The Fall Round-Up.
J. Edward Hungerford. The Pacific Monthly, December 1908.
When the wind is keen and chillin’,
As it sweeps acrost the valley and the flat;
When the lightnin’ flares and flickers,
And you realize your slicker’s
In a cabin twenty-five miles up the Platte;
Where a cheerful fire is burnin’,
And a gal is fairly yearnin’
Fer you sittin’ thar before it, chin in hand;
Where good grub is jest a spilin’,
And a coffee pot is bilin’,
Would you go a-chasin’ beef around the land?
When you git your rope in action,
But it don’t give satisfaction,
And the lunges keep you reelin’ on your hoss;
When you’re hedged up in a Coulee,
And your bronc is plumb unruly,
Tho’ you’ve broken prides like his’n by the gross;
Would it make you sore, now really,
If he’d throw you off right freely
And breeze homeward, while you stood and nursed your hurt;
Would n’t it be some tantalizin’,
If a full moon, jest arisin’,
Found you stranded thar with nothin’ but your quirt?
When you git the iron workin’,
And thar aint no chanst uh shirkin’,
For a thousand head have got to bear the mark;
And you brand ‘em while they ‘re kickin’,
And the smell’s enough to sicken
Any feller fer a lifetime on the work;
When your back feels like its breakin’,
And your bones are fairly achin’,
And the calves are penned up waitin’ by the score;
Would n’t you say, “To h—— with brandin’,”
If you knowed your gal was standin’
Back thar waitin’ fer you patient in the door?
But when all the fall work’s over,
And you’ve corraled every rover,
And you know that every pound uh it’ll sell;
And each hoof’s a tender pippin,
Jest the proper size fer shippin’,
Would n’t you feel like you’d done somethin’ mighty well?
Would you still recall your troubles,
Would n’t they fade away like bubbles,
If you had the price to get the gal a ring?
If your bank roll was a-growin’,
And your future prospects glowin’,
Wouldn’t you hanker fer the round-up in the spring?