Old Spookses' Pass, Malcolm's Katie, and other poems by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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page 3 of 243 (01%)
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We'd chanc'd that night on a pootyish lot,
With a tol'ble show of tall, sweet grass-- We was takin' Speredo's drove across The Rockies, by way of "Old Spookses' Pass"-- An' a mite of a creek went crinklin' down, Like a "pocket" bust in the rocks overhead, Consid'able shrunk, by the summer drought, To a silver streak in its gravelly bed. V. 'Twas a fairish spot fur to camp a' night; An' chipper I felt, tho' sort of skeer'd That them two cowboys with only me, Couldn't boss three thousand head of a herd. I took the fust of the watch myself; An' as the red sun down the mountains sprang, I roll'd a fresh quid, an' got on the back Of my peart leetle chunk of a tough mustang. VI. An' Possum Billy was sleepin' sound, Es only a cowboy knows how to sleep; An' Tommy's snores would hev made a old Buffalo bull feel kind o' cheap. Wal, pard, I reckin' thar's no sech time For dwind'lin' a chap in his own conceit, |
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