THE SONG OF THE WINCHESTER
FULL heir to the twist-bored yager gun with its half-inch slug, I stand;
His rest was the Forty-niner's arm, as mine is the sportsman's hand.
I am king of my day as he of his, from the swamp to the saw-backed spur,
And there's never a trail but has heard the hail of the ringing Winchester!
I've saved the leaguered wagon-train from the scalping-knife and stake;
I have held the lead through the blind stampede in the bison's dust-dimmed wake;
By the reeking dives of the placer camp I have killed for a careless jest,
And I've raped the loot from the stage-coach boot at the bandit's stern behest.