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A COWBOY ALONE WITH HIS CON-
SCIENCE W
HEN I ride into the mountains on my little
broncho bird, Whar my ears are never pelted with the bawlin' o' the herd,
An' a sort o' dreamy quiet hangs upon the western air,
An* thar ain't no animation to be noticed anywhere; Then I sort o' feel oneasy, git a notion in my head I'm the only livin' mortal — everybody else is dead —
An' I feel a queer sensation, rather skeery like, an' odd, When thar ain't nobody near me, 'ceptin' God. Every rabbit that I startle from its shaded restin'
place, Seems a furry shaft o' silence shootin' into noise-
less space, An' a rattlesnake a crawlin' through the rocks so
old an' gray Helps along the ghostly feelin' in a rather startlin'
way. Every breeze that dares to whisper does it with a
bated breath, 184 |
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