The hot sun beamed, and our faces streamed
with the sweat of a mad desire.
I was captain then of the mining men, and I had
a precious life,
For a wilder set I never met at derringer and
knife;
Nigh every day there was some new fray, a
bullet in some one's brain,
And the viciousest brute to stab and to shoot,
was an Imp of Hell from Maine.