Songs of the Cattle Trail and Cow Camp Part 9

Every buckaroo that sees her Tearin' cross the range astride Has some mighty jealous feelin's Wis.h.i.+n' he knowed how to ride.

Why, she'll take a deep barranca Six-foot wide and never peep; That 'ere cayuse she's a-forkin'

Sure's somethin' on the leap.

Ride? Why, she can cut a critter From the herd as neat as pie, Read a brand out on the ranges Just as well as you or I.

Ain't much yet with the riata, But you give her a few years And no puncher with the outfit Will beat her a-ropin' steers.

Proud o' her? Say, lemme tell you, She's the queen of all the range; Got a grip upon our heart-strings Mighty strong, but that ain't strange; 'Cause she loves the lowin' cattle, Loves the hills and open air, Dusty trails on blossomed canons G.o.d has strung around out here.

Hoof-beats poundin' down the mesa, Chicken-time in lively tune, Jest below the trail to Keeber's,-- Wait, you'll see her pretty soon.

You kin bet I know that ridin',-- Now she's toppin' yonder swell.

Thar she is; that's her a-smilin'

At the bars of the corral.

_Anonymous._

I WANT MY TIME

I'M night guard all alone tonight, Dead homesick, lonely, tired and blue; And none but you can make it right; My heart is hungry, Girl, for you.

I've longed all night to hug you, Dear; To speak my love I'm at a loss.

But just as soon as daylight's here I'm goin' straight to see the boss.

"How long's the round-up goin' to run?

Another week, or maybe three?

Give me my time, then, I am done.

No, I'm not sick. Three weeks? Oh gee!"

I know, though, when I've had enough.

I will not work,--darned if I will.

I'm goin' to quit, and that's no bluff.

Say, gimme some tobacco, Bill.

_Anonymous._

WHO'S THAT CALLING SO SWEET?

THE herds are gathered in from plain and hill, Who's that a-calling?

The boys are sleeping and the boys are still, Who's that a-calling?

'Twas the wind a-sighing in the prairie gra.s.s, Who's that a-calling?

Or wild birds singing overhead as they pa.s.s.

Who's that a-calling?

Making heart and pulse to beat.

No, no, it wasn't earthly sound I heard, Who's that a-calling?

It was no sigh of breeze or song of bird, Who's that a-calling?

For the tone I heard was softer far than these, that a-calling?

'Twas loved ones' voices from far off across the seas _Deveen._

SONG OF THE CATTLE TRAIL

THE dust hangs thick upon the trail And the horns and the hoofs are clas.h.i.+ng, While off at the side through the chaparral The men and the strays go cras.h.i.+ng; But in right good cheer the cowboy sings, For the work of the fall is ending, And then it's ride for the old home ranch Where a maid love's light is tending.

Then it's crack! crack! crack!

On the beef steer's back, And it's run, you slow-foot devil; For I'm soon to turn back where through the black Love's lamp gleams along the level.

He's trailed them far o'er the trackless range, Has this knight of the saddle leather; He has risked his life in the mad stampede, And has breasted all kinds of weather.

But now is the end of the trail in sight, And the hours on wings are sliding; For it's back to the home and the only girl When the foreman O K's the option.

Then it's quirt! quirt! quirt!

And it's run or git hurt, You hang-back, bawling critter.

For a man who's in love with a turtle dove Ain't got no time to fritter.

_Anonymous._

A COWBOY'S SON

WHAR y'u from, little stranger, little boy?

Y'u was ridin' a cloud on that star-strewn plain, But y'u fell from the skies like a drop of rain To this world of sorrow and long, long pain.

Will y'u care fo' yo' mothah, little boy?

When y'u grows, little varmint, little boy, Y'u'll be ridin' a hoss by yo' fathah's side With yo' gun and yo' spurs and yo' howstrong pride.

Will y'u think of yo' home when the world rolls wide?

Will y'u wish for yo' mothah, little boy?

When y'u love in yo' manhood, little boy,-- When y'u dream of a girl who is angel fair,-- When the stars are her eyes and the wind is her hair,-- When the sun is her smile and yo' heaven's there,-- Will y'u care for yo' mothah, little boy?

_Poc.o.c.k in "Curley."_

A COWBOY SONG

I COULD not be so well content, So sure of thee, Senorita, But well I know you must relent And come to me, Lolita!