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OLD GRAZIN' BEH 115
Buck leaps to earth, lifts his hat, Bows to the whirl of cheers —
Then turning slides his saddle off, An' quickly disappears.
OLD GRAZIN' BEN By N. Howard Thorp
In seventy-six, or thereabouts, when the Black HiŁ
made the strike, En new camps sprung up like mushrooms in the
canons overnight, 'T was the twenty-mule team that made the trip
from the Hills to Camp Supply, Or the big ox team with their flanks drawn lean When the water-holes went dry.
Yer could see 'em for miles a-comin',
As the alkali dust would rise,
Each skinner a handkerchief around his head
Ter kind 'er protect his eyes.
With a " Get up I Tobe, blank, blank, you buck,
I'll skin yer alive, yer dub!"
They 'd sweat and strain 'gainst collar and chain
Through Mobe, sand, and mud.
These were the teams that kept at work
The men who were diggin' the gold,
Workin' at rocker and riffle
In those placer camps of old;
These were the men who made history,
The men who supplied the fuel;
Their bones lie scattered along the trail
Side by side with the ox and the mule.