The Colonel’s son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he,
With the mouth of a bell, and the heart of hell, and the head of a gallows-tree.
The Colonel’s son to the Fort has won; they bid him stay to eat—
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.
He’s up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
Till he was aware of his father’s mare, with Kamal upon her back,
And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack.
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.
“Ye shoot like a soldier,” Kamal said. “Show now if ye can ride.”
It’s up and over the tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go—