Old Spookses' Pass, Malcolm's Katie, and other poems
Crawford, Isabella Valancy, 1850-1887
English
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OLD SPOOKSES' PASS
MALCOLM'S KATIE, AND OTHER POEMS,
BY
ISABELLA VALANCY CRAWFORD.
AUTHOR OF
A LITTLE BACCHANTE, OR SOME BLACK SHEEP, ETC., ETC., ETC.
TO JOHN IRWIN CRAWFORD, ESQ., M. D., R. N.
THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
BY HIS NIECE ISABELLA VALANCY CRAWFORD.
OLD SPOOKSES' PASS.
I.
We'd camp'd that night on Yaller Bull Flat--
Thar was Possum Billy, an' Tom, an' me.
Right smart at throwin' a lariat
Was them two fellers, as ever I see;
An' for ridin' a broncho, or argyin' squar
With the devil roll'd up in the hide of a mule,
Them two fellers that camp'd with me thar
Would hev made an' or'nary feller a fool.
II.
Fur argyfyin' in any way,
Thet hed to be argy'd with sinew an' bone,
I never see'd fellers could argy like them;
But just right har I will hev to own
Thet whar brains come in in the game of life,
They held the poorest keerds in the lot;
An' when hands was shown, some other chap
Rak'd in the hull of the blam'd old pot!
III.
We was short of hands, the herd was large,
An' watch an' watch we divided the night;
We could hear the coyotes howl an' whine,
But the darn'd critters kept out of sight
Of the camp-fire blazin'; an' now an' then
Thar come a rustle an' sort of rush,
A rattle a-sneakin' away from the blaze,
Thro' the rattlin', cracklin' grey sage bush.
IV.
We'd chanc'd that night on a pootyish lot,
With a tol'ble show of tall, sweet grass--
We was takin' Speredo's drove across
The Rockies, by way of "Old Spookses' Pass"--
An' a mite of a creek went crinklin' down,
Like a "pocket" bust in the rocks overhead,
Consid'able shrunk, by the summer drought,
To a silver streak in its gravelly bed.
V.
'Twas a fairish spot fur to camp a' night;
An' chipper I felt, tho' sort of skeer'd
That them two cowboys with only me,
Couldn't boss three thousand head of a herd.
I took the fust of the watch myself;
An' as the red sun down the mountains sprang,
I roll'd a fresh quid, an' got on the back
Of my peart leetle chunk of a tough mustang.
VI.
An' Possum Billy was sleepin' sound,
Es only a cowboy knows how to sleep;
An' Tommy's snores would hev made a old
Buffalo bull feel kind o' cheap.
Wal, pard, I reckin' thar's no sech time
For dwind'lin' a chap in his own conceit,
Es when them mountains an' awful stars,
Jest hark to the tramp of his mustang's feet.
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