Old Spookses Pass | Page 4

bust from the black guns overhead!

XXXVII.
The mustang wus shod, an' the lightnin' bit
At his iron shoes each
step he run,
Then plung'd in the yearth--we rode in flame,
Fur the
flashes roll'd inter only one,
Same es the bellers made one big roar;

Yet thro' the whirl of din an' flame
I sung an' shouted, an' call'd the
steer
I sidl'd agin by his own front name,
XXXVIII.
An' struck his side with my fist an' foot--
'Twas jest like hittin' a rushin' stone,
An' he thunder'd ahead--I
couldn't boss
The critter a mossel, I'm free tew own.
The sweat come a-pourin'
down my beard;
Ef ye wonder wharfor, jest ye spread
Yerself far a ride with a runnin'
herd,
A yawnin' gulch half a mile ahead.
XXXIX.
Three hundred foot from its grinnin' lips
Tew the roarin' stream on its stones below.
Once more I hurl'd the
mustang up
Agin the side of the cuss call'd Joe;
Twan't a mite of use--he riz his
heels
Up in the air, like a scuddin' colt;
The herd mass'd closer, an' hurl'd
down
The roarin' Pass, like a thunderbolt.

XL.
I couldn't rein off--seem'd swept along
In the rush an' roar an' thunderin' crash;
The lightnin' struck at the
runnin' herd
With a crack like the stroke of a cowboy's lash.
Thar! I could see it; I
tell ye, pard,
Things seem'd whittl'd down sort of fine--
We wasn't five hundred
feet from the gulch,
With its mean little fringe of scrubby pine.
XLI.
What could stop us? I grit my teeth;
Think I pray'd--ain't sartin of thet;

When, whizzin' an' singin', thar came the rush
Right past my face
of a lariat!
"Bully fur you, old pard!" I roar'd,
Es it whizz'd roun' the
leader's steamin' chest,
An' I wheel'd the mustang fur all he was wuth

Kerslap on the side of the old steer's breast.
XLII.
He gev a snort, an' I see him swerve--
I foller'd his shoulder clus an'
tight;
Another swerve, an' the herd begun
To swing around.--Shouts
I, "All right
"Ye've fetch'd 'em now!" The mustang gave
A small,
leettle whinney. I felt him flinch.
Sez I, "Ye ain't goin' tew weaken
now,
Old feller, an' me in this darn'd pinch?"
XLIII.
"No," sez he, with his small, prickin' ears,
Plain es a human could
speak; an' me--
I turn'd my head tew glimpse ef I could,
Who might
the chap with the lariat be.
Wal, Pard, I weaken'd--ye bet yer life!


Thar wasn't a human in sight around,
But right in front of me come
the beat
Of a hoss's hoofs on the tremblin' ground--
XLIV.
Steddy an' heavy--a slingin' lope;
A hefty critter with biggish bones

Might make jest sich--could hear the hoofs
Es they struck on the
rattlin', rollin' stones--
The jingle of bit--an' clar an' shrill
A whistle
es ever left cowboy's lip,
An' cuttin' the air, the long, fine hiss
Of
the whirlin' lash of a cowboy's whip.
XLV.
I crowded the mustang back, ontil
He riz on his haunches--an' I sed,

"In the Maker's name, who may ye be?"
Sez a vice, "Old feller, jest
ride ahead!"
"All right!" sez I, an' I shook the rein.
"Ye've turn'd the
herd in a hansum style--
Whoever ye be, I'll not back down!"
An' I
didn't, neither,--ye bet yer pile!
XLVI.
Clus on the heels of that unseen hoss,
I rode on the side of the turnin'
herd,
An' once in a while I answer'd back
A shout or a whistle or
cheerin' word--
From lips no lightnin' was strong tew show.
'Twas
sort of scareful, that midnight ride;
But we'd got our backs tew the
gulch--fur that
I'd hev foller'd a curiouser sort of guide!
XLVII.
'Twas kind of scareful tew watch the herd,
Es the plungin' leaders
squirm'd an' shrank--
Es I heerd the flick of the unseen lash
Hiss on
the side of a steamin' flank.
Guess the feller was smart at the work!

We work'd them leaders round, ontil
They overtook the tail of the
herd,
An' the hull of the crowd begun tew "mill."
XLVIII.

Round spun the herd in a great black wheel,
Slower an' slower--ye've
seen beneath
A biggish torrent a whirlpool spin,
Its waters black es
the face of Death?
'Pear'd sort of like that the "millin'" herd
We kept
by the leaders--HIM and me,
Neck by neck, an' he sung a tune,

About a young gal, nam'd Betsey Lee!
XLIX.
Jine in the chorus? Wal, yas, I did.
He sung like a regilar mockin' bird.

An' us cowboys allus sing out ef tew calm
The scare, ef we can, of
a runnin' herd.
Slower an' slower wheel'd round the "mill";
The
maddest old steer of a leader slow'd;
Slower an' slower sounded the
hoofs
Of the hoss that HIM in front of me rode.
L.
Fainter an' fainter grow'd that thar song
Of Betsey Lee an' her har of
gold;
Fainter an' fainter grew the sound
Of the unseen hoofs on the
tore-up mold.
The leadin' steer, that cuss of a Joe
Stopp'd an' shook
off the foam an' the sweat,
With a stamp and a beller--the run was
done,
Wus glad of it, tew, yer free tew bet!
LI.
The herd slow'd up;--an' stood in a mass
Of blackness,