THE 
 LAND 
 WHO?E 
 THE 
 COW 
 BOY 
 GROWS 
 
 By 
 
 A.V. HUDSON 
 
THE LAND 
 
 WHERE the COWBOY 
 
 GROWS 
 
 By 
 
 A. V. HUDSON 
 
 DENVEK 
 THE CARSON-HARPER CO. 
 
 19 1 5 
 

 Copyright. 1915, by A. V. Hudson 
 
 OC!,A409518 
 
 SEP -71915 
 
1^ 
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 1 LL Y' ' has long been a visitor of mine 
 who did considerable ''pestering 
 'round" in the spring of the year. 
 There would be stretches of time when the 
 "Circle A. H." Ranch wasn't bothered with 
 him, then some morning he would arrive — 
 horse, dog and entire paraphernalia. 
 
 When he was gone, I would pick up the 
 bits of verse he had left lying about. At last 
 these became so numerous it was decided to 
 put a few of them into book form, and for that 
 reason the following "round-up" was made. 
 I trust that between the lines of these verses 
 you may read the life of one who is not I, but 
 "Billy," a dream-boy of the hills. 
 
 A. V. HUDSON 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Foreword 
 
 Introduction 
 
 The Land Where the Cowboy Grows 7 
 
 The Storm ^ 
 
 Go Away Back, Mr. Satan ^ 
 
 The Cowboy's Valentine ' ^ 
 
 When Love Went Riding ^ ' 
 
 The Homemade Cigarette ' - 
 
 The Free and Easy Way ^"^ 
 
 15 
 
 17 
 
 Other Men's Dogs 
 
 Campfire Song 
 
 At the Stock Show *^ 
 
 Horse Sense " 
 
 ™ ,. , 21 
 
 Travenn 
 
 The Indian Pink -^ 
 
 The Legend of the Columbine 23 
 
 Timberline ^^ 
 
 A Sonnet ^^ 
 
 When the Lasso Scored 2'' 
 
 ,, 30 
 
 Vamose 
 
 31 
 Anemone 
 
 3' 
 Homeward 
 
 T i: ., 33 
 
 The Price ^"^ 
 
 The Cypress Song ^^ 
 
 The Cash In. 
 
 38 
 
The Land <where the 
 Cowboy Groivs 
 
 Introduction 
 
 Gathered together, rounded up, 
 Natives and "dogies"* in one, 
 
 Thoughts that my pencil has trailed along 
 And lassoed, just for fun. 
 
 Others have written for thoroughbreds 
 And thinkers' minds have stirred. 
 
 But the thoughts recorded in my brand 
 Are just for the common herd. 
 
 *An inferior kind of cattle on the Western ranges. 
 
The Land v}here the 
 Coivboy Grows 
 
 The Land Where the Cowboy Grows 
 
 The sun-kissed West 
 
 In romance dressed, 
 The home of the summer snows, 
 
 Where the wily camp-bird builds its nest, 
 Is the land where the cowboy grows. 
 
 The rope keeps time 
 
 To the hoof-beats' rhyme. 
 And the tanning breeze that blows. 
 
 From youth to age man's at his prime 
 In the land where the cowboy grows. 
 
 There circles race 
 
 And fall to place. 
 As the lariat he throws. 
 
 Across the blue flit clouds of lace 
 In the land where the cowboy grows. 
 
 He's blythe and brown. 
 
 He fears no town. 
 And laughs where'er he goes. 
 
 It's there they help the man that's down — 
 In the land where the cowboy grows. 
 
 They sing by rote 
 
 And swear by note. 
 In the home of the sun's repose ; 
 
 But, it's ladies first, when they go to vote 
 In the land where the cowboy grows. 
 
riie Laitd Inhere the 
 Coivhoy Groiis 
 
 The Storm 
 
 The clouds, like unwashed wool, go hurrying by 
 
 Pursued by the Wind Witches of the sky, 
 
 A crack in this dense storm drift gleams with light 
 
 And black clouds battle to outrival night ; 
 
 The trees hold forth their leaves in breathless pause 
 
 Then sway subjective to the Storm King's laws. 
 
 Quick, drop by drop, how can such clear drops fall 
 
 From out yon dark and threatening crepe-trimmed pall "? 
 
 Down, down, in swifter, splashing flight, they race — 
 
 A stream, a torrent, now no drop you trace — 
 
 Just one continual, downward, rushing pour, 
 
 A constant quiver from the thunder's roar. 
 
 But, see ! white clinging clouds, like cluny lace, 
 
 Go drifting daintily from place to place ; 
 
 And diamond raindrop, mined from coal-cloud skies, 
 
 Gems window ledge and moss, where'er it lies. 
 
 Oh, look — a sunbeam smiles across a leaf. 
 
 And, though this one wee sunbeam's life were brief 
 
 Another follows ; then, Behold ! the Sun 
 
 Smiles on the Earth to say — the storm is done. 
 
 ® 
 
The Land i^'liere the 
 Coiuboy Grows 
 
 Go Away Back, Mr. Satan 
 
 Go away back, Mr. Satan, for I'm sure a ridin' free, 
 And there ain't no use your waitin' or a followin' after me ; 
 In the city you're a steerer, which ain't nothin' very strange. 
 But you can't come any nearer when I'm ridin' on the range 
 
 Where the birds are singin' sudden, throwin' joy notes to the breeze. 
 And the wind his organ's thuddin' to the hummin' of the trees ; 
 Where the glowin' sky's a glowin' and the mountains grand I see. 
 You might just as well be goin', 'tain't no use to follow me. 
 
 (rod Almighty sends His glory shine, a siftin' through the clouds. 
 From plumb above the timberline to the restless, shiftin' crowds; 
 And I guess He sends His blessed word to guide me in the town, 
 But it ain't so easy to be heard as when I'm nosin' round 
 
 Where the peaks in purple splendor, pointin' Paradise, I see, 
 
 'Taint no use, you old pretender, there to follow after me. 
 
 So, Mr. Satan, hit the hike, for your lasso's hangin' slack 
 
 And the mountains are a smilin' like they're glad that I've come back. 
 
The Land lahere the 
 Coivboy Groivs 
 
 The Cowboy's Valentine 
 
 Can cowboy's love compete with those 
 
 Who write so grandly "? Ah, who knows ! 
 
 Is love to great men more divine 
 
 Than love that stirs this heart of mine '? 
 
 The circles of the lariat 
 
 Frame pictures of a face, and yet 
 
 A rope of pearls were far more fit 
 
 To frame the face I see in it. 
 
 A name goes rippling through my mind 
 
 With love, I love, entwined, combined ; 
 
 Ah, would that I owned many herds 
 
 Of golden-edged and learned words. 
 
 And then, one thousandth part I'd tell 
 
 Of love that in my heart doth dwell. 
 
 10 
 
The Land where the 
 Coivboy Groivs 
 
 When Love Went Riding 
 
 We sang and laughed while the ponies pranced, 
 The winds blew mild, the sunbeams danced ; 
 And I held your hand as we galloped away 
 Over the hills in the newborn day — 
 
 Where the prairie was broad 
 
 And life was free, 
 
 Where love went riding 
 
 With you and me. 
 
 Remember, dear, how your pony shied 
 As I stole a kiss on that morning ride *? 
 My own little girl you were that day. 
 You rode the sorrel and I the bay — 
 
 Where the prairie was broad 
 
 And life was free, 
 
 Where love went riding 
 
 With you and me. 
 
 You went from my life and shadows lay 
 Over the hills for many a day. 
 But that memory, dear, you cannot take, 
 You were mine that once for love's sweet sake — 
 Where the prairie was broad 
 
 And life was free, 
 When love went riding 
 With you and me. 
 
 If my heart broke, you never knew, 
 If your heart broke, you hid that, too ; 
 But life and love, and heaven and hell. 
 Our eyes once dared to each other tell — 
 Where the prairie was broad 
 
 And life was free, 
 When love went riding 
 With you and me. 
 
 11 
 
The Land ivhere the 
 (Jo<w/'oy Groivs 
 
 The Homemade Cigarette 
 
 There are dreams that come a plenty 
 
 When the campfire gleams at night, 
 There are faces in each planet 
 
 When the evening stars are bright ; 
 I am glad to pass the yarn along 
 
 Of most I see, and yet, 
 'Tho I could, I would not tell you 
 
 All I tell my cigarette. 
 
 Never painter sketched on canvas 
 
 All the beauty Nature dealt; 
 Never music has been written 
 
 Telling all the writer felt ; 
 Never poet put on paper 
 
 All his genius could beget, 
 For he would not tell all secrets 
 
 He has told his cigarette. 
 
 If your spirit's on the rampage 
 
 And you heave and twist inside, 
 Then you saddle up at midnight 
 
 For a long and furious ride ; 
 You dismount upon the hilltop 
 
 And the whole darned world forget 
 While you roll and smoke in silence 
 
 Just an "ornery" cigarette. 
 
 Then the world is still about you 
 
 Down the glade and up the hill, 
 And there comes to mind a female 
 
 Who once piously said, "Bill, 
 Quit your smoke and vote for women." 
 
 Sufferin' cats ! a suffragette 
 Talking of emancipation. 
 
 Slandering you, my cigarette. 
 
 12 
 
The Land where the 
 Cowboy Grows 
 
 Then you're silent, telling secrets 
 
 To that brown and slender roll, 
 Getting next to God and Nature; 
 
 Holding converse with your soul. 
 There's the man who chews the stogie, 
 
 And the lad whose pipe's a pet. 
 But the cowman out in cowland 
 
 Smokes the homemade cigarette. 
 
 13 
 
The Land luhere the 
 Co<wboy Groivs 
 
 The Free and Easy Way 
 
 I'm back among the hills again, to the free and easy way, 
 
 To brand the calves and "bust the bronc," and draw a regular pay ; 
 
 It used to seem a hard old job, just riding day by day. 
 
 Then came the news that Uncle Rube had cashed his chips and left ; 
 They buried him, I cashed the draft — it came to quite a heft. 
 Some friends were gay while some were sad that I was thus bereft. 
 
 I settled up some bills I owed and gave the boys a feast. 
 
 Then packed my war bag, doffed my spurs and started for the East ; 
 
 You'd thought, to see me heading out, the President's job I'd leased. 
 
 I spieled at balls with crooked sticks and rode in a "machine," 
 I drank some funny tasting drink out of a high tureen, 
 I tried to talk and never swear behind a painted screen. 
 
 A longing for the cattle range kept coming to my mind, 
 Something was missing in that show, something I couldn't find — 
 A smell of leather, jingling spur, a lariat to wind. 
 
 One night it all grew tiresome at a chafing party stew, 
 I was the outlaw broncho that didn't know what to do. 
 Each member told a story, its limit — to be new. 
 
 And when it came my turn to lead no card was up my sleeve, 
 
 I had to pass the ante on and just stampede and leave. 
 
 While of that bunch of high-grade stuff — not one was left to grieve. 
 
 I'm back among the hills again, have donned the spur and leather 
 To ride and work and night-herd in any kind of weather ; 
 When evening comes, my dog and I will just bunk up together. 
 
 14 
 
The Land =ujhere the 
 
 Other Men's Dogs 
 
 Other men's dogs have died, I guess, 
 
 I never gave it a thought 
 Except a smile about the fuss 
 Over a dog — a canine cuss ; 
 
 Why should I worry that blood was shed *? 
 
 But it's different now, for my dog's dead. 
 
 To think some "ornery greaser" 
 
 Would murder a dog like Ted; 
 Murder it is, and first degree 
 To shoot an old pal such as he ; 
 
 Don't ask me about the things I said ; 
 
 It's different when your own dog's dead. 
 
 I sure profaned that peon some, 
 
 When he met my boot he fled ; 
 To kill a white man's only friend. 
 It should have been that "Greaser's" end. 
 
 What could I do ? He had killed my Ted ; 
 
 The poor little son-of-a-gun was dead. 
 
 I buried him by the roadside 
 
 A mountain cliff at his head ; 
 Kinnikinick and columbine 
 Went in that hole with spruce and pine, 
 
 And, well — I'll admit some tears I shed ; 
 
 It's right at home when your own dog's dead. 
 
 The doghouse by the cabin door, 
 
 That the quaking-asp o'erspread. 
 
 Is nothing but an empty shack 
 
 Its owner gone — he can't come back; 
 
 For to pound a darned old Greaser's head 
 Won't bring him back, if your dog is dead. 
 
 15 
 
The Land luhere the 
 Cowboy Groivs 
 
 Tonight the prairie wolves howl 'round- 
 That pack on dead meat fed — 
 
 Chanting about a peon's sin ; 
 
 But Ted is gone, he can't chime in. 
 
 The poor little lovin' cuss is dead; 
 Sinfully swearin' I go to bed. 
 
 16 
 
The Land nuhere the 
 C(y=iA)boy Gro<ws 
 
 Campfire Song 
 
 In the evening when the campfire 
 
 Throws its gleams across the night, 
 In the evening when the campfire 
 
 Writes your name in shades of light, 
 Every wandering zephyr whispering 
 
 Through the pine trees tells of you 
 And the dreams we dreamed, while dreaming 
 
 By the campfire, just we two. 
 
 Still the blue-bell nods its head 
 
 Above the waters of the spring. 
 And the columbine is dreaming 
 
 Of the songs the robins sing, 
 While the whispering wind is lingering 
 
 Just beyond the golden light, 
 Where the campfire paints your picture 
 
 On the background of the night. 
 
 Come Love, where the campfire 
 
 Throws its gleam on the Western sky; 
 There by its light, Dear, 
 
 We'll whisper, you and I. 
 We'll tell love's sweet story. 
 
 The story the whole world knows, 
 Little Girl, we will dream 
 In the golden gleam. 
 Where the evening campfire glows. 
 
 17 
 
The Lund ivhere the 
 C.oivhoy Groii:s 
 
 At the Stock Show 
 
 Said a thoroughbred to a cowboy's nag, 
 
 "Why are you here in the city? 
 Compared to an animal such as I, 
 
 \ ou're truly an object of pity; 
 With your jogging pace and your downcast face 
 
 To me you are quite a stranger ; 
 And do men of mind accept your kind 
 
 Out there on the open range, Sir'?" 
 
 "Hold on, my friend," said the rancher's horse, 
 
 "The limits of town are your college ; 
 There are men I know who would laugh and jeer 
 
 At you and your boast of knowledge. 
 It's true I shy at an automobile, 
 
 And a gobuzzer surely gets me ; 
 The glare and gleam of city streets 
 
 Is the thing that always frets me. 
 
 "But could you veer from the horn of the steer, 
 
 Or hold him while he's branded"? 
 Do you know the fret of the lariat? 
 
 Own up, my friend, be candid. 
 And why do I hold my head down thus. 
 
 Allowing my reins to dangle*? 
 The prairie dog hole would get me sure 
 
 If I held my head at your angle. 
 
 "What rider has time when throwing the rope. 
 
 Or when the herd is stampeding — 
 It's the law, of course, of the cowboy's horse 
 
 To give him the aid he's needing. 
 This jogging gait you're jeering of 
 
 Makes many miles in a day. 
 Your gallop and trot would soon tire out 
 
 When the herd leads off and away. 
 
 18 
 
The Land where the 
 Coivboy Grows 
 
 "You're guided and turned by a side-wise pull, 
 
 A martingale holding you down ; 
 And this is the proper way to do 
 
 By a horse that is ridden in town. 
 I turn at the touch of the rein on my neck, 
 
 The sway of my rider's shoulders ; 
 And watch the place where I set my foot 
 
 When we race o'er the rocks and boulders. 
 
 "Yet, each has his own proper place to fill, 
 
 Use good horse sense in filling ; 
 You on my range, or I in your stall. 
 
 We wouldn't be worth a shilling. 
 But when you hear, the horse must go — 
 
 His place to be filled with motors. 
 Though they disfranchise the city horse 
 
 Cow ponies will still be voters." 
 
 19 
 
The Land luhere the 
 Co<wboy Grows 
 
 Horse Sense 
 
 Horse sense, God I but what it's worth 
 To us fellers here on earth 
 
 That never had no chance to get 
 Much further than the alphabet ; 
 Just got horse sense, 
 
 Nothin' great 
 To be braggin' 
 Of to Fate. 
 And yet. 
 We can manage to pull through ; 
 Don't know nothin' much that's new, 
 But when you get us in a pinch 
 You'll find us winnin', that's a cinch. 
 Just got horse sense, 
 Wouldn't trade 
 For no sense plumb 
 College made 
 You bet. 
 
 20 
 
The Land vihere the 
 Coiuboy Grotvs 
 
 Travelin' 
 
 I'm a-travelin' for my health now, 
 And, say I I'm goin' some; 
 
 For the sheriff of the county 
 Is foUowin' with a gun. 
 
 And if I'm caught on this bay horse. 
 They'll hang me till I'm dead. 
 
 On circumstantial evidence 
 
 And things I've left unsaid. 
 
 I didn't mention to the man 
 
 Who owns this horse I ride 
 
 That I should like to borrow him 
 To cross the Blue divide ; 
 
 This saddle seemed to fit so well 
 
 The back of this bay horse 
 
 To leave it hanging in a barn 
 
 Quite filled me with remorse. 
 
 I started out long after dark 
 
 I am so retiring. 
 And then the moonlight on the range 
 
 Always is inspiring. 
 
 But, if I'm caught, the range I'll cross 
 Greater is than this one ; 
 
 I'll cross it on a swinging bridge 
 And back I'll never come. 
 
 One other way might open up — 
 
 'Twould suit me not so well — 
 
 To consort with criminal lawyers here. 
 Or straight with Satan dwell. 
 
 ® 
 
 21 
 
The Land ivhere the 
 Coivboy Groivs 
 
 The Indian Pink 
 
 A strange little flower 
 
 With a sun-kissed nose, 
 Without any perfume, 
 
 Yet red as a rose. 
 Did some Indian maiden 
 
 Plant you here 
 In the footprint left 
 
 By the hoof of a deer, 
 Or are you the symbol 
 
 Of blood that was shed 
 In the feud of the white man 
 
 And the red? 
 
 22 
 
The Land ivhere the 
 Qoivhoy Groius 
 
 The Legend of the Columbine 
 
 When God brought forth this world for us 
 He planned innumerable pleasures, 
 
 In granting which, He counted flowers 
 As one of the greatest treasures. 
 
 Flowers — like the rainbow tinted, 
 But never a flower of white. 
 
 Was here when our Lord inspected 
 
 To see that our home was made right. 
 
 Then came an envoy from heaven 
 
 With a gift from the shining throne, 
 
 Of flowers with golden centers 
 
 And a beautiful white in tone. 
 
 Her arms heaped high with these treasures. 
 An angel came down from above 
 
 And scattered abroad the white flowers 
 As a symbol of God's great love. 
 
 At last, but one fair white blossom 
 
 Remained in the bright angel's hand ; 
 
 She had scattered well her burden. 
 
 O'er the silent and sleeping land. 
 
 For the mountain tops she started ; 
 
 And, thinking of Heaven and home. 
 Still carrying this tall white flower. 
 
 She arose toward the arching dome. 
 
 Far up, above the highest peaks, 
 
 In the blue of the Western skies. 
 
 She thought of the gift forgotten 
 
 And lowered her beautiful eyes. 
 
 23 
 
The Land luhere the 
 Coiuboy Groixjs 
 
 Then, seeking a place to plant it, 
 
 She paused on the great mountainside ; 
 
 But the flower — dipped in skyland — 
 A wonderful blue had been dyed. 
 
 She tried with her tears to cleanse it. 
 And thus wash the blue tint away ; 
 
 But, tho the center was golden, 
 
 The blue was a blue that would stay ; 
 
 Quickly, she plucked from her pinion 
 Five feathers of silvery white. 
 
 Forming a circle so deftly 
 
 And binding the edges so tight. 
 
 She placed this feathery circle 
 
 Within the bright circle of blue, 
 
 The white of her wing for petals 
 With the petals of azure hue. 
 
 It was blue and white and golden. 
 
 The sky-land, the snow-land, the gem; 
 Its perfume the breath of angels, 
 
 It dropped from a tall, slender stem. 
 
 Planting this flower on the hillside 
 She watered it softly with dew. 
 
 And, Lo I Behold ! the Columbine 
 
 On the Rocky Mountains grew. 
 
 24 
 
The Land where the 
 Cozvboy Groius 
 
 Timberline 
 
 Up at timberline, how strange 
 
 To see beyond this dead line 
 No trees grow on the range ; 
 
 There they stop, nor advance one step 
 Into this upland region so high ; 
 
 Only bunch grass and boldest flowers 
 Can venture so near the sky. 
 
 Oh, ye mighty pines of valley and hill ! 
 How puny you look at this height, 
 Tho you sway and toss and beat your arms 
 
 To show your greatest might 
 And all your beauty. 
 Think, not even the whispering trees 
 Nor the noisy chattering stream. 
 Only bunch grass, stirred by the breeze 
 
 And tiny flowers from moss beds spring. 
 While Nature, painting her seasons 
 In colors of greatest splendor. 
 Across this line — by the Master drawn — 
 With trembling fingers can send her 
 Somberest colors only 
 Into this region lonely. 
 A prayer from your heart 
 
 Trembles up to your lips 
 As you look far off 
 
 Where the blue sky dips 
 And forms a tent 
 From this summit bent. 
 As you feel the presence of Almighty God 
 
 When you hear the ocean's roar, 
 And see the waves, how they dare to go 
 
 Just so far up on the shore, 
 Or beat at the foot of some rugged cliff 
 As they must forever more. 
 
 So you feel the power of a Glory Divine 
 
 When vou stand on the summit, 'bove timberline. 
 
 25 
 
The Land luherc tin 
 Coiuboy Groius 
 
 A Sonnet 
 
 When summer's rose-tipped cloud shall cease to glow 
 And purple mountain take a sadder hue, 
 When soaring eagle spurns the heaven's blue 
 
 And slowly skims the earth beside the crow ; 
 
 Oh, then, dear maiden, will you come to know 
 
 That I have ceased my worship love of you 
 And in my heart the spirit sweet and true 
 
 Which was of you the thought, has slipped below 
 
 Some wicked image, which, but newly made 
 
 To fill my heart, has blotted out the light ; 
 
 And that some horrid witchery was played 
 
 To take from me my mind in one dark night ; 
 
 Then know, that with my living wit you stayed 
 
 And vanished only in this maddening blight. 
 
 26 
 
The Land vjliere the 
 Coijvhoy Gronvs 
 
 When the Lasso Scored 
 
 Say, Bill ! you mind that cowbow dude 
 
 Rides with the 4T boys. 
 Wears the chaps with the frescoed belt 
 
 And the hat with silver toys? 
 You know! he rides a brown cayuse, 
 
 Brand — double circle A. 
 Say, Bill ! he throws the slickest rope 
 
 I've seen in many a day. 
 
 Last Sunday, I rode up to Pete's, 
 
 To help him brand some mules, 
 And after I'd gone all the way 
 
 He didn't have the tools ; 
 So while he built a brandin' fire 
 
 And patched a broken gate 
 I rode to Dan's to get the irons 
 
 Which helped to pass the wait. 
 
 Just as I crossed the Wilson bridge, 
 
 Me joggin' along right slow, 
 I saw, a comin' down the ridge, 
 
 This dude, cowpuncher beau. 
 And down the road, close by the creek, 
 
 Was Wilson's youngest gal — 
 The one that has the bay-gold hair — 
 
 or Wilson calls her Al. 
 
 She was a ridin' mighty slow 
 
 On Wilson's pinto mare. 
 The reins was just a hangin' down 
 
 And swingin' in the air. 
 or Wilson's "Paint" was joggin' 'long, 
 
 Just dozin' in the sun; 
 You'd never think to see her now 
 
 How that ol' mare has run. 
 
 27 
 
The Land ixhere the 
 Coiuhoy Groivs 
 
 And then I saw what made my hair 
 
 Stand right straight up on end, 
 There, on the cliff that overhangs 
 
 The road around the bend, 
 A yellow spot, it seemed at first, 
 
 Took shape as it came near; 
 'Twas creepin', creepin' right along 
 
 To where the cliff falls sheer. 
 
 This long, lank, yellow body 
 
 Made me shiver in the sun; 
 I cussed the luck that sent me there 
 
 Yet made me leave my gun. 
 That yellow cat was creepin' on. 
 
 And watchin' up the trail 
 And creepin', creepin' nearer, 
 
 I could see it switch its tail. 
 
 While Alice was ridin' 'long. 
 
 Straight to her very death, 
 'Twas then I saw another sight 
 
 That made me hold my breath : 
 The 4T boy, his horse a-run. 
 
 Was comin' down the ridge ; 
 He'd seen the danger from above 
 
 While I was on the bridge ; 
 
 His hat was off, his rope was up, 
 
 Spurrin' like the devil ; 
 You know the slope is gradual there 
 
 Above the cliff, most level ; 
 But now the cat was doubled up 
 
 And ready for its spring — 
 That pinto mare was joggin' 'long 
 
 As cool as anything. 
 
 28 
 
The Land luhere the 
 Coivhoy Grows 
 
 Straight into the air sprang the mountain cat- 
 But the rope shot out ahead, 
 
 Then dropped right back around his neck ; 
 I saw him hangin' dead. 
 
 The horse was standin' forefeet braced, 
 The cowboy's face was pale, 
 
 While down below, all safe and sound, 
 Was Alice in the trail. 
 
 ® 
 
 2d 
 
The Land ivhere the 
 Cowboy Gro<ws 
 
 Vamose 
 
 When you see the silver circle 
 Of the moon a swingin' low, 
 
 When you hear the frogs a croakin' 
 Where the water mosses grow ; 
 
 With a banjo, and a hammock, 
 And a girl, my goodness me, 
 
 What more can mortal man expect 
 Is more than I can see. 
 
 But when the silver moon sinks down 
 
 Behind the jagged hills. 
 And when the hammock sways away. 
 
 While darkness 'round you spills. 
 
 When the banjo quits its talking 
 
 And the Night-Wind whispers low, 
 
 You're mighty apt to get engaged 
 If you don't get up and go. 
 
 30 
 
The Land where the 
 Coivboy Gronvs 
 
 Anemone 
 
 Anemone — thou dainty flower 
 
 That greets us e'er the snow departs, 
 Thy soft blue petals find the way 
 
 That leads directly to our hearts. 
 
 Art thou the first of many gems 
 
 That form the flower crown of Spring, 
 
 Or dost thou 'broider with thy blue 
 
 The royal robe of Winter's King"? 
 
 31 
 
The Land lultere the 
 CoiJiihoy Groisjs 
 
 Homeward 
 
 The car wheels whisper, 
 
 "Free, you're free ;" 
 The old hills call 
 
 And beckon me ; 
 The old love waits, 
 
 The old friends smile, 
 And the wheels click off 
 
 Another mile. 
 
 I laugh, tho' I cry as I say good-by, 
 
 But away where the willow bends 
 To kiss and touch with a whispering sigh 
 The lilting waters hurrying by 
 
 Is the world of the tiny friends; 
 
 The green beneath, the blue above. 
 The world of beauty and life and love. 
 
 Oh, the world is gay where the children play 
 
 'Neath the trees through the singing hours, 
 The world of birds that dip and sway 
 Through the living light of the laughing day, 
 The world of bees and flowers. 
 
 The green beneath, the blue above, 
 
 The world of beauty and life and love. 
 
 The car wheels whisper, 
 
 "Free, you're free ;" 
 The old hills beckoning 
 
 Call to me ; 
 
 The old friends wait. 
 The old loves smile, 
 And the wheels whirr off 
 
 Another mile. 
 
 32 
 
The Land ivhere the 
 (U)ivho)/ Groivs 
 
 Loneliness 
 
 The coppery sun, low hanging in the sky. 
 Grows redder as it nears the place the eye 
 Marks the horizon far ; and then, between, 
 The early evening dust clouds intervene. 
 
 The parched and burning sagebrush, whose dull gray 
 Is stretching to the skyline, far away, 
 Seems like the ocean, waiting for a storm, 
 Except that here no sea breeze blows ; 'tis warm. 
 
 A gray adobe hut sits on this waste, 
 A darker gray, 'tis, on the sage gray placed ; 
 Before the door, just one the cabin's boast. 
 Is planted in the earth a snubbing post. 
 
 A saddle, with a bridle lying by 
 
 An irrigating ditch that's almost dry; 
 
 And to the left, upon the desert's floor, 
 
 A dying horse a sun-bronzed man bends o'er. 
 
 A dying horse, no more, no less. 
 
 Receives this strong man's tender, soft caress ; 
 
 Is called by him a harsh but loving name — 
 
 "Good-by, you damned old geezer, you've been game; 
 
 "We've fought it out together, you and I 
 Have lived this hell of dreariness — good-bye." 
 The twitching muscle has at last grown still, 
 And through the warmth there creeps a sudden chill ; 
 
 The man, low bending, marks the glazing eye. 
 That, gazing upward, apprehends no sky : 
 The sun has fallen slowly out of sight, 
 A coyote howls, then all is still — 'tis night. 
 
 33 
 
The Land tvhere the 
 Cowboy Groius 
 
 The Price 
 
 A sorrow in a dreamer's heart 
 
 Bore fruitage in a song. 
 And once again grief played a part — 
 
 A picture came along. 
 For birth of thought with things worth while 
 Is pain and tears hid by a smile. 
 
 We dream along through summer glow 
 
 And drift from day to day ; 
 The softest, gentlest things but grow 
 
 When pleasure leads the way ; 
 A life made bright by things desired 
 Ne'er brings the flame that grief has fired. 
 
 Who dares expect the golden crown 
 
 And miss the hemlock cup? 
 What issue great has ever grown 
 
 Without the bitter sup ? 
 And yet, we deem our hero blessed 
 Because a tomb is statue dressed. 
 
 34 
 
The Land ivhere the 
 Cowboy Grotvs 
 
 The Cypress Song 
 
 A little while we stay upon this earth, 
 
 A little while, and pass to death from birth; 
 
 Oh, dare we then take all that Nature gives 
 Nor leave a tribute that will show her worth"? 
 
 'Tis hard a man-made technic to attain 
 
 When simple bird-song sings so sweet a strain ; 
 
 But should one garner always from this land 
 Of plain and mountain and the call disdain 
 
 That bids him to a brother pass the word 
 And try to tell him of the things he's heard? 
 
 Yet fears his stumbling speech can ne'er convey 
 The wonder music that his own heart stirred. 
 
 A strange insistence bids that I pass up 
 To town-tired brother Nature's brimming cup 
 That he may quaff the nectar of the hills 
 Whose magic vintage should the weary sup. 
 
 A golden goblet might hold such a drink, 
 A gem-set chalice it should be, I think ; 
 
 Oh, dare one offer in a broken vase 
 The lethe'd nectar from the canon's brink? 
 
 They told me in the city I could find 
 The silver word that frees the tongue-tied mind. 
 The phrase that rounds the sentence into Art 
 And liberates the thought of all mankind. 
 
 But I, so slow in speech, so poor in word, 
 Just one small atom of the common herd. 
 
 Who gathered slowly of the city's ways, 
 Was segregated as a man absurd. 
 
 35 
 
The Land ichere the 
 Coiuboy Groivs 
 
 On me they looked with pity and disdain 
 While some the stinging jeer could scarce refrain 
 
 As poor in pocket, poor in speech, I stood 
 And watched the passing of the pageant train. 
 
 Back to my dog and horse and hills I've come 
 Still dreaming and still worshiping, still dumb ; 
 
 But yet not able to abate the sting 
 Of lack to sing my lands encomium. 
 
 'Twere better to dwell here, where Nature flings 
 In great abundance her sweet offerings, 
 
 Displaying lavishly her beauteous store 
 And giving me some gifts denied to kings. 
 
 For he who knows the language of the hills. 
 Who at the call of every wild thing thrills, 
 Whose music is the bird and waterfall, 
 Finds jarring discord in the noise of mills. 
 
 And, lying on Earth's breast beneath the pine, 
 I gaze across where valleys intertwine 
 
 And narrow into canons, scarped, unsealed — 
 The sculptured wonders of a hand Divine. 
 
 Ask not a city with her hurrying feet 
 
 Her towering buildings and her gleaming street. 
 
 These all are wonderful, but I love best 
 The land where hill and heaven seem to meet. 
 
 Oh, why should I this duty undertake, 
 
 Why strain against the thing I cannot break? 
 
 For one will come to paint with living word 
 And then, I know, man's heart will hear and wake. 
 
 36 
 
So I, perhaps, would better pass along 
 And selfishly enjoy the World's great song, 
 
 Nor try in broken phrase to offer up 
 This Wine of Wonder to a passing throng. 
 
 But when the Mountains know that he has come — 
 The one to praise them, who will not be dumb — 
 
 Oh, may they keep some memory of me 
 Who longed to sing, but who could only hum. 
 
 The Land 'where the 
 Co<whoy Groivs 
 
The Land where the 
 Conohoy Groivs 
 
 The Cash In 
 
 Simple stories, simply told, 
 
 Ripples that play on the sand, 
 
 These are the things recorded 
 In the "Circle A.H." brand. 
 
 38