But this yer luck of Dow's Was so powerful mean That the spring near his house Dried right up on the green; And he sunk forty feet down for water, but nary a drop to be seen.
Then the bar petered out, And the boys wouldn't stay; And the chills got about, And his wife fell away; But Dow, in his well, kept a peggin' in his usual ridikilous way.
One day,—it was June,— And a year ago, jest,— This Dow kem at noon To his work like the rest, With a shovel and pick on his shoulder, and a derringer hid in his breast.
He goes to the well, And he stands on the brink, And stops for a spell Jest to listen and think: For the sun in his eyes, (jest like this, sir!) you see, kinder made the cuss blink.
His two ragged gals In the gulch were at play, And a gownd that was Sal's Kinder flapped on a bay: Not much for a man to be leavin', but his all,— as I've heer'd the folks say.
And—that's a peart hoss Thet you've got—ain't it now? What might be her cost? Eh? Oh!—Well then, Dow— Let's see,—well, that forty-foot grave wasn't his, sir, that day, anyhow.
For a blow of his pick Sorter caved in the side, And he looked and turned sick, Then he trembled and cried. For you see the dern cuss had struck—"Water?" —beg your parding, young man, there you lied!
It was gold,—in the quartz, And it ran all alike; And I reckon five oughts Was the worth of that strike; And that house with coopilow's his'n,—which the same isn't bad for a Pike.
Thet's why it's Dow's Flat; And the thing of it is That he kinder got that Through sheer contrairiness: For 't was water the derned cuss was seekin', and his luck made him certain to miss.
Thet's so. Thar's your way To the left of yon tree; But—a—look h'yur, say, Won't you come up to tea? No? Well, then the next time you're passin'; and ask after Dow,—and thet's me.