The lights burn bright and fair, Iscariot washes the Bridegroom's feet And dries them with his hair. ----R. Buchanan. PHIL BLOOD'S LEAP _A Tale of the Gold Seekers_. |There's some think Injins p'ison."--(It was Parson Pete who spoke, As we sat there, in the camp-fire glare, like shadows among the smoke. 'Twas the dead of night, and in the light our faces burned bright red, And the wind all round made a screeching sound, and the pines roared overhead. Ay, Parson Pete was talking; we called him Parson Pete, For you must learn he'd a talking turn, and handled things so neat; He'd a preaching style, and a winning smile, and, when all talk was spent, Six shooter had he, and a sharp bowie, to p'int his argyment. Some one had spoke of the Injin folk, and we had a guess, you bet, They might be creeping, while we were sleeping, to catch us in the net; And half were asleep and snoring deep, while the others vigil kept, But devil a one let go his gun, whether he woke or slept.) "There's some think Injins p'ison, and others count'em scum, And night and day they are melting away, clean into Kingdom Come; But don't you go and make mistakes, like many derned fools I've known, For dirt is dirt, and snakes is snakes, but an Injin's flesh and bone! We were seeking gold in the Texan hold, and we'd had a blaze of luck, More rich and rare the stuff ran there at every foot we struck; Like men gone wild we t'iled and t'iled, and never seemed to tire, The hot sun beamed, and our faces streamed with the sweat of a mad desire. I was captain then of the mining men, and I had a precious life, For a wilder set I never met at derringer and knife; Nigh every day there was some new fray, a bullet in some one's brain, And the viciousest brute to stab and to shoot, was an Imp of Hell from Maine. Phil Blood. Well, he was six foot three, with a squint to make you skeer'd, His face all scabb'd, and twisted and stabb'd, with carroty hair and beard, Sour as the drink in Bitter Chink, sharp as a grizzly's squeal, Limp in one leg, for a leaden egg had nick'd him in the heel. No beauty was he, but a sight to see, all stript to the waist and bare, With his grim-set jaws, and his panther-paws, and his hawk's eye all aglare; With pick and spade in sun and shade he labour'd like darnation, But when his spell was over,--well! he was fond of his recreation! And being a crusty kind of cuss, the only sport he had, When work was over, seemed to us a bit too rough and bad; For to put some lead in a comrade's head was the greatest fun in life, And the sharpest joke he was known to poke