With the reins against his ankles, there that blaze-face rascal stood!
He was shiverin' with fright,
But he hadn't moved a mite,
For he'd never learned to travel till I told him that he should.
And he stayed, that Texan did,
Till I'd crawled and rolled and slid
Down beside him in the hollow and the stirrup-strap could find,
And I somehow reached the saddle
And hung on—I couldn't straddle—
While he galloped for the squadron with the Sioux strung out behind.