Then the whistle, a smile, a last word,
And you rolled away to the East, Miss,
While I galloped back to the herd.
You back to your world and its beauties.
New York, Paris, Rome, and all those,
I, back to a cowboy's rough duties
In sunshine and rainstorm and snows.
But to-night I'm alone in the shack here
On my quarter-square Government claim,
While coyotes are yelping out back here—