MILLING WITH THE NIGHT HERD 



I broke him with a hackamore, and he sure did know the 



rein, 

 And I could rope and tie a critter, in the hills or on the 



plain, 

 And no matter how he'd paw, how he'd bawl or how he'd 



fight, 

 This horse he'd stand and hold him, and he'd keep that 



rawhide tight. 



Then we used to drive the beef herd, to the railroad far 



away 

 Then we used to ride for slick-ears, and we'd ride both 



night and day, 

 And we took in all the dances, we would go for many a 



mile, 

 Just to swing some pretty maiden, hear her talk, and see 



her smile. 



But alas ! the range is ended, for the settlers they came 



west, 

 They brought hammers and barbed wire; well, I think 



you know the rest, 

 They run the cowboys from the ranges, chased us to the 



hills and town, 

 And they run me to the city, the damnedest place I've ever 



found. 



So now I'm old, I'm feeble; soon I'll make another change, 

 And wherever I do go, I hope I'll find a bunchgrass range, 

 I hope I'll meet all those old cowhands, the cowhands that 



I used to know 

 When I rode the Western ranges, over forty years ago. 



When the crowd gets through hollooing and stamp- 

 ing and Tracy modestly rustles his seat, some one 

 bellows, 



"Jock Coleman — Where's Jock ? Oh, there you are, 

 Scottie. Come on with one of your kiltie songs, Jock," 

 and the well-knit, smiling Jock is pushed to the front. 



127 



