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THE HORSE WRANGLER
I
THOUGHT one spring just for fun I'd see how cow-punching was done, And when the round-ups had begun I tackled the cattle-king. Says he, " My foreman is in town, He's at the plaza, and his name is Brown, If you'll see him, he'll take you down." Says I, " That's just the thing."
We started for the ranch next day;
Brown augured me most all the way.
He said that cow-punching was nothing but play,
That it was no work at all,—
That all you had to do was ride,
And only drifting with the tide;
The son of a gun,- oh, how he lied.
Don't you, think he had his gall?
He put me in charge of a cavyard, And told me not to work too hard, That all I had to do was guard The horses from getting away; I had one hundred and sixty head, I sometimes wished that I was dead; When one got away, Brown's head turned red, And there was the devil to pay.
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