ev'ry mile of twenty was a long discord,
But the night is brimmin' music and its glory is complete
When the eye is razzle-dazzled by the flip o' Shorty's feet!

_Snappy for the dance, now, till she up and shoots!
(Don't he beat the devil's wife for jiggin' in his boots?)
Shorty got throwed high and we laughed till he was raw,
But tonight he's done forgot it prancin' "Turkey in the Straw."_

Rainy dark or firelight, bacon rind or pie,
Livin' is a luxury that don't come high;
Oh, be happy and onruly while our years and luck allow,
For we all must die or marry less th