Oh, bury me out on the lone prairee!”
There was, evidently, another verse, but Jimmy interposed. “For the love of lemons, Monty!” he begged. “Don’t you know anything cheerful?”
Monty grinned, nodded and struck the keys a resounding bang, straightened back and started off blithely:
“Only a ‘ranch hand,’ stranger,
At a dollar a day, you see;
And six mules hitched to a ‘Stockton gang’
Furnish the fun for me.
“At four o’clock in the bunk house
The clock beats a wild tattoo,
It’s git up an’ git an’ feed your mules