'Pear'd sort of like that the "millin'" herd
We kept by the leaders--HIM and me,
Neck by neck, an' he sung a tune,
About a young gal, nam'd Betsey Lee!


XLIX.

Jine in the chorus? Wal, yas, I did.
He sung like a regilar mockin' bird.
An' us cowboys allus sing out ef tew calm
The scare, ef we can, of a runnin' herd.
Slower an' slower wheel'd round the "mill";
The maddest old steer of a leader slow'd;
Slower an' slower sounded the hoofs
Of the hoss that HIM in front of me rode.


L.

Fainter an' fainter grow'd that thar song
Of Betsey Lee an' her har of gold;
Fainter an' fainter grew the sound
Of the unseen hoofs on the tore-up mold.
The leadin' steer, that cuss of a Joe
Stopp'd an' shook off the foam an' the sweat,
With a stamp and a beller--the run was done,
Wus glad of it, tew, yer free tew bet!