With its curves an’ awful tres’les over rocks an’ mountain streams.
’Twuz an afternoon in August, we hed got behind an hour
An’ wuz tearin’ up the mountain like a summer thunder-shower,
Round the bends an’ by the hedges ’bout ez fast ez we could go,
With the mountain-peaks above us an’ the river down below.
Ez we come nigh to a tres’le ’cros’t a holler, deep an’ wild,
Suddenly I saw a baby, ’twuz the stationkeeper’s child,
Toddlin’ right along the timbers with a bold and fearless tread
Right afore the locomotive, not a hundred rods ahead.
I jist jumped an’ grabbed the throttle an’ I fa’rly held my breath,