Another one just grazed my side—
But pshaw! ere we’re half a day older
We’ll be at the end of our ride.
“We’ve camped here for breakfast. Tom’s splitting
Some kindling wood, off of the pines,
And astride a dead cedar I’m sitting
To hastily pen you these lines.
“A courier from Deadwood—we met him
Just now with a mail for the States,
(Ah, Jenny! I’ll never forget him)—