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''^. li^*-' ■^. ..> ■ » * »* ,#•-* ¥-. , A-iV-, i.-*.' c*«w ■ V l'*C- Qx **V*% "^v 'd^^. -%^ i-f^" X-* . "ii^i&mM^y - "stL.: •j i ,•/• -< .*. -^ ?^ OUT WHERE THE WEST BEGINS And Other Western Verses By Arthur Chapman TORONTO THOMAS ALLEN BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 1917 %^. COrVRIOHT, I916 AND I917, BY AKTHl'II CHAPMAN ALL RIGHTS RBSKRVKD J^Hishtii February igtj i-'t^HAJ^y OF r-u INlVhf^SlTY .. OF AuyuUA t '-vv-v%%,^,^^ 'v-fc*,'*^ TO L. E. C. 46297 NOTE Some of the material in this book appeared originally in the New York Sun, whose editor has kindly granted permission to reprint. .;l' Contents Out where the West Begins 1 The Changed Hills S Arroyo Al on Wealth 4 Arroyo Al on Worry 5 The Dead Prospector Movmo Pictures in Cactus Center 7 Christmas Shopping in Cactus Center .... 9 The Cowboys and the Prospector H The Cowboy and the Tempter 12 A Cowboy's Musings 14 The Cowboy's Homing 15 The Cow-Puncher's Elecy 17 4 Cow-Puncheh Philosophy 19 The Sheriff's Report 21 The Diamond Hitch 22 The Dude Ranch 24 The White Man's Road 26 Jim ^j The Herder's Reverie 29 The Magic Mulligan 30 The Market Train 33 Little Papoose 35 The Water-Carrier 3g The Old Dutch Oven 37 Old Home Week in Cactus Center 38 The Old Sheep Wagon 40 The Old-Timer 42 Out among the Bio Things 44 ix I'^^-*'! Contents Thb Osthich-Pttnchino ok Arroto All .... 48 The Westsrneb 4g Pete's Erbob 40 The Man the Desert Got 51 In a Deserted Mining Camp 53 Ridin' the Chuck-Line 54 Tub Blanket Injun ^g The Pon^ Express 5g The War-Hohse Buyers 59 The Sheep-Heroer gj The Sheep-Herder's Lament q^ The Sheepman's Plaint 54 At the Outposts qq The Diamond Drill Man qj Tex QQ The Traders 71 The Frontier Fort 74 The Border Riders 73 The Range Pirates 75 The Bunkhouse 78 The High-Heeled Boots 73 The Homesteader gO The Kiddies' Play-Hour 81 The Indian Pouce 83 In Lonesome Land 84 The J'.'valid go The Mother Lode 87 I'me Meeting gg Before the Gringo Came go Men in the Rough gg Out where the West Begins OUT WHERE TEE WEST BEGINS Otd where the hardcUup *t a little ttronger. Out where the mile dwells a little longer. Thai '« where the West begins: Out where the sun is a little brighter. Where the snows that fall are a trifle whiter. Where the bonds of home are a wee bit tighter^ That '« where the West begins. Out where the skies are a trifle bluer. Out where friendship 's a litUe truer. That '* where the West begins; Otd where a fresher breeze is blowing. Where there 's laughter in every streamlet flowing. Where there 's more of reaping and less of sowing. That 's where the West begins. » Out where the world is in the making. Where fewer hearts in despair are aching. Thai 's where the West begins; Where there '« more of singing and less of sighing. Where there 's more of giving and less of buying. And a man makes friends without half trying — That 's where the West begins. 1 THE CHANGED HILLS The hills on which the cattle grazed Are atrange tonlay unto my eyes ; The plough has severed, as a sword, All the appealing, olden ties ; The apple trees are blossoming — I see their promise gleaming there ; And smell their perfume, heavy, sweet. Where once the wild sage filled the air. The hills on which the cattle grazed Were once the battle-grounds where men. Far from the haunts of womankind. Won, or were beaten — life throbbed then With meanings all unknown to-day. Where once the roundup camp-fire blazed, The ranch light shines like star upon The hills on which the cattle grazed. »,i ij \4 , t 1 1 i Je. If4 ARROYO AL ON WEALTH This gune of git-rich-pronto Mems A foolish sort of thing ; The man who hu luch wondroiu dreams Is wastia' time, by jing ! Which thoughts are prompted by the case Of Poker Bill McGuire, Who cleaned this lively little place And left us broke entire. His saddle-pockets bulged with wealth When Billy rode away, But soon we found he 'd won by stealth — Marked cards had been his lay. And so we hit a shorter trail Across the foothill crags, And nabbed that graspin*, om'ry male And took his saddle-bags. And Billy 's dead, his 'ream has bu'at And vanished, light as foam ; We 're holdin' all his wealth in trust To found a orphans* home. 4 ARROYO AL ON V\'OUHY TiiET 'd tnftke a rattlin' roundup, >ure, The troubles known to man, If we could gather all the kinds Since this old world began. But 'raong the troubles on life 's range, The common and preferred, — That critter Utbeled Worry is The om'riest of the herd. You think you 'v , got him roped and tied And humbled iu the dust, But soon that critter's up again And raisin' clouds of dust. You 're feelin' fine — the sky is blue. Your laugh 's a happy man's — But Worry comes cavortin' in And stampedes all your plans. Seems like, when this here world was made For me and you, old pal, This Worry critter should have been Shut tight in some corral. S i THE DEAD PROSPECTOR The hills shall miss him — while the pines, Through which he wandered o'er the slopes. Shall ask the nodding columbines Of him — the Man of Living Hopes. i' i He loved the mountains — when came Spring He turned unto the greening way, And, as one hoards a priceless thing, He counted grudgingly each day. The heights were his — let those who would Seek ease in vales stretched far beneath , Where gleams yon gaunt peak's snowy hood His camp-fire smoke curled like a wreath. His quest was vain — and yet who knows How little meant the gold he sought ; Enough for him Fall's golden glows. And colors in the sunset wrought. I* * I - MOVLVG PICTURES IX CACTUS CENTER The culture game in Cactus has been boosted quite a spell By a gent with movin' pictures — and he played the show game well ; But he had himself sure tangled, and the uplift game was messed When he tried to show a drammer of the palpitatin' West. The hall was filled with punchers when he tuned up his machine, And showed us what was labeled a real Wild Western scene ; There was mountains in the background, which was real enough, perhaps. But you oughter seen them actors that cavorted round in chaps ! We stood it without knockin' till a bronk drifts in the play And the cowboy and his sweetheart make their weddin' getaway ; Then we groans in chorus mighty, and we turns jest wh^re we sits, And it only takes one volley to reduce the lamp to bits. 7 f : I fA \^ Out where the West Begins Then we sought the frightened owner, and we paid the damage done, But we cautioned him hereafter nary Western film to run; " 'Cause," we say, " it makes us nervous — nay, we may say, peeved and cross — When we see an actor-cowboy mount the wrong side of his hossi" ' I , .^ i ■h] ; i CHRISTMAS SHOPPING IN CACTUS CENTER Women's scarce in Cactus Center, and there ain't no bar- gain stores Fer to start them Monday rushes that break down the stoutest doors ; Bat we had some Christmas shoppin' that the town ain't over yet, J tit because of one small woman and a drug store toilet set. She was Cactus Center's teacher, and she had n left the stage 'Fore she had the boys plum locoed — and I don't war youth nor age ; She was cute and smart and pretty, and she might 'a' been here yet If it had n't been fer Dawson and his drug store toilet set. It was old ?nd scratched and speckled, for 't was in his case for years, But ol' Dawson, sharp and clever, put a whisper in our ears 'Lowed he 'd sell that set at auction, and he says : " Now, boys, you bet This 'ill make a hit with Teacher — this here swell new toilet set." 1/ F.I •^ -■■ ., •Itr Out where the West Begins Well, the biddiu' started lively, and it got to gettin' hot, Fer every mind in Cactus on that single thing was sot ; Party soon I 'd staked my saddle, worth two hundred dollars net, Jest to own fer one short second tlut Llamed drug store toilet set. It was then began the shootin' — no one seems to know jest how — And 't was lack of ammunition that at last broke up the row; And thirteen of us was hurted, but the worst blow that we met Was in findin' that some bullets had gone through that toilet set. But we plugged the punctures in it, and we plugged the wounded, too. And agreed we 'd arbitrate it, and the bunch 'd see it through ; So we sent a gift committee, but they came back sorer yet — Fer the teacher 'd fluttered Eastward — so we 've got that toilet set. THE COWBOYS AND THE PROSPECTOR The Two-Bar camp has entertained A minin' feller as a guest ; He drifted in one night it rained — A prospector who needed rest. He bunked with us and talked a string About the gold he hoped to get ; If we had let him run, by jing ! He sure would be a-talkin' yet. He 'd scratched and dug in hills untold, A-huntin' fer the mother lode, But did n't need such heaps of gold No more 'n the burro that he rode. I I*. He could n't understand why we Was punchin' cows fer ten a week. With not a thought that gold might be In every rock or hill or creek. And we plum failed to make him out — His greed for what he could n't spend ; He might be right, but I misdoubt If such a chap could be a friend. 11 II r3 i~'- i > 1 ' ' I'V THE COWBOY AND THE TEMPTER I MET a well-dressed stranger at the bar in Poker Bill's; I had just come off the roundup in the far Red Desert hills. He spent his gold most lib'ral, but he overplayed his hand "When he tried to buy my cow-hoss for some distant, warrin' land. He offered me two hundred, which he boosted seventy. five. I let him talk his string out, jest to see where he 'd arrive ; And he looked my pony over and then says, « I 'm standin' pat On an offer of three hundred — and you 'd better grab at that!" um WeU, I needed that three hundred, and I needed it pi bad, But the thought of seUin' Teton didn't, somehow, make me glad. And I says : " I 've rode that pony in the rain and in the sun; We have romped the range together tiU our thoughts melt jest like one; 12 The Cowboy and the Tempter I have trained him till in turnin' he can stand upon my hat; You should see him on tlie roundup, he is quicker than a cat; When I throw a steer, that pony holds the critter till I tie, And he loves the game he 's playin', you kin see it in his eye. " That there hoss which you would slaughter at the front acrost the sea Has shared all my daily troubles, and a comrade is to me. We have battled snows together when King Winter 'a ruled the plains. And we 've shared the Chinook breezes and the Summer's first warm rains. We have dwelt in sage and cactus till we could n't change our home, — When that pony travels elsewhere, why, the rider, too, will roam. I admit you 've got me tempted, but my needs '11 have to wait, So — dum it, hoss, that stranger's up and pulled his om'ry freight 1 " li ■i I A COWBOY'S MUSINGS The other day, upon the mesa's level land, Jest where it slants a leetle to the West, My hoss destroyed — he couldn't understand — A purty nest. V< 1! Some lark had built it 'neath a grassy screen, And, dum it all! I couldn't find the words To tell my sorrow, when I stooped and seen Them dead young birds. Five of 'em there was — not one to test a wing 1 And there the old birds flew, arcallin' sad ; For hours afterward 1 could n't laugh nor sing, I felt that bad. I'll m ! i i So mebbe this here Death that compasses our end Is just some blunderin' critter that goes by, Like my old hoss, and never does intend To make us die. 14 THE COWBOY'S HOMING Bill 's home ag'in from Europe, where he featured with a show, But he don't talk none about it — Iur words jest seem to flow On the subject of home-oomin*, and this glorious South* west land, Which talk, to all us people, is some hard to onder- stand. ' The stage^river was telUn' when he hit the sagebrush flat That 's south of Cactus Center, Bill jest wept behind his hat. And he nearly went plum dotty, his joy was so intense, At the prairie dogs a-scoldin* behind each wire fence. N. s- When the driver stopped at Arid, f er a meal and fer a rest. Bill pinned a sprig of cactus like a flowt - on his vest ; He could n't eat fer lookin' at that endless, drearj- plain — I guess it makes men homesick fer to cross the ragin' main. 15 Out where the West Begins So we let Bill kinder babble 'bout theie things we know ■o well, And we 're all a-waitin', patient, fer the glories he will tell; In a week or two he '11 see things like he had n't been away — But the homin' joy has got him on the locoed list to^ay. Ih Ih ¥^ -• i 11 .! .. THE COW-PUNCHER'S ELEGY I *VK ridden nigh a thouiand leagues upon two bands of steel, And it takes a grizzled Westerner to know just how I feel ; The ranches dot the strongholds of the old-time saddle- men, And the iiory of the cattle days can ne'er come Iwok again. Oh, the creak of saddle leather — Oh, the sting of upland weather When the cowmen roamed the foothills and drove in ten thousand steers ; Through the years, back in the dreaming, I can see the camp-fires gleaming, And the lowing of the night-herd sounds, all faintly, in my ears. There 's a checkerboard of fences on the vast and wind- swept i-ange ; And the haystacks and the windmills make the land- scape new and strange. And the plains are full of farmers, with their harrows and their ploughs ; On the roadsides loiter kidlets, who are "driving home the cows ! " 17 ' III!! m lii Out where the West Begins m W II; ' 1 «• t J{\ 'I' Oh, the quickly faded glory Of the cowboy*! brief, brief atory ! How the old range beckons vainly in the sunihino and the rain I Oh, the reek of roundup battle And the thund'ring hoofs of cattle — But why dream a useless day-dream, that can only give one pain? Where have gone those trails historic, where the herders ■ought the mart? Where have gone the saucy cow-towns, where the gun> man played his ^art? Where has gone the Cattle Kingdom, with its armed, heroic strife? Each has vanished like a bubble that has lived its'Uttle life. Ch, the spurs we set a-jing!ing, And the blood that went a-tingling When we rode forth in the morning, chaps-dad knights in cavalcade ; And the mem'ries that come trooping, And the spirits, sad and drooping, When the cowman looks about him at the havoc Time has made. COW-PUNCHER PHILOSOPHY Thi8 world *B so doggone big and bright I 'd like to pack my grip And start out from the ranch some night On some wide, endless trip ; I 'd like to go and never stop Until, when came death's cull, I 'd simply sigh : " All right, old top — I 've seen it all ! " I' This life is such a thing of joy Why some folks kick beats me ; How kin they find heart to destroy The good in all they see'i I 'd have each day stretched to a week — Each week into a year. But joy and some folks never speak — It sure is queer! This thing called Me, it often seems Ain't mine a little bit ; It 's jest a part of Some One's schemes, And I ain't ownin' it; 19 ); III ■■|. I ■ j( ■^ i:[ ! ;•.'!! 1' Out where the West Begins But while this thing called Me is here I 'm goin' to treat it right And work to keep its record clear With all my might! ^h I! i TI L SHERIFFS REPORT We jest went n-, to git hi j, and we did We traUed him from tiie sagebrush to the pine; We seen the long-dead ashes where he 'd hid And where he 'd cooked his bit of bacon rine. I!! We found the boss, where it had fell and died, But he 'd gone on — a tough nut, yes, that 's true- We seen the blood where he had stopped and tied His coat-sleeve round his worn and busted shoe. We heard his lead, a-singin' past our ears. Where he stood pat, 'way up a lonely draw ; We smelt his powder, yet it brung no fears, 'Cause was n't we the Majesty of Law? We seen his face, his black eyes blazin' hate, We heard him fall, and in plain view he slid; The world 's some better off, I calkilate — We jest went out to git him, and we did. 0^ 11 m 21 ^ .; i^i In hi i THE DIAMOND HITCH When camp is moved, at break of day, Then comes old Packer Bill — a king Who rules, with most despotic sway. The while he loads the pack-mule string; " Now, stand off, fellers, give him room ! Now, let the critter buck and pitch ; That load will stay till crack o' doom 'Cause Bill has slung the diamond hitch." The helpers stand in trembling awe And watch the ropes weave round the pack ; The artist's lightest word is law While strong and deft hands show their knack ; A false move condemnation brings — " This noose must go jest thus and sich; No tenderfoot must bobble things When Old Bill slings the diamond hitch." Old Bill is gone — and o'er the ways His caravans trailed, in the past. The engine thunders through the haze That hangs above the prairie vast; 22 The Diamond Hitch But ere the dawn of life is fanned, Disclosing land of fence and ditch, I seem to seek the pack-mules stand While old BiU slings the diamond hitch. i I '* I I !l Ifl I I I I (I Hi Si lf/l ' ' r If t h ■- .f \ m\ I ?! li.-i THE DUDE RANCH We used to run a cow-ranch, In all that old term meant, But all our ancient glories In recent years have went ; We 're takin' summer hoarders, And, puttin' it quite rude. It 'a now the cowhoy's province To herd the festive dude. We used to run an outfit. The greatest in the West ; Our cowboys were the wonders - Our roundups were the best ; The punchers still are with us. But now they merely guide The tenderfoot from Boston Who 's leamin' how to ride. We used to brand our cattle And ship 'em wide and far ; But now we import humans From off the Pullman car ; U Hi The Dude Ranch The dudes have got us captured And tied and branded, too ; And the cowboy 'g readin' Ibsen When his daily toil is through. U rtii H m I in i t \ 1 ' I ■' I '; u r^ Out where the West Begins Young or old, or fat or slim, Lovin' all with love that 's right ; Best type senoe the world began, Bless you — good luck, Jim, old man I A] ij: i. I i ■ r li!) l\ ■■i' THE HERDER'S REVERIE Thb sheep are down at the water, aJrinkin* their bloom- in'fUl, An' me and the dog are dozin', as herders and collies will ; The world may be movin' somewheres, but here it ia standin' still. It is standin' still as a picter, and even the clouds o'erhead Look just like the clouds that are painted on the roof of a sky-blue shed, And it seems if, to fill the picter, us uid the sheep should be dead. It 's hard to think that in cities there 's men who are goin* mad, Each strivin' to beat his fellows and get what the others had ; And from tli's here peaceful viewpoint, such doin's look bad, plum bad. So the shadows lengthen and lengthen, in the long-drawn, lazy day ; Has any one been any happier than me and my dog — now say ! I wish, when it 's time fer cashin', I could pass in my checks this way. 49 fl ^Jli ft »■ ri fl|l - f m ■ i'' h I ' ! ome with news from off the range: He said he'd seen a dust cloud that looked almighty strange, So he rode his bronco over, and there, as bold as brass, He seen a sheepman feedin' his flock upon our grass. The rider turned home, pronto, and he got the boys aroused, And then they started, whoopin', for where them woollies browsed. But I met 'em, on their mission, and I heard the hull bunch groan When I said : " Now, turn back, fellers, I must play this Hand alone." I it.n ! 5! ! i I was mad clear to my gizzard when I started for the camp. And I thought of how I 'd punish this vile, sheep-herdin' scamp; I 'd escort him to the deadline, where he 'd run his sheep across, And in case I had to kill him, why, it would n't be much loss; SO 1 ri The Magic Mulligan And with such thoughts churnin* in nie when I spied hii wagon-top I rode up to the herder as he watched his woolly crop. B"t he simply grinned up at uie, and ho said: "Now, pardner, say, Let 's set down and have some dinner 'fore we start to scrap to-day." He had a stew jest ready and he dished a plateful out, And I set and et that plateful and I heard far angels shout ; I could hear gold harps a-twangin' and nay rough thoughts seemed to melt As he dished another plateful and I loosened up my helt. Then 1 laid aside my six-guns while the herder dished more stew, And at last my foreman rode up, as I knowed that he would do, And he set cross-leg ^d with me, and he et, and more hands come. And afore that sheepman's cookin' quite the loudest was struck dumb. It was mulligan he 'd made there, all alone out in the hills. This here cook whose magic humbled all my fightin' Toms and Bills; 31 \n ' J; ' '■ ; . ^ ' ■* J r 1 "■Ai 1'P 1 i -:! f , ir , (I ■'i t- 'i i i ^i . 1 Hi I ■ K i- Out where the West Begins Yon kin telk of hotel dbbM, made by oheft from furrin lands, But I *11 back this sheepman's cookin' 'gainst all Euro- pean brands. So I says, when we had finished : " You kin make yourself to home, You kin pick the choicest gnuin' and allow your sheep to roam; We will drive our cattle elsewhere — you kin have whate'er you seek — If you '11 let us come to dinner, say about three times a week!" THE MARKET TRAIN The oM caboose is rattlin*, and is swayin' to and fro ; But we 're fog-bound in tobacco, while the tales like magic grow; There 's a big trainload of cattle that is shriekin' down the grades, But we 're settin' back contented while we hear of feudit and raids ; There 's Ed and Bill and Curly, and a man from Pecos way — We 're the chaperons of slu pments that are fresh from prairie hay ; His load of care is lifted and he feels like givin' cheers When the cowman goes to market with the season's first pxime steers. Ml m Tba storws last till midnight, while the old train onward roars; There are tales of blood and slaughter and of evenin'>up old scores; There are stories of the prairie and stories of the hills, And of deeds of heroism with the mildest fall of thrills. 88 \A ^ * If'i H\ -it J !i^' !*|t :i ^i H/: Out where the West Begins The smoke keeps gettin' thicker,, but nobody wants to quit — There ' s another story comin ', and it 's sure to make a hit; There 's history for the writin'— old Homer 'd be all ears And could write another winner on a trainload of beef steers. r^. Mi i-\\ . 1 ' i' Kf' • fli 1 ■ i h p'il m LITTLE PAPOOSE Your eyes are as black as twin pools at night, Little papoose; And down in their depths I can see Love's light, Little papoose ; Let the winter wind round the teepee whine : My song shall you hear — not the creak of the pine. Little papoose of mine ! I love you — how much I cannot tell, Little papoose ; I hope you shall love me but half as well, Little papoose ; Fevr are our people and weak have they grown : We must live, we must love, we must fight alone. Little papoose, my own ! In the days when the buffalo roamed the plain, Little papoose. This heart of mine would have known no pain, Little papoose ; But — woe to the red when the white comes ni, at uxrd, Stilli all "he t.'ifA >' ' Tn \larm; And when black nigi.i dhuU i:,, c7^e band Sleeps peacefully, n , cMeam^ ot harm. And thus a Shepherd Presence, kind. Though He has ne'er unveiled His face. Is felt by men, who, weak and blind, Flock homeward from the market-place. 61 THE SHEEP-HERDER'S LAMENT The cowboy has hia bunkie To share his tarpaulin — To joke with him and smoke with him And listen to his chin. But a sheep-herder, doggone it ! When lonesome breezes moan, Must grit his teeth and stand it — He 's got to fight alone. The nester he is married — Contentment is his lot — Tliere 's laughin' and there *s chaffin' At his ranch (which here there 's not). For the sheep-herder, doggone it ! Don't hear a human voice ; It 's enough fer him to listen While the kyo-tes rejoice. The city man Is bothered With too many men around ; There 's rushin' and there 's crushin' Like when ants swarm o'er the ground. Gi The Sheep-Herder's Lament But the sheep-herder, doggone it ! Has miles of space to fill And nary soul to help him Watch the sheep feed on the hill. m THE SHEEPMAN'S PLAINT Cowboys are alius doin' What sheepmen dassent do ; They start some trouble brewin* And folks let it go through ; They bust the village quiet, And people kinder grin, But let a sheepman try it. And they run the rascal in. :'l A cowboy fogs a marshal And makes him hit the trail. And folks jest say : '♦ We 're partial To this here joyous male ! We like to see youth bubblin* And flowiu' fancy-free." But a sheepman 's merely troublin' When he would merry be. No town key 's ever handed To him who herds the sheep, But cowboys ain't commanded To quit distnrbin' sleep ; The Sheepman's Plaint It 's jest, so I 'm a-thinkin', This big world's ancient way — A-smilin' and a-winkin' When spoiled kids act up gay. 'If AT THE OUTPOSTS Men of the lonely places, How do you fare to-day? Men of the wind-swept spaces, What friend has come your way? What voice hails from the vastness Above the cold rain's drip? What man has found thy fastness And sought thy comradeship? What welcome face is gleaming, What palm has closed o'er thine? What, then, shall break thy dreaming Except the sheep-dog's whine? Men of the lonely places, How do you fare to-day? Men of the wind-burnt faces. How wear your hearts away ? o'O THE DIAMOND DRILL MAN He 's cut as clean as a new-made coin, As he stands in the murk, half dressed ; He 's l»oad of shoulder and lean of loin — That 's him at the tunnel's breast. He battles against the solid rock, Down there whei-e it 's damp and chill ; He 's bom of the Ne'erquit fighting stock Is Jim of the diamond drill. • d If there 's ever a vein that 's gone and pinched. Or dipped to an unknown plane. Just send for Jim and the rest is cinched — The lead shall be caught again ; For i be rocks they whisper strange things to Jim In the heart of the tunneled liill, And there 's never a secret withheld from him — From Jim of the diamond drill. The rest of the shift flit through the gloom Like specters in vaulted grave ; The roar of the blast sweeps through the tomb On a sulphur-perfumed wave ; 67 Out where the West Begins And the gold goes out unto mint and mart. The treasure for which men kill, Because in the mountain's granite heart Toils Jim of the diamond drill. n TEX Tex was all we called him, in them days — Tex was all the mime he answered to ; " Tex," we hollered 'cross the prairie ways When we called him to his beans and stew ; Tex was all he told us when he come, Tex was all he told us when he went ; Tex was all he needed, too, by gum ! Nothin' else would fit him worth a cent. Tex was long and lean, and Tex was brown, Tex was sure a wizard with the rope, Tex could drink and stir up things in town — Alius hit the high spots on a lope ; Tex could gamble — likewise Tex could shoot Quicker than a streak of lightnin' bright, Tex could shake his shapely, high-heeled boot In a dance and never quit all night. Tex was sure a hit around the place ; Tex was alius leadin' work and play ; No one looked for Tex to hunt disgrace When he said good-bye to us one day ; 69 Out where the West Begins But he 's gone and done it, rare enough — Tex it put all hope, ao men relate ; Tex if now — gee whiz! but it seems tough — OoT'nor of some doggone Eastern State ! t I « flU^ THE TRADERS Cowboys is the durndest boys to swap; Two of 'em can't meet and not talk trade ; Other topics take a sudden drop When some crack 'bout changin* things is made. Never seen such critters fer a deal ; " 'Lo Jim," " 'Lo Bill "— " I 'U trade you spurs to^y"; Then they talk awhile and pass the steel 'Fore each puncher goes his sep'rate way. Hundred-dollar saddles changin' hands, Silver-mounted bridles on the go, Hats — some havin' rattlesnakes fer bands That there " swap " word never gets a " no." Cowboys is the durndest boys to swap ; Alius tradin' "chaps" and guns and knives; Never seem to know just when to stop GueM if they was married they 'd trade wives I Tl THE FRONTIER FORT Its walli of aod have crumbled 'Neath oountleM beating raini ; Its flame-scarred roof is humbled And mingled with the plains. No loopholes now are framing Lean faces, grim and brown ; No more keen eyes are aiming To bring the redskin down. The plough team's trappings jingle Across the furrowed field. And sounds domestic mingle Where valor hung its shield. But every wind careering Seems here to breathe a song •— A song of brave f rontieriug — A saga of the strong. 7t THE BORDER RIDERS The devil hu opened his furnace door And poked the ooala with his tail, But we must jog on and jog some more, Along the outlaws' trail; And some of us may come back again And some of us may not ; Plain duty's a term that is harsh to men In the country God forgot. Now your throat is dry as a burned-out coal, And light is the old canteen, And it 's far to the nearest water-hole Where the slimy moisture 's green ; And when you g^t there the spring has dried, You '11 find, as like as not; And that 's how many a good man 's died In the country God forgot. But it 's jog, jog on in the alkali. Nor let your bronco lag ; And mind the arroyos as you go by, Nor let your eyelids sag ; 73 MICROCOPV MSOUniON TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I Ibb 12.8 ■ yo "^ |» 1^2 ^3 til. 1^ US IS 1b u 1.25 iu 1^ ■ 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.6 M APPLIED IIVMGE Inc S\i '653 East Main Street rjS Rochester. New York 14609 US* ^B (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone ^B (7t6) 288 - 5989 - Fox Ilrfl Out where the West Begins For bullets speed true in the desert land, Where the sand hills muffle shot, And it 's short life for him who tips his hand In the country God fox'got. m THE RANGE PIRATES Me and my boss — that 's all the firm — We 're lords of all this Cattle Land ; The outfits writhe — but let 'em squirm — We 're here to run our own pet brand. We live upon the mesas high, And in the pi&ons on the plain ; They 'U never catch us, though they try — They hunt the rustler all in vain. We know each rock and pine-clad draw — We thread ten thousand cattle trails ; Then let them send the limbs of law — The rustler's vision never fails. We brand the stock that others own, And here 's a g^an to back each claim. And 1, who ride the plains alone. Have seen men shudder at my name. So come collections, great and small — The world owes us a life of ease ; Me and my boss — us two, that 's all — We 're pirates of the sagebrush seas. 73 THE BUNKHOUSE The btmkhonse on the cattle ranch Was lowly, but at night When its small window was aglow We hurried to that light, And merrily we trooped within And flung our saddles down. And there were tales for all to hear Told by the plainsmen brown. The bunkhouse walls were papered o 'er With scraps from everywhere — With pictures of great battleships And ladies who were fair; And all could read strange bits of news. While many comrades' scrawls Were written there, illegibly. Upon the bunkhouse walls. I 've traveled many miles since then. But oft, wher sets the sun, I think about the bunkhouse, low. Where cowboys, one by one, 76 The Bunkhouse Came strolling in to cbat and smoke And play a game of cards ; I'd even stand for their long snores — Where are you, good old pards ! v ■ il, I, il ' I THE HIGH-HEELED BOOTS He stands upon the city street, keen-eyed, and brown of face. He seeiP", to bring a breath of air from some broad prairie space ; He 's perched upon a pair of heels that fit the stirrup's curve. That meet the bucking bronco's plunge and counteract each swerve; And of all the chaps with whom the gods are ever in cahoots Give me the cattle-puncher in the high-heeled boots. He brings a hint of wider skies, of ranges that are vast. Of manful vigils in the days when sweeps the wintry blast; All out of step with things in town, he sees the crowd surge by ; The sage is in his nostrils still — he hears the gaunt wolf cry ; lie rides as Alexander rode — the bell rings when he shoots — The gallant cattle-puncher in the high-heeled boots. 78 *•< Fl The High-Heeled Boots He is the last of that old guard defending Cattle Land, Those knights who jousted for the cause — blood broth- ers of the brand; But now they 've fenced the water-hole, they 're harrow- ing the plain, They 're changing all the sagebrush flats to fields of waving grain ; The cowmen will be gone, they say, and there are no re* emits — Oood-bye, brave cattle-puncher in the high-heeled boots I V •i * THE HOMESTEADER Thebe ain't no smiliu* vistas out where I Ve drove my stakes, There 's nothin' much aroimd me but prairie dogs and snakes ; My nearest neighbor's dwellin' is forty miles away, And when I go a^hoppin' I git back late next day ; My cabm 's like an island, stuck in the prairie sea, But I 'm holdin' down this homestead for Mary Ann and me. The nearest shade around me is down by Lone Tree Draw, There ain't no plays and op'rys, there aia't no books and law; The dog 's all I can speak to, except ray saddle nag, But, spite of all the silence, the days don't ever drag ; If I was all that figgered, I 'd pull my freight — but gee I I 'm holdin' down this homestead for Mary Ann and me. I 've seen lots bleaker places that blossomed as the rose ; A lovin' touch works wonders, wherever mankind goes ; The desert yields to kindness, just like a livin' thing — It pays you back, most lavish, for all the care you bring; So come along then, stranger, in five years — mebby three — And see my purty homestead, and Mary Ann and me I 80 THE KIDDIES' PLAY-HOUR The p'rade ground is swimrain' in sunshine, the colors a-snap in the breeze ; No call from the harsh, blarin' bugles is stillin' the birds in the trees ; The nurses are out with the kiddies — here and there is an officer's wife — And the sentry — that 's me — gits a chanst fer to see the bright spot in sojerin' life. There is children all over the cannon, and rollin' around on the grass ; I 'm tempted to romp with the rascals each time I must pass and repass ; Fer it 's hard to keep scowlin', believe me, and lookin' right straight on ahead. When the kiddies come out, with their laughter and shout, each raisin' particular Ned. ', »i No distinctions of rank they 're observin' — faith, look at that leftenant's kid Who 's kissin' the colonel's own baby just as freely as if he was bid ! 81 Out where the West Begins The lesion they 're teaohin' their elders no doubt is in- spired above : Though man salutes man, jest as meek as he can, the babes get along through pure lore. So I'm grindin' in front of the dinkies, but my heart is not deep in the job, Fer the voices that come from the pkyground bring my heart in my throat with a sob; There was one of my own — but no matter, I 'm not of the share-trouble sort So I pace down and back, with my soul on the rack, while the little ones play at the fort. THE INDIAN POLICE Give us the wind in our faces — 'T is good for a man to feel! Give UB the unfenoed spaces — Give us the roweled heel ! The song we would hear in all kinds of weather Is the endless creaking of saddle leather. Give us a camp in the thicket. Far from the traveled ways ; Give us a horse to picket While the great star sentries blase ; We '11 be off on the track of him we are trailing Ere the moon in yon cloud veil has started paling. Give us a ^'^eM of i*^ —. Danger '• the <^ loest spice ! O'er {dains that ar« vild and sterile We hasten to f^- i». pric* I And he who wotd ^ik the Indian's cattle Most turn ere hi» ^ ^ay — turn to do battle ! I>1i ih m LONESOME LAND Iv Loneiome Land few friends is all you need — To have a hundred seems like foolishness ; A chap drops in, and has a smoke and feed, And then he says: «* So long — I *11 go, I guess." But somehow when he 's gone, you think a heap About his virtues — how he 's square and true ; If more come stringin' in they 'd make it cheap — This frisndship thing — and spoil it all for you. Next day — or : aybe 'taint until next week — Another friend drops in and sets awhile ; You 're mighty glad to have the poorest seek You out — where blocks are measured by the mile. And so they come — the few and far between — You got a chance to weigh 'era in your hand ; You ain't a-huntin' little tricks and mean, But see the good in friends in Lonesome Land. M THE INVALID Sick in the cow-camp — moonin' round The amolderin* firo in the rain, A-feelin' like a rat, half drowned, And racked from head to foot with pain ; The nearest ranch house twenty mile Nobody here to care a dang Whether I live or die — no smile That wrter helps to ease a pang. e. Sick in the cow-camp — Slim, the cook. Is growlin' 'cause the flour 's wet ; Fussin' because he 's dropped a hook Into the fire — hear him fret I Nothin' around but trees and plain The river makes a gurglin' noise; Nothin' but flood, and rain and rain, And nary a signal from the boys. Sick in the cow-camp — but I hear Hoofs splashin' through the oozy mud ; The boys have come — I catch a cheer— Their sturdy yellin' stirs my blood ; S3 !. .1 t III 3 J Out where the West Begins I see a yaller slicker gleam, And catch my bunkie's friendly call ; Sick? Well, I guess not — it don't seem As if I 'd been laid up at all. :i -tt:' THE MOTHER LODE In vain have the hunters of gold Sought me through all the years — They have prayed for me, young and old, But what mean their sighs and tears? I have mocked at them on the heights And have seen them die on the crest; I have heard them cry out o' nights, In their slumbers that brought no rest. I have lured them among the pines. Where the snows of winter are deep ; They have driven their futile mines. But little the gold they reap. I liave laughed, as they talked of me In the silences on the slopes; I have wrestled the golden key From the prospector's hand that gropes. For none shall look on my face, But always ambition's goad Shall lash this poor human race In the search for the Mother Lode. 87 - THE MEETING When walkin' down a city street, Two thousand miles from home, The pavestones hurtin' of the feet That never ought to roam, A pony jest reached to one side And grabbed me by the clothes ; He smelled the sagebrush, dum his hide — You bet a pony knows I i;. If?' m I stopped and petted him, and seen A brand upon his side ; I 'U bet across the prairie green He useter hit his stride ; Some puncher of the gentle cow Had owned him — that I knows ; Which same is why he jest says : " How ! There 's sagebrush in your clothes." He knowed the smell — no doubt it waked Him out of some bright dream ; In some far stream his thirst is slaked — He sees the mountains gleam ; 88 The Meeting He bears his rider far and faat. And real the hull thing grows When I come sorter driftin' past With sagebrush in my clothes. Poor little hoss! It 's tough to be Away from that fair land — Away from that wide prairie sea With all its vistas grand I feel for you, old hoss, I do — It 's hard the way life goes; I 'd like to travel back with you — Back where that sagebrush grows ! ''i •1 IK! BEFORE THE GRINGO CAME Before the Gringo came, seiior, We were most happy here ; The blue waves sparkled, and the shore Seemed green instead of sear ; My people sang — the castanets Were clicking through the night; There were no tears — no vain regrets — And life, seSor, was bright. There rose the tinkle of guitars On every moonlit eve ; Our hearts then bore no decthless scars ■ Nobody seemed to grieve ; The dancing throng was everywhere — The fandango lured all ; But everything to-day, save care. Has heard the Gringo's call. You Gringos, what a folk you are To make light laughter die ; All solemn, stern, you roam afar And slay the butterfly ; 90 Before the Gringo Came Once we were happy — once, I say — And life a living flame, But lo ! dead ashes strewed our way The day the Gbingo came. E* m m MEN IN THE ROUGH Men in the rough — on the trails all new-broken — Those are the friends we remember with tears ; Few are the words that such comrades have spoken — Deeds are their tributes that last through the years. Men in the rough — sons of prairie and mountain — Children of nature, warm-hearted, clear-eyed ; Friendship with them is a never-sealed fountain ; Strangers are they to the altars of pride. Men in the rough — curt of speech to their fellows — Ready in everything, save to deceive ; Theirs are the friendships that time only mellows. And death cannot sever the bonds that they weave. THE END '(ii CAMBRIDGK . MASSACHUSXTTS U . S . 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