And oh! the long night watches, with terror in the skies! When lightning played and mocked him till blinded were his eyes; When raged the storm around him, and fear was in his heart Lest panic-stricken leaders might make the whole herd start. That meant a death for many, perhaps a wild stampede, When none could stem the fury of the cattle in the lead; Ah, then life seemed so little and death so very near,-- With cattle, cattle, cattle, and darkness everywhere. Then quaff with me a bumper of water, clear and pure, To the memory of the cowboy whose fame must e'er endure From the Llano Estacado to Dakota's distant sands, Where were herded countless thousands in the days of fenceless lands. Let us rear for him an altar in the Temple of the Brave, And weave of Texas grasses a garland for his grave; And offer him a guerdon for the work that he has done With cattle, cattle, cattle, and sage and sand and sun. _James Barton Adams._ RIDIN' UP THE ROCKY TRAIL FROM TOWN "Billy Leamont rode out of the town-- _Close at his shoulder rode Jack Lorell--_ Over the leagues of the prairies brown, Into the hills where the sun goes down-- _Billy Leamont and Jack Lorell!_ * * * Billy Leamont looked down the dell-- _Dead below; him lay Jack Lorell--_ With his gun at his forehead he fired and fell, Then rode they two through the streets of hell-- _Billy Leamont and Jack Lorell!_" THE BALLAD OF BILLY LEAMONT.[5] WE'RE the children of the open and we hate the haunts o' men, But we had to come to town to get the mail. And we're ridin' home at daybreak--'cause the air is cooler then-- All 'cept one of us that stopped behind in jail. Shorty's nose won't bear paradin', Bill's off eye is darkly fadin', All our toilets show a touch of disarray, For we found that City life is a constant round of strife And we aint the breed for shyin' from a fray. _Chant your warhoops, pardners, dear, while the east turns pale with fear And the chaparral is tremblin' all aroun' For we're wicked to the marrer; we're a midnight dream of terror When we're ridin' up the rocky trail from town!_ We acquired our hasty temper from our friend, the centipede. From the rattlesnake we learnt to guard our rights. We have gathered fightin' pointers from the famous bronco steed And the bobcat teached us reppertee that bites. So when some high-collared herrin' jeered the garb that I was wearin' 'Twasn't long till we had got where talkin' ends, And he et his ill-bred chat, with a sauce of derby hat, While my merry pardners entertained his friends.