To me —'n yit, ef I c'd rope
Jes one to wear my brand
I'd strike f'r Home Ranch on a lope,
The happiest in the land.
Yo' savvy who I'm runnin' so,
Yo' savvy who I be;
Now, can't yo' take that brand — yo' know,—
The
M-I-N-E.
C. F. Lummis.
A COWBOY'S HOPELESS LOVE
I'VE heard that story ofttimes about that little chap
A-cryin' for the shiney moon to fall into his lap,
An' jes a-raisin' merry hell because he couldn't git
The same to swing down low so's he could nab a-holt of it,
An' I'm a-feelin' that-a-way, locoed I reckon, wuss
Than that same kid, though maybe not a-makin' sich a fuss,—
A-goin' round with achin' eyes a-hankerin' fer a peach
That's hangin' on the beauty tree, too high fer me to reach.
I'm jes a rider of the range, plumb rough an' on-refined,
An' wild an' keerless in my ways, like others of my kind;
A reckless cuss in leather chaps, an' tanned an' blackened so
You'd think I wuz a Greaser from the plains of Mexico.
I never learnt to say a prayer, an' guess my style o' talk,
If fired off in a Sunday School would give 'em all a shock;
[p. 78] An' yet I got a-mopin' round as crazy as a loon
An' actin' like the story kid that bellered fer the moon.
I wish to God she'd never come with them bright laughin' eyes,—
Had never flashed that smile that seems a sunburst from the skies,—
Had stayed there in her city home instead o' comin' here
To visit at the ranch an' knock my heart plumb out o' gear.
I wish to God she'd talk to me in a way to fit the case,—
In words t'd have a tendency to hold me in my place,—
Instead o' bein' sociable an' actin' like she thought
Us cowboys good as city gents in clothes that's tailor bought.