Five years later on a cayuse struck the trail
Whose record made even old "punchers" turn pale.
He was really a terror; could dance on his ear,
And sling a man farther than that stump—to here!
A man heard of Ike; grinned and bet his whole pile
His sorrel would shake him before one could smile.
So the crowd they came round and they staked all they had,
While Ike, sorter innocent, said: "Is he bad?"
And durin' their laugh—for the sorrel, you see,
Had eat up two ropes and was tryin' for me—
Ike patted his neck—"Nice pony," says he,
And was into the saddle as quick as a flea.
That sorrel he jumped and he twisted and bucked,
And the man laughed, expectin' that Ike would be chucked.
But soon the cayuse was fair swimmin' in sweat
While Ike, looking bored, rolled a neat cigarette.
And then from range to range he hunted a cayuse
That could even in-ter-est him, but it wasn't any use.
So he got quite melancholic, wondering why such an earth,
Where the horses "had no sperrits," should have given himself birth.