I fear no man by night nor day.
“When prowling wolves have left their den,
The hunter’s craft is needed then—
The country must not lack for men.”
So from the corn-rows green and tall,
I led my plough-horse to the stall,
Then took my rifle from the wall.
I slung my pouch and powder-horn,
I kissed my babe scarce three months born,
And bade my wife farewell that morn.