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Ranch and Range
THE WIDOW'S LOT
Mis' Pike jes' called—the first time fer A month o' Sundays I've seen her— She took on scan'luss about me A-livin' here alone an' she Jes' upped an' said a ranch was not A place fer widders, an' she sot An' harped on that one string *til I Jes' shut her mouth with tea an' pie.
Poor William's dead nigh on a year, But I can't say I'm pinin' here; An' law me! what's a soul to do, What's goin' onto forty-two? Fer who'll dispoot a real live man Around a ranch is handy, an' Jack Plummer says to me last night— He jes' stopped in to get a bite O' chicken pie—he says, says he: "You ain't a day o'er twenty-three." But Jack is such a josher that He's allers talkin' thro' his hat.
The other day Bill Howe drove by, An' said the cricks were jes' bank high, An' he'd a four-hoss load an' he Declared he'd leave some truck with m«, A sack o' flour an' some corn, A *ack o' sugar which was torn,