Some on the "wings," and some behind,
And steer them as we can.
There's but one pass through yonder hill;
To guide them there will need some skill,
And try both horse and man.
Some hidden object checks them there;
The leaders snuff the wind, and glare,
Then bellowing with their tails in air,
Swerve madly to the right.
A stockman hears our voices ring;