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THE DISAPPOINTED TENDERFOOT
H
E reached the West in a palace car where the
writers tell us the cowboys are, With the redskin bold and the centipede and the rattlesnake and the loco weed.
He looked around for the Buckskin Joes and the things he'd seen in the Wild West shows —
The cowgirls gay and the bronchos wild and the painted face of the Injun child.
He listened close for the fierce war-whoop, and his pent-up spirits began to droop,
And he wondered then if the hills and nooks held none of the sights of the story books.
He'd hoped he would see the marshal pot some
bold bad man with a pistol shot, And entered a low saloon by chance, where the ten-
derfoot is supposed to dance While the cowboy shoots at his bootheels there and
the smoke of powder begrims the air, But all was quiet as if he'd strayed to that silent
spot where the dead are laid. Not even a faro game was seen, and none flaunted
the long, long green. Twas a blow for him who had come in quest of a touch of the real wild woolly West 182 |
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