WHISKEY BILL,— A FRAGMENT
A-DOWN the road and gun in hand
Comes Whiskey Bill, mad Whiskey Bill;
A-lookin' for some place to land
Comes Whiskey Bill.
An' everybody'd like to be
Ten miles away behind a tree
When on his joyous, aching spree
Starts Whiskey Bill.
The times have changed since you made love,
O Whiskey Bill, O Whiskey Bill!
The happy sun grinned up above
At Whiskey Bill.
And down the middle of the street
The sheriff comes on toe and feet
A-wishin' for one fretful peek
At Whiskey Bill.
The cows go grazing o'er the lea,—
Poor Whiskey Bill! Poor Whiskey Bill!
An' aching thoughts pour in on me
Of Whiskey Bill.
The sheriff up and found his stride;
Bill's soul went shootin' down the slide,—
How are things on the Great Divide,
O Whiskey Bill?
Anonymous.
DENVER JIM
"SAY, fellers, that ornery thief must be nigh us,
For I jist saw him across this way to the right;
Ah, there he is now right under that burr-oak
As fearless and cool as if waitin' all night.
Well, come on, but jist get every shooter all ready
Fur him, if he's spilin' to give us a fight;
The birds in the grove will sing chants to our picnic
An' that limb hangin' over him stands about right.