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THE GOL-DARNED WHEEL 73 |
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And they'd have their ideas shattered if they 'd lead the critter out.
They held it while I mounted and gave the word to go;
The shove they gave to start me warn't unreasonably slow.
But I never spilled a cuss-word and I never spilled a squeal —
I was buildin' reputation on that gol-darned wheel.
Holy Moses and the Prophets how we split the
Texas air, And the wind it made whip-crackers of my same old
canthy hair, And sorta comprehended as down the hill we went There was bound to be a smash-up that I could n't
well prevent. Oh, how them punchers bawled, " Stay with her,
Uncle Bill! Stick your spurs in her, you sucker, turn her muzzle
up the hill!" But I never made an answer; I just let the cusses
squeal, I was buildin' reputation on that gol-darned wheel.
The grade was mighty slopin' from the ranch down
to the creek, And I went a-galliflutin' like a crazy lightnin'
streak — Went whizzin' and a-dartin' first this way and then
that, The darned contrivance sort o' wobbling like the
flyin' of a bat. |
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