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LITTLE JOE, THE WRANGLER
I
T'S little Joe, the wrangler, he'll wrangle never more, His days with the remnda they are o'er; 'Twas a year ago last April when he rode into our
camp,— Just a little Texas stray and all alone,— On a little Texas pony he called " Chaw." With his brogan shoes and overalls, a tougher kid You never in your life before had saw.
His saddle was a Texas " kak," built many years ago,
With an O. K. spur on one foot lightly swung;
His " hot roll" in a cotton sack so loosely tied behind,
And his canteen from his saddle-horn was swung.
He said that he had to leave his home, his pa had married twice;
And his new ma whipped him every day or two;
So he saddled up old Chaw one night and lit a shuck this way,
And he's now trying to paddle his own canoe.
He said if we would give him work, he'd do the best
he could, Though he didn't know straight up about a cow;
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