Songs of the Cattle Trail and Cow Camp Part 3

THE TRANSFORMATION OF A TEXAS GIRL

SHE was a Texas maiden, she came of low degree, Her clothes were worn and faded, her feet from shoes were free; Her face was tanned and freckled, her hair was sun-burned, too, Her whole darned _tout ensemble_ was painful for to view!

She drove a lop-eared mule team attached unto a plow, The trickling perspiration exuding from her brow; And often she lamented her cruel, cruel fate, As but a po' white's daughter down in the Lone Star State.

No courtiers came to woo her, she never had a beau, Her misfit face precluded such things as that, you know,-- She was n.o.body's darling, no feller's solid girl, And poets never called her an uncut Texas pearl.

Her only two companions was those two flea-bit mules, And these she but regarded as animated tools To plod along the furrows in patience up and down And pull the ancient wagon when pap'd go to town.

No fires of wild ambition were flaming in her soul, Her eyes with tender pa.s.sion she'd never upward roll; The wondrous world she'd heard of, to her was but a dream As walked she in the furrows behind that lop-eared team.

Born on that small plantation, 'twas there she thought she'd die; She never longed for pinions that she might rise and fly To other lands far distant, where breezes fresh and cool Would never shake and tremble from brayings of a mule.

But yesterday we saw her dressed up in gorgeous style!

A half a dozen fellows were basking in her smile!

She'd jewels on her fingers, and jewels in her ears-- Great sparkling, flas.h.i.+ng brilliants that hung as frozen tears!

The feet once nude and soil-stained were clad in Frenchy boots, The once tanned face bore tintings of miscellaneous fruits; The voice that once admonished the mules to move along Was tuned to new-born music, as sweet as Siren's song!

Her tall and lanky father, one knows as "Sleepy Jim,"

Is now addressed as Colonel by men who honor him; And youths in finest raiment now take him by the paw, Each in the hope that some day he'll call him dad-in-law.

Their days of toil are over, their sun has risen at last, A gold-embroidered curtain now hides their rocky past; For was it not discovered their little patch of soil Had rested there for ages above a flow of oil?

_James Barton Adams._

THE GLORY TRAIL

'WAY high up the Mogollons,[1]

Among the mountain tops, A lion cleaned a yearlin's bones And licked his thankful chops, When on the picture who should ride, A-trippin' down the slope, But High-Chin Bob, with sinful pride And mav'rick-hungry rope.

_"Oh, glory be to me," says he, "And fame's unfadin' flowers!

All meddlin' hands are far away; I ride my good top-hawse today And I'm top-rope of the Lazy J-- Hi! kitty cat, you're ours!"_

That lion licked his paw so brown And dreamed soft dreams of veal-- And then the circlin' loop sung down And roped him 'round his meal.

He yowled quick fury to the world Till all the hills yelled back; The top-hawse gave a snort and whirled And Bob caught up the slack.

_"Oh, glory be to me," laughs he.

"We hit the glory trail.

No human man as I have read Darst loop a ragin' lion's head, Nor ever hawse could drag one dead Until we told the tale."_

'Way high up the Mogollons That top-hawse done his best, Through whippin' brush and rattlin' stones, From canyon-floor to crest But ever when Bob turned and hoped A limp remains to find, A red-eyed lion, belly roped But healthy, loped behind.

_"Oh, glory be to me," grunts he, "This glory trail is rough, Yet even till the Judgment Morn I'll keep this dally 'round the horn, For never any hero born Could stoop to holler: 'nuff!'"_

Three suns had rode their circle home Beyond the desert's rim, And turned their star herds loose to roam The ranges high and dim; Yet up and down and round and 'cross Bob pounded, weak and wan, For pride still glued him to his hawse And glory drove him on.

_"Oh, glory be to me," sighs he.

"He kaint be drug to death, But now I know beyond a doubt Them heroes I have read about Was only fools that stuck it out To end of mortal breath."_

'Way high up the Mogollons A prospect man did swear That moon dreams melted down his bones And hoisted up his hair: A ribby cow-hawse thundered by, A lion trailed along, A rider, ga'nt, but chin on high, Yelled out a crazy song.

_"Oh, glory be to me!" cries he, "And to my n.o.ble noose!

O stranger, tell my pards below I took a rampin' dream in tow, And if I never lay him low, I'll never turn him loose!"_ _Charles Badger Clark._

[1] p.r.o.nounced by the natives "muggy-yones."

HIGH CHIN BOB

'WAY high up in the Mokiones, among the mountain tops, A lion cleaned a yearling's bones and licks his thankful chops; And who upon the scene should ride, a-trippin' down the slope, But High Chin Bob of sinful pride and maverick-hungry rope.

"Oh, glory be to me!" says he, "an' fame's unfadin' flowers; I ride my good top hoss today and I'm top hand of Lazy-J, So, kitty-cat, you're ours!"

The lion licked his paws so brown, and dreamed soft dreams of veal, As High Chin's rope came circlin' down and roped him round his meal; She yowled quick fury to the world and all the hills yelled back; That top horse gave a snort and whirled and Bob took up the slack.

"Oh, glory be to me!" says he, "we'll hit the glory trail.

No man has looped a lion's head and lived to drag the critter dead Till I shall tell the tale."

'Way high up in the Mokiones that top hoss done his best, 'Mid whippin' brush and rattlin' stones from canon-floor to crest; Up and down and round and cross Bob pounded weak and wan, But pride still glued him to his hoss and glory spurred him on.

"Oh, glory be to me!" says he, "this glory trail is rough!

But I'll keep this dally round the horn until the toot of judgment morn Before I'll holler 'nough!"

Three suns had rode their circle home, beyond the desert rim, And turned their star herds loose to roam the ranges high and dim; And whenever Bob turned and hoped the limp remains to find, A red-eyed lion, belly roped, but healthy, loped behind!

"Oh, glory be to me," says Bob, "he caint be drug to death!

These heroes that I've read about were only fools that stuck it out To the end of mortal breath."

'Way high up in the Mokiones, if you ever camp there at night, You'll hear a rukus among the stones that'll lift your hair with fright; You'll see a cow-hoss thunder by--a lion trail along, And the rider bold, with his chin on high, sings forth his glory song: "Oh, glory be to me!" says he, "and to my mighty noose.

Oh, pardner, tell my friends below I took a ragin' dream in tow, And if I didn't lay him low, I never turned him loose!"

_From oral rendition._

TO HEAR HIM TELL IT

I WAS just about to take a drink-- I was mighty dry-- So I hailed an old time cowman Who was pa.s.sing by, "Come in, Ole Timer! have a drink!

Kinda warm today!"

As we leaned across the bar-rail-- "How's things up your way?"

"Stock is doin' fairly good, Range is gettin' fine; I jes dropped down to meetin' here To spend a little time.

Con'sidable stuff a-movin' now-- Cows an' hosses, too, Prices high an' a big demand-- Now I'm tellin' you!

"I've loaded out my feeders, Got a good price all aroun'; Sold 'em in Kansas City To a commission man named Brown.

A thousand told o' mixed stuff, In pretty fair shape, too,"