Says I, "That's just the thing."

We started for the ranch next day; Brown augured me most all the way.

He said that cow-punching was nothing but play, That it was no work at all,-- That all you had to do was ride, And only drifting with the tide; The son of a gun, oh, how he lied.

Don't you think he had his gall?

He put me in charge of a cavyard, And told me not to work too hard, That all I had to do was guard The horses from getting away; I had one hundred and sixty head, I sometimes wished that I was dead; When one got away, Brown's head turned red, And there was the devil to pay.

Sometimes one would make a break, Across the prairie he would take, As if running for a stake,-- It seemed to them but play; Sometimes I could not head them at all, Sometimes my horse would catch a fall And I'd shoot on like a cannon ball Till the earth came in my way.

They saddled me up an old gray hack With two set-fasts on his back, They padded him down with a gunny sack And used my bedding all.

When I got on he quit the ground, Went up in the air and turned around, And I came down and busted the ground,-- I got one h.e.l.l of a fall.

They took me up and carried me in And rubbed me down with an old stake pin.

"That's the way they all begin; You're doing well," says Brown.

"And in the morning, if you don't die, I'll give you another horse to try."

"Oh say, can't I walk?" says I.

Says he, "Yes, back to town."

I've traveled up and I've traveled down, I've traveled this country round and round, I've lived in city and I've lived in town, But I've got this much to say: Before you try cow-punching, kiss your wife, Take a heavy insurance on your life, Then cut your throat with a barlow knife,-- For it's easier done that way.

CALIFORNIA JOE

Well, mates, I don't like stories; Or am I going to act A part around the campfire That ain't a truthful fact?

So fill your pipes and listen, I'll tell you--let me see-- I think it was in fifty, From that till sixty-three.

You've all heard tell of Bridger; I used to run with Jim, And many a hard day's scouting I've done longside of him.

Well, once near old Fort Reno, A trapper used to dwell; We called him old Pap Reynolds, The scouts all knew him well.

One night in the spring of fifty We camped on Powder River, And killed a calf of buffalo And cooked a slice of liver.

While eating, quite contented, I heard three shots or four; Put out the fire and listened,-- We heard a dozen more.

We knew that old man Reynolds Had moved his traps up here; So picking up our rifles And fixing on our gear We moved as quick as lightning, To save was our desire.

Too late, the painted heathens Had set the house on fire.

We hitched our horses quickly And waded up the stream; While down close beside the waters I heard a m.u.f.fled scream.

And there among the bushes A little girl did lie.

I picked her up and whispered, "I'll save you or I'll die."

Lord, what a ride! Old Bridger Had covered my retreat; Sometimes that child would whisper In voice low and sweet, "Poor Papa, G.o.d will take him To Mama up above; There is no one left to love me, There is no one left to love."

The little one was thirteen And I was twenty-two; I says, "I'll be your father And love you just as true."

She nestled to my bosom, Her hazel eyes so bright, Looked up and made me happy,-- The close pursuit that night.

One month had pa.s.sed and Maggie, We called her Hazel Eye, In truth was going to leave me, Was going to say good-bye.

Her uncle, Mad Jack Reynolds, Reported long since dead, Had come to claim my angel, His brother's child, he said.

What could I say? We parted, Mad Jack was growing old; I handed him a bank note And all I had in gold.

They rode away at sunrise, I went a mile or two, And parting says, "We will meet again; May G.o.d watch over you."

By a laughing, dancing brook A little cabin stood, And weary with a long day's scout, I spied it in the wood.

The pretty valley stretched beyond, The mountains towered above, And near its willow banks I heard The cooing of a dove.

'Twas one grand pleasure; The brook was plainly seen, Like a long thread of silver In a cloth of lovely green; The laughter of the water, The cooing of the dove, Was like some painted picture, Some well-told tale of love.

While drinking in the country And resting in the saddle, I heard a gentle rippling Like the dipping of a paddle, And turning to the water, A strange sight met my view,-- A lady with her rifle In a little bark canoe.

She stood up in the center, With her rifle to her eye; I thought just for a second My time had come to die.

I doffed my hat and told her, If it was just the same, To drop her little shooter, For I was not her game.

She dropped the deadly weapon And leaped from the canoe.

Says she, "I beg your pardon; I thought you was a Sioux.

Your long hair and your buckskin Looked warrior-like and rough; My bead was spoiled by sunshine, Or I'd have killed you sure enough."

"Perhaps it would've been better If you'd dropped me then," says I; "For surely such an angel Would bear me to the sky."

She blushingly dropped her eyelids, Her cheeks were crimson red; One half-shy glance she gave me And then hung down her head.

I took her little hand in mine; She wondered what it meant, And yet she drew it not away, But rather seemed content.

We sat upon the mossy bank, Her eyes began to fill; The brook was rippling at our feet, The dove was cooing still.

'Tis strong arms were thrown around her.

"I'll save you or I'll die."

I clasped her to my bosom, My long lost Hazel Eye.

The rapture of that moment Was almost heaven to me; I kissed her 'mid the tear-drops, Her merriment and glee.

Her heart near mine was beating When sobbingly she said, "My dear, my brave preserver, They told me you were dead.

But oh, those parting words, Joe, Have never left my mind, You said, 'We'll meet again, Mag,'

Then rode off like the wind.

"And oh, how I have prayed, Joe, For you who saved my life, That G.o.d would send an angel To guide you through all strife.

The one who claimed me from you, My Uncle, good and true, Is sick in yonder cabin; Has talked so much of you.

"'If Joe were living darling,'

He said to me last night, 'He would care for you, Maggie, When G.o.d puts out my light.'"

We found the old man sleeping.

"Hush, Maggie, let him rest."

The sun was slowly setting In the far-off, glowing West.

And though we talked in whispers He opened wide his eyes: "A dream, a dream," he murmured; "Alas, a dream of lies."

She drifted like a shadow To where the old man lay.

"You had a dream, dear Uncle, Another dream to-day?"

"Oh yes, I saw an angel As pure as mountain snow, And near her at my bedside Stood California Joe."

"I'm sure I'm not an angel, Dear Uncle, that you know; These hands that hold your hand, too, My face is not like snow.

"Now listen while I tell you, For I have news to cheer; Hazel Eye is happy, For Joe is truly here."