BE GLAD YOU'RE POOR. 



21 



shanty that served as post office, store and 

 saloon. Bill was lounging in the doorway 

 while the postmaster was looking over the 

 letters. 



" Anybody on your ranch called William 

 Barton? " he asked. 



" That's me," said Bill, as he stepped 

 forward and took the letter. 



Lanky Bob called me back just then to 

 get a drink, and I did not see Bill again 

 until he rode up and said it was time to 

 return. There was a look on his face I 

 had never seen there before, and he was 

 feverish and excited. 



Most of the boys had been drinking a 

 good deal, and they were yelling and sing- 

 ing for the first few miles on the trail, but 

 finally began to doze in their saddles. Bill 

 dropped back to where I was and said 

 quietly, 



" Jim, I'll start home to-morrow. My 

 brothel 's dead and has left me his money. 

 Somehow, Jim, I can't seem to care that 

 he is dead; we were never much together. 

 I can only feel that I am going back to 

 Reggie." 



I did not speak, but simply held out my 

 hand. He grasped it a moment and rode 

 on to the front again. 



When within 5 miles of the ranch, we 

 heard hoofstrokes ahead, and Pete came 

 dashing up shouting " Injuns at the ranch!" 

 We needed no more, but spurred our jaded 

 animals to a mad gallop. We soon could 

 hear the cracking of firearms and see the 

 light of the burning buildings. 



The redskins had burst in the main ranch 

 when we got within shooting distance. 

 The fight was short and savage after that. 

 They could not stand the constant popping 

 of 6 pairs of revolvers, and stampeded in 

 the darkness. 



Four of the boys who defended the ranch 



were dead and Sykes, the foreman, was 

 badly wounded. 



As Bill and I entered, Mrs. Sykes was 

 gazing around in a dazed way. "Jack!" 

 she said. 'They have got my Jack! " 



With an oath, Bill snatched a Winches- 

 ter, sprang out the door and mounted an 

 Indian pony I had captured. 



" Haf ter wait till light, Bill," sang out 

 Broncho Sam, but he galloped off in the 

 gloom. 



The boys tried to follow but had to give 

 it up. 



Bill's crazy. Can't find no trail ter 

 night," said Comanche Pete, " and I reck- 

 on he'll turn back." But Bill kept on. 



At daybreak we were on the trail. " If 

 Bill hadn't been in such a blamed hurry 

 we'd ha' been with him now. His Injun 

 pony would have followed the thieves," 

 said Lanky Bob. 



" We'll find something in yonder tim- 

 ber," Mexican Joe exclaimed. 



In a little clearing the remains of a camp 

 fire were still smoldering, and strewn about 

 lay the bodies of 7 Indians. 



" Hark! Yes; that's Jacky's voice." 

 ' Wate up, Mr. Bill, wate up, somebody's 

 tome!' And there sat Surly Bill with 

 his back against a tree. He held an empty 

 gun in each hand and Jacky was trying 

 in vain to wake him. 



Silently we gathered around and instinc- 

 tively bared our heads. 



Poor Bill was dead. 



I sent the letter as Bill requested and 

 added a postscript of my own. Shortly 

 after I received an answer from his wife 

 thanking me; and saying that the night 

 Bill died, little Reggie was restless and 

 she heard him moan in his sleep " God 

 bess papa and bring him back to Reggie 

 soon. Amen." 



BE GLAD YOU'RE POOR. 



GEO. W. STEVENS. 



Be glad you're poor, the clothes you wear 



Won't look no worse for 'nother tear. 



Be thankful that your good corn cake 



Will never give you pain or ache. 



Be glad you're poor and save your hairs 



From wearing off with business cares, 



And fearing banks are going to bust. 



And who the deuce you're going to trust. 



Be glad you're poor — no relative 



Will grudge the time you're going to live. 



Don't always worry 'bout your lot 

 Give thanks for what you havn't got 

 And be content with what you get 

 And let the wealthy fume and fret. 

 Then when financial blizzards come 

 And banks go tumbling round like fun 

 And stocks and bonds go galley west 

 Just thank your stars you don't invest. 

 Prop up your legs down at the store 

 And smoke — and then be glad you're poor. 



