In all their tameless pride.
The fleet wild horses snort with fear,
And wheel and break as the yard draws near.
Now, Jim the Ringer, ride!
Wheel 'em! wheel 'em! Whoa back there, whoa!
And the foam-flakes fly like the driven snow,
As under the whip the horses go
Adown the mountain side.
And Jim, hands down, and teeth firm set,
On a horse that never has failed him yet,
Is after them down the range.
Well ridden! well ridden! they wheel -- whoa back!
And long and loud the stockwhips crack,
Their flying course they change,
"Steadily does it -- let Sambo go!
Open those sliprails down below.
Smart! or you'll be too late.
They'll follow old Sambo up -- look out!
Wheel that black horse -- give Sam a clout.
They're in! Make fast the gate."

. . . . .

The mob is safely in the yard!
The old man mounts delighted guard.
No thought has he but for his prize.
Jim catches poor Amelia's eyes.
"Will you come after all? the job is done,
And Crazy Jane is fit to run
For a prince's life -- now don't say no;