XLIII.
"No," sez he, with his small, prickin' ears,
Plain es a human could speak; an' me—
I turn'd my head tew glimpse ef I could,
Who might the chap with the lariat be.
Wal, Pard, I weaken'd—ye bet yer life!
Thar wasn't a human in sight around,
But right in front of me come the beat
Of a hoss's hoofs on the tremblin' ground—
XLIV.
Steddy an' heavy—a slingin' lope;
A hefty critter with biggish bones
Might make jest sich—could hear the hoofs
Es they struck on the rattlin', rollin' stones—
The jingle of bit—an' clar an' shrill
A whistle es ever left cowboy's lip,
An' cuttin' the air, the long, fine hiss
Of the whirlin' lash of a cowboy's whip.
XLV.
I crowded the mustang back, ontil
He riz on his haunches—an' I sed,
"In the Maker's name, who may ye be?"
Sez a vice, "Old feller, jest ride ahead!"
"All right!" sez I, an' I shook the rein.
"Ye've turn'd the herd in a hansum style—
Whoever ye be, I'll not back down!"
An' I didn't, neither,—ye bet yer pile!
XLVI.
Clus on the heels of that unseen hoss,
I rode on the side of the turnin' herd,
An' once in a while I answer'd back
A shout or a whistle or cheerin' word—
From lips no lightnin' was strong tew show.
'Twas sort of scareful, that midnight ride;
But we'd got our backs tew the gulch—fur that
I'd hev foller'd a curiouser sort of guide!
XLVII.
'Twas kind of scareful tew watch the herd,
Es the plungin' leaders squirm'd an' shrank—
Es I heerd the flick of the unseen lash
Hiss on the side of a steamin' flank.
Guess the feller was smart at the work!
We work'd them leaders round, ontil
They overtook the tail of the herd,
An' the hull of the crowd begun tew "mill."