Frontier Ballads

John Stuart Mill · en
Whipped the snow against our cheeks,

Then the horses had to suffer for the badness of the trails.

          Oh, the horses, lean and lank,

          With the "U. S." on their flank

And a hundred-weight of trumpery a-dangle all around;

          How they sweated, side by side.

          When the stones began to slide

And they couldn't find a footing or an inch of solid ground.

          But they'd stand the racket right

          Till the redskins turned to fight

And up among the fallen pines we heard their rifles crack;

          Hi!--the three-year vet'rans stormed

          While the skirmish lines were formed

At the snub-nosed little carbines that they couldn't fire back!

          And the horses, standing there

          With their noses in the air--

How they kicked and raised the devil down among the tangled trees!

          They didn't mind the shooting,

          But they'd try to go a-scooting

When they got a whiff of redskin on the chilly mountain breeze.

          Still, I've not a word of blame

          For those horses, just the same;

A yelping Injun, daubed with clay, he isn't nice to see.

          And I ain't forgot the day

          When my long-legg'd Texas bay

Wasn't scared enough of Injuns not to save my life for me.

          I was lyin' snug and low

          In a hollow full of snow

When the hostiles flanked the squadron from a wooded ridge near by,

          And, of course, the boys, at that,

          Sought a cooler place to chat,

But they didn't know they'd left me with a bullet in my thigh!

          But the redskins understood--

          Bet your life they always would!--

And they came a-lopin' downward for this short-hair scalp of mine,

          While I wondered how I'd be

          "Soldier a la fricassee,"

For I didn't know my Texan hadn't bolted with the line,

          Till I heard a crunchin' sound,

          And when I looked around,

With the reins against his ankles, there that blaze-face rascal stood!

          He was shiverin' with fright,

          But he hadn't moved a mite,

For he'd never learned to travel till I told him that he should.

          And he stayed, that Texan did,

          Till I'd crawled and rolled and slid

Down beside him in the hollow and the stirrup-strap could find,

          And I somehow reached the saddle

          And hung on--I couldn't straddle--

While he galloped for the squadron with the Sioux strung out behind.

          Oh, the horses from the range,

          They've got hearts; it isn't strange

If they raise a little Hades when the drill gets hot and fast;

          But I'd like to see a chart

          Of the automobile cart

That will save a man on purpose when the shots are singin' past.

          Now, the boys in blue, you bet,

          Earn whatever praise they get,

But they're not the only ones who never lag,

          For the good old Yankee horses,