As she drew up close, the head-end shack
Threw the switch to the passenger track,
The stock rolled in and off the main,
And the line was clear for the west-bound train.
When she hove in sight far up the track,
She was workin' steam, with her brake shoes slack,
She hollered once at the whistle post,
Then she flitted by like a frightened ghost.
He could hear the roar of the big six-wheel,
And her driver's pound on the polished steel,
And the screech of her flanges on the rail
As she beat it west o'er the desert trail.
The John got busy and took the risk,
He climbed aboard and began to frisk,
He reached up high and began to feel
For the end-door pin — then he cracked the seal.
[p. 171]
'Twas a double-decked stock-car, filled with sheep,
Old John crawled in and went to sleep.
She whistled twice and high-balled out,—
They were off, down the Gila Monster Route.
L. F. Post and Glenn Norton.
THE CALL OF THE PLAINS
HO! wind of the far, far prairies!
Free as the waves of the sea!
Your voice is sweet as in alien street
The cry of a friend to me!
You bring me the breath of the prairies,
Known in the days that are sped,
The wild geese's cry and the blue, blue sky
And the sailing clouds o'er head!
My eyes are weary with longing
For a sight of the sage grass gray,
For the dazzling light of a noontide bright
And the joy of the open day!
Oh, to hear once more the clanking
Of the noisy cowboy's spur,
And the south wind's kiss like a mild caress
Making the grasses stir.