She called me "dear," an' do you know, My heart jes skipped a beat, an' tho' I'm hard to feaze, I'm free to yip My reason nearly lost its grip. She called me "dear," jes sweet an' slow, An' lookin' down an' speakin' low; An' if I had ten lives to live, With everything the world could give, I'd shake 'em all without one fear If 'fore I'd go she'd call me "dear." You wonders why I slicks up so On Sundays, when I gits to go To see her--well, I'm free to say She's like religion that-a-way. Jes sort o' like some holy thing, As clean as young grass in the spring; An' so before I rides to her I looks my best from hat to spur-- But even then I hain't no right To think I look good in her sight. If she should pass me up--say, boy, You jes put hobbles on your joy; First thing you know, you gits so gay Your luck stampedes and gits away. An' don't you even start a guess That you've a cinch on happiness; Fer few e'er reach the Promised Land If they starts headed by a band. Ride slow an' quiet, humble, too, Or Fate will slap its brand on you. The old range sleeps, there hain't a stir. Less it's a night-hawk's sudden whir, Or cottonwoods a-whisperin while The red moon smiles a lovin' smile. An' there I set an' hold her hand So glad I jes can't understand The reason of it all, or see Why all the world looks good to me; Or why I sees in it heap more Of beauty than I seen before. Fool talk, perhaps, but it jes seems We're ridin' through a range o' dreams; Where medder larks the year round sing, An' it's jes one eternal spring. An' time--why time is gone--by gee! There's no such thing as time to me Until she says, "Here, boy, you know You simply jes have got to go; It's nearly twelve." I rides away, "Dog-gone a clock!" is what I say. _R. V. Carr._ THE BULL FIGHT THE couriers from Chihuahua go To distant Cusi and Santavo, Announce the feast of all the year the crown-- _Se corren los toros!_ And Juan brings his Pepita into town. The rancherias on the mountain side, The haciendas of the Llano wide, Are quickened by the matador's renown. _Se corren los toros!_ And Juan brings his Pepita into town. The women that on ambling burros ride, The men that trudge behind or close beside Make groups of dazzling red and white and brown. _Se corren los toros!_ And Juan brings his Pepita into town. Or else the lumbering carts are brought in play, That jolt and scream and groan along the way, But to their happy tenants cause no frown. _Se corren los toros!_ And Juan brings his Pepita into town.