Of my swift mustang without a word.
I sprang to the saddle, and she clung behind.
Away! on a hot chase down the wind!
But never was fox-hunt half so hard
And never was steed so little spared;
For we rode for our lives. You shall hear how we fared,
In Texas, down by the Rio Grande.
The mustang flew, and we urged him on;
There was one chance left, and you have but one,
Halt! jump to the ground, and shoot your horse;