o' heaven's there,--
Will y'u care for yo' mothah, little boy?
_Pocock in "Curley."_

A COWBOY SONG

I COULD not be so well content,
So sure of thee,
Senorita,
But well I know you must relent
And come to me,
Lolita!

The Caballeros throng to see
Thy laughing face,
Senorita,
Lolita.
But well I know thy heart's for me,
Thy charm, thy grace,
Lolita!

I ride the range for thy dear sake,
To earn thee gold,
Senorita,
Lolita;
And steal the gringo's cows to make
A ranch to hold
Lolita!
_Pocock in "Curley."_

A NEVADA COWPUNCHER TO HIS BELOVED

LONESOME? Well, I guess so!
This place is mighty blue;
The silence of the empty rooms
Jes' palpitates with--you.

The day has lost its beauty,
The sun's a-shinin' pale;
I'll round up my belongin's
An' I guess I'll hit the trail.

Out there in the sage-brush
A-harkin' to the "Coo-oo"
Of the wild dove in his matin'
I can think alone of you.

Perhaps a gaunt coyote
Will go a-lopin' by
An' linger on the mountain ridge
An' cock his wary eye.

An' when the evenin' settles,
A-waitin' for the dawn
Perhaps I'll hear the ground owl:
"She's gone--she's gone--she's gone!"
_Anonymous._

THE COWBOY TO HIS FRIEND IN NEED

YOU'RE very well polished, I'm free to confess,
Well balanced, well rounded, a power for right;
But cool and collected,--no steel could be less;
You're primed for continual fight.

Your voice is a bellicose bark of ill-will,
On hatred and choler you seem to have fed;
But when I control you, your temper is nil;
In fact, you're most easily led.

Though lead is your diet and fight is your fun,
I simply can't give you the jolt;
For I love you, you blessed old son-of-a-gun,--
You forty-five caliber Colt!
_Burke Jenkins._

WHEN BOB GOT THROWED

THAT time when Bob got throwed
I thought I sure would bust.
I like to died a-laffin'
To see him chewin' dust.

He crawled on that Andy bronc
And hit him with a quirt.
The next thing that he knew
He was wallowin' in the dirt.

Yes, it might a-killed him,
I heard the old ground pop;
But to see if he was in