Part 4

Next day, as I rode on my cayuse, apart from the rest of the gang, I felt a sudden rip in my leg like the jab of a red-hot tang; And my horse went down below me, with my leg crushed in the clay, And over me leered that fiendish face, and he grinned, and rode away; Rode away to the eastward,--I saw him fade in the sky, And crushed and pinned from hip to heel I counted the hours to die.

How long I lay I could never tell, for the hours were days to me, Till struck with sudden terror I tore at my wounded knee, For the east wind carried a smoky smell, and I read in its fiery breath That half-a-mile of sun-dried grass was all between me and death; With my hunting-knife I hacked my leg, but I couldn't cut the bone, So I set myself as best I could to face my fate alone.

The fire came on like a hungry fiend on the wings of the rising wind, And I wouldn't care to tell you all the things that were in my mind; I saw the sun through the swirling smoke and the blue sky far above, And I bade good-bye to the things of earth and the dearer hopes of love; And I figured that I had closed accounts for life's uncertain span, When a smoke-blind broncho galloped up and there sat Kid McCann!

There wasn't much time for talking, with the death-roll in our ears, But we sometimes live in seconds more than we could in a thousand of years, And before I could guess her meaning she had thrown herself on my face, And spread her leather jacket, which her warm hands held in place; I felt her breath in my nostrils and her fingertips in my hair, And through the roar of the burning grass I fancied I heard a prayer.

'Twas but for a moment; the flames were gone; unharmed they had passed me by; God knows why the useless are spared to live while the faithful are called to die, But the form that had sheltered me shivered, and seemed to shrivel away, And when I had raised it clear of my face I looked into lifeless clay. . . . And darkness fell, and the world was black, and the last of my reason fled, And when I came to myself again I was back at the ranch, in bed.

That was back in the Eighties, and still I am living here; I built this shanty on the spot; her grave is lying near; And when at nights my nostrils sense the smoke-smell in the air I seem to feel her form again, and hear again her prayer; And then the darkness settles down and wild night-creatures cry, But stars come out in heaven and there's comfort in the sky.

WHO OWNS THE LAND?

Who owns the land? The Duke replied, "I own the land. My fathers died In winning it from foreign hands, They paid in red blood for their lands; Their swarthy _villeins_ bit the dust In founding the Landowners' Trust; And many generations dead Substantiate what I have said, The land belongs to us because We've had the making of the laws."

Who owns the land? The Common Man Said, "Government adopts a plan By which the land is held in fee For common folks, like you an' me. The man who'd alter it's a crank; I got the transfer--in the bank-- I've little time to think about These theories silly fellows shout, I have to work to beat the band To pay the mortgage on the land."

Who owns the land? The Statesman said, "The land supplies our daily bread, And raises wheat, and corn, and oats, And simple husbandmen--and votes-- The land was won at awful cost And many soldiers' lives were lost. Too bad! They're mostly silly boys Who go to battle for the noise. Here's a quotation I admire: 'The people's voice is God's desire,' And as I rule by right divine, I half suspect the land is mine."

Who owns the land? The Farmer said, "What puts that question in yer head? I own it. Tuk a homestead here An' lived on it fer twenty year; I bet a new ten dollar bill That I could hold it down until I got the patent, an' I won; The land is mine, as sure's a gun. When city blokes come here to shoot, You bet, they get the icy boot! But 't made me mighty mad when that Danged railway come across the flat An' cut my homestead plumb in two, But there I wuz--what could I do? But jest set down, resigned to fate, Fer fear that they'd expropriate."

Who owns the land? The Speculator Said, "Land is just an incubator In which to let your dollars hatch And, some fine morning--sell the batch."

Who owns the land? The Indian Chief Said, "Ugh, the white man mucha thief! He steal my lan' because he's strong (By gar, it take him pretty long), He steal my lan', an' call it law, He turn me out, me an' my squaw; He let us die, because we not Like him, can live in one same spot; He talk so much of civilize-- He's civil--sometimes--an' he lies!"

Who owns the land? The Over-Rich Said, "All these people claim to, which Is satisfactory to me, So long as they cannot agree. Let them arrange it as they will As long as some one pays the bill. The present plan is, surely, fine; _The interest, at least, is mine_."

Who owns the land? In meek surprise The child said, "Like the air, and skies, And running water, flowers, and birds, And lullabies, and gentle words, And rosy sunsets, clouds, and storms, And God revealed in all His forms-- 'Tis plain the land's the right of birth Of every creature on the earth: _No man can make a grain of sand; How can he say he owns the land?_"

A RACE FOR LIFE

(_As related for the benefit of the New Arrival._)

Yes, stranger, I hev trailed the West Since I wuz a kid on a bob-tailed nag, I hev known the old land at its best, An' packed most ev'ry kind of jag; I hev rode fer life frum a prairie fire, An' tramped fer life through a snow blockade; I hev crumpled "bad men" by the quire, But only once hev I been afraid.

I hev lain alone while the red-men crep' Aroun' me in their fightin'-paint; I have soothed the widow while she wep' Because I'd made her man a saint; I hev lassooed lobsters frum the East, Till ev'ry j'int in their system shook, An' I'd never run frum man or beast Until I run frum a chinook.

The chinook had his lair in Crow's Nest Pass, An' he foraged aroun' the Porcupine Hills, But he'd loafed so long that the ranchin' grass Had a wool-white cover frum the chills; An' me, like a chap that wuz not afraid Of anything with hide an' hair, Went out in a sleigh to the hills an' stayed Till the old chinook might find me there.

At last, when I thought I had tempted fate Enough fer a man with a past like mine, I hitched the bronks an' struck a gait Along the slopes of the Porcupine; An' the day wuz as cold as the Polar Sea, With a nip as keen as a she-wolf fang; But frost wuz just like food to me, An' boldly over the fields I sang:

_"I am the man frum the Hole in the Hills, Where the Great G. Whiliken capers 'round; I am the gent that pays the bills When they plant a greenhorn in the ground; I am the Finish of folks that think They can run a bluff on the prairie-bred, Fer I give their vitals a fatal kink When I open up with a shower of lead."_

An' the cold bit into my nose an' chin, An' drilled itself to the marrow-bone; My face wuz drawn in a frozen grin, An' my fingers rattled like lumps of stone; But my heart wuz as brave as an outlaw stag, An' I laughed though the frost cut like a knife; Till sudden I felt the hind bob drag, An' I knew I wuz in fer a race fer life.

Out from his lair the sly chinook Had hunted me with his fatal breath; I dared not turn aroun' to look, Fer to strand on the hillside there wuz death; The hot wind sizzled along my back, An' the sweat stood out on my shoulder-blade, So I yelled at the team through the frozen crack The roll of the tongue in my mouth had made--

"Get out o' here; by the Polar Star, The fiend of the South is on your heels!" An' I felt the old sleigh cringe an' jar, An' fer once I prayed--fer a pair o' wheels; But the sleigh stood still as the hind bob stuck In mud that rolled to the bolster-rail; So I slipped the tongue an' cursed my luck As I straddled a bronk an' hit the trail.

Well, we beat it out by half a neck, But the broncho's tail was scorched a sight, An' I wuz a blistered, parboiled wreck, An' nearly dead o' heat an' fright; An' I squatted down in a shady spot An' fanned myself with a wisp o' hay, An' the boys on the lower ranches thought They heard a voice in the chinook say:

_"I am the dope that was made to feed, To fresh down-Easters just come out; They'll swallow it all in their greenhorn greed, An' send it home, beyond a doubt; I am the caricature an' bluff That is part of the play of the Western men"--_ What's that? You say you've had enough? Well, pass it on to your neighbor, then.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

The following changes were made to the original text: Page 15: An ==> An' Page 16: an ==> an' Page 20: moring ==> morning Page 52: somtimes ==> sometimes Page 70: Lorship ==> Lordship _and_ Lorship ==> Lordship Page 87: wised ==> wished Page 92: and they were the the ones to pay. ==> and they were the ones to pay. Page 94: prarie ==> prairie Page 100: Stateman ==> Statesman Page 105: kew ==> knew

There were 3 stanzas of 12 lines in the midst of poems where the rest of the stanzas are 6 lines. They have been split into 6 line stanzas. The stanzas are:

Page 35: The room was warm and cosy, and the light was soft and low, Page 93: So you never heard how I lost my leg and hobble now on a crutch? Page 96: How long I lay I could never tell, for the hours were days to me,

Minor variations in spelling and punctuation have been preserved.

End of Project Gutenberg's Songs of the Prairie, by Robert J. C. Stead