With “conical” holes he was reg’lar scored,
From his scalp-lock, down his legs,
He’d ha’ made a derned good cribbage-board,
If you’d on’y got the pegs.
Whar was Joe? Waal, I reckon he clear’d,
’Fore the fellows had time to revanche,
For the fust time in his life he was skear’d,
An’ mosey’d out of the ranche;
He know’d, with men as digs and delves,
He dursent trust his breath,