Bud did not want to hand it over. He had just discovered that he could
sing it, which he proceeded to do to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne" and the
full capacity of his lungs. Bill and Aleck surged up to look over his
shoulder and join their efforts to his, and the half dozen horses held
captive in that corral stampeded to a far corner and huddled there,
shrinking at the uproar.

"_And kiss 'er snow-white ha-a-and, and kiss 'er snow-white ha-and_,"
howled the quartet inharmoniously, at least two of them off key; for Tex
Martin had joined the concert and was performing with a bull bellow that
could be heard across a section. Then Bud began suddenly to improvise,
and his voice rose valiantly that his words might carry their meaning to
the ears of Johnny Jewel, who had stalked back across the corral and was
striving now to catch the horse he had let go, while his one champion,
little Curley, shooed the animal into a corner for him.

"_It would be grand to kiss her hand, her snow-white hand, if I had the
sand!_" Bud chanted vain-gloriously. "How's that, Skyrider? Ain't that
purty fair po'try?"

"It don't fit into the tune with a cuss," Tex criticized jealously. "Pass
over that po'try of Johnny's. Yo' all ain't needin' it--not if you aims
to make up yore own words."

"C'm _'ere_! You wall-eyed weiner-wurst!" Johnny harshly addressed the
horse he was after. "You've got about as much brains as the rest of this
outfit--and that's putting it strong! If I owned you--"

"_I'd cir-cle high 's if pass-in' by, then vol-lup bank an' la-a-and_,"
the voice of Tex roared out in a huge wave that drowned all other sounds,