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Frontier Ballads
He was shiverin' with fright, But he hadn't moved a mite, For he'd never learned to travel till I told him that he should.
And he stayed, that Texan did, Till I'd crawled and rolled and slid
Down beside him in the hollow and the stirrup-strap could find, And I somehow reached the saddle And hung on—I couldn't straddle —
While he galloped for the squadron with the Sioux strung out behind.
Oh, the horses from the range,
They've got hearts; it isn't strange If they raise a little Hades when the drill gets hot and fast;
But I'd like to see a chart
Of the automobile cart That will save a man on purpose when the shots are singin' past.
Now, the boys in blue, you bet,
Earn whatever praise they get, But they're not the only ones who never lag,
For the good old Yankee horses,
They are always with the forces When the battle-smoke is curling round the flag!
And I don't believe the men
Who make drawings with a pen Can ever build a thing of cranks and wheels
That will starve and work and fight,
Summer, winter, day or night, Like that same old, game old horse that thinks and feels. |
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