"Soh, Bossie, soh!
The water's handy neah,
The grass is plenty heah,
An' all the stars a-sparkle
Bekase we drive no mo'—
We drive no mo'!
The long trail ends to-day,
The long trail ends to-day,
The punchers go to play,
And all you weary cattle
May sleep in peace for sure—
Sleep, sleep fo' sure.
The moon cayn't bite you heah,
Nor punchers fright you heah,
And you-all will be beef befo'
We need you any mo'—
We need you mo'!"
When morning broke Jim piled hay on the burrow he'd made in the foot of the wall, and lay on top, dead weary to get some sleep. At ten o'clock the doctor from Bisley found Curly still singing, light-headed, talking nonsense. The patient said he was a bear, so the doctor gave sleep medicine, and sat beside him. At noon he fed the boys their dinner and went away, but they didn't wake again until supper-time, when the man on guard came in.
"What's for supper?" says Curly.
"Tortillas, frijoles, coffee—same as usual."
"Eat it," says Curly, "'cause I'm only a bear holed up for winter. We don't eat in winter anyways."
"Bears have their coffee," says Jim.
"Oh yes, of course," and Curly fed coffee to the winter bear. That cleared his head, and he sat up watching Jim at work on the little round dishes. The food was frijoles, the same being beans, and tortillas, which is a thin corn-cake, pretty much the same as brown fly-papers, warm and damp, but sort of uninteresting to taste. The coffee was in a brown earthen pot, fresh from the fire, and mighty encouraging. Those three things make the proper feed for Mexicans, the same being simple, uninstructed people, knowing no better. When they feast they make a stew of red pepper, and take a little meat with it; but that dish is a luxury, and hot enough to burn a hole through a brick.
When Jim had eaten everything in sight he started cigarettes, listening to a banjo in the guardroom, a growing hum of talk, and the click of cups, for some Holy Cross riders were there with a jar of cactus spirit, a deck of cards, and other inducements sent in by Captain McCalmont. Jim heard them talking war because they'd never been paid off at Holy Cross, and had six months' wages coming. They allowed that el Chico their young patrone ought to hang, and the guards agreed that such was probable. To-morrow the prisoners were going to be collected by the United States authorities for trial. Jim looked at his partner for comfort, but saw big tears rolling down Curly's face.