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Vell, dese leedle schafers vas goin' to pe men,
Und all off dese droubles vill peen ofer den;
Dey vill vare a vhite shirt vront inshted off a bib,
Und vouldn't got tucked oop at nighdt in deir crib-
Vell! vell! ven I'm feeple und in life's decline,
May mine oldt age pe cheered py dot baby off mine.



A TALE OF THE GOLD-SEEKERS. “There's some think Injins pison

[It was Parson Pete that spoke, As we sat there, in the camp-fire glare, like shadows among

the smoke. 'Twas the dead of night, and in the light our faces shone

bright red, And the wind all round made a scre

reeching sound, and the pines roared overhead. Ay, Parson Pete was talking: we called him Parson Pete, For you must learn he'd a talking turn, and handled things

so neat: He'd a preaching style, and a winning smile, and, when all

talk was spent, Six-shooter had he, and a sharp bowie, to point his argument. Some one had spoke of the Injin folk, and we had a guess,

you bet, They might be creeping, while we were sleeping, to catch us

in the net; And the half-asleep were snoring deep, while the others

vigil kept, But never a one let go his gun, whether he woke or slept.] “There's some think Injins pison, and others fancy 'em scum, And most would slay them out of the way, clean into King

dom Come; But don't you go and make mistakes, like many dern'd fools

I've known, For dirt is dirt, and snakes is snakes, but an Injin's flesh

and bone!" We were seeking gold in the Texan hold, and we'd had a

blaze of luck, More rich and rare the stuff ran there at every foot we'struck; Like men gone wild we toiled and toiled, and never seemed

to tire, The hot sun glared, and our faces flared, with the greed o'

gain, like fire.

I was Captain then of the mining men, and I had a precious

life, For a wilder set I never met at derringer and at knife; Nigh every day there was some new fray, and a shot in some

one's brain, And the blackest sheep in all the heap was an Imp of Sin,

from Maine, Phil Blood. Well, he was six foot three, with a squint to

make you skeard, His face ail scabb’d, and twisted and stabb’d, with carroty

hair and beard, Sour as the drink in Bitter Chink, sharp as a grizzly's squeal, Limp in one leg, for a leaden egg had nícked him in the heel.

He was the primest workman there !—'twas a sight to see

him toil! To the waist all bare, all devil and dare, the sweat on his

cheeks like oil; With pickaxe and spade in sun and shade he labored like

the nation, But when his spell was over,–Well, he liked recreation. And being a crusty kind of cuss, the only sport he had When work was over seemed to us a bit too rough and bad; For to put some lead in a fellow's head was the greatest fun

in life, And the only joke he liked to poke was the point of his

precious knife. But game to the bone was Phil, I'll own, and he always

fought most fair, With as good a will to be killed as kill, true grit as any there: Of honor too, like me or you, he'd a scent, though not so

keen, Would rather be riddled through and through, than do what

he thought mean. But his eddication to his ruination had not been over nice, And his stupid skull was choking full of vulgar prejudice; For a white man he was an ekal, free to be fought in open

fray, But an Injin a snake (make no mistake!) to scotch in any

way. “A sarpent's hide has pison inside, and an Injin heart 's as

bad, He'll seem your friend for to gain his end, but they hate the

white like mad; Worse than the least of bird or beast, never at peace till dead, A spotted snake, and no mistake!" that's what he always

Well, we'd just struck our bit of luck, and were wild as rav

ing men, When who should stray to camp one day, but Black Panther,

the Cheyenne; Dressed like a Christian, all a-grin, the old one joins our band, And though the rest looked black as sin, he shakes me by

the hand. Now, the poor old cuss had been known to us, and I knew

that he was true, I'd have trusted him with life and limb as soon as I'd trust

you; For though his wit was gone a bit, and he drank like any fish, His heart was kind, he was well-inclined, as even a white

could wish. Food had got low, for we didn't know the run of the hunt

ing-ground, And our hunters were sick, when just in the nick, the friend

in need was found; For he knew the place like his mother's face (or better, a

heap, you'd say, Since she was a squaw of the roaming race, and himself a

cast-away). Well, I took the Panther into camp, and the critter was well

content, And off with him, on the hunting tramp, next day our party

went, And I reckon that day and the next we didn't hunger for

food, And only one in the camp looked vexed--that Imp of Sin,

Phil Blood. Nothing would please his contrairy idees! an Injin made

him boil! But he said nought, and he scowling wrought from morn till

night at his toil, And I knew his skin was hatching sin, and I kept the Pan

ther apart, For the Injin he was too weak to see the depths of a white

man's heart. One noon-day, when myself and the men were resting by

the creek, The red sun blazed, and we lay half-dazed, too tired to stir

or speak; 'Neath the alder trees we stretched at ease, and we couldn't

see the sky, For the lien-fowers in bright blue showers hung througb

the branches high.

It was like the gleam of a fairy-dream, and I felt like earth's

first Man, In an Eden bower with the yellow flower of a cactus for a fan; Oranges, peaches, grapes, and figs, clustered, ripened, and fell, Aud the cedar scent was pleasant, blent with the soothing

'cacia smell. The squirrels red ran overhead, and I saw the lizards creep, And the woodpecker bright with the chest so white tapt like

a sound in sleep; I lay and dozed with eyes half closed, and felt like a

three-year child, And, a plantain blade on his brow for a shade, even Phil

Blood looked mild. Well, back jest then came our hunting men, with the Pan

ther at their head, Full of his fun was every one, and the Panther's eyes were red, and he skipt about with grin and shout, for he'd had a drop

that day, And he twisted and twirled, and squealed and skirled, in the

foolish Injin way. To the waist all bare Phil Blood lay there, with only his

knife in his belt, And I saw his bloodshot eye-balls flare, and I knew how

fierce he felt, When the Injin dances with grinning glances around him

as he lies, With his painted skin and his monkey grin,-and 'rers into

his eyes.

Then before I knew what I should do Phil Blood was ou his

feet, And the Injin could trace the hate in his face, and his heart

began to beat, And “Get out o' the way,” he heard them say, " for he means

to hev your life !" But before he could fly at the warning cry, he saw the flash

of the knife. “Run, Panther, run!” cried every one, and the Panther took

the track, With a wicked glare, like a wounded bear, Phil Blood sprang

at his back. Up the side so steep of the canyon deep the poor old crit

ter sped, And after him ran the devil's limb, till they faded overhead. Now, the spot of ground where our luck was found was a

queerish place, you'll mark, Jest under the jags of the mountain crags and the precipicon


And the water drove from a fall above, and roared both day

and night, And those that waded beneath were shaded by crags to left

and right. Far up on high, close to the sky, the two crags leant together, Leaving a gap, like an open trap, with a gleam of golden

weather, And now and then when at work the men looked up they

caught the bounds Of the deer that leap from steep to steep, and they seemed

the size o' hounds. A pathway led from the beck's dark bed up to the crags on

high, And up that path the Injin fled, fast as a man could fly. Some shots were fired, for I desired to keep the white cuss

back; But I missed my man, and away he ran on the flying Injin's

track. Now all below is thick, you know, with 'cacia, alder, and pine, And the bright shrubs deck the side of the beck, and the

lien-flowers so fine, For the forest creeps all under the steeps, and feathers the

feet of the crags With boughs so thick that your path you pick, like a steamer

among the snags. But right above you, the crags, Lord love you! are bare as

this here hand, And your eyes you wink at the bright blue chink, as looking

p you stand. If a man should pop in that trap at the top, he'd never rest

hand or leg, Till neck and crop to the bottom he'd drop-and smash on

the stones like an egg! Now, the breadth of the trap, though it seemed so small from

the place below, d’ye see, Was what a deer could easily clear, but a man-well, not

for me! And it happened, yes! the path, I guess, led straight to that

there place, And if one of the two didn't leap it, whew! they must meet

there face to face. "Come back, you cuss! come back to us! and let the critter be!" I screamed out loud, while the men in a crowd stood gazing

at them and ine; But up they went, and my shots were spent, and I shook

as they disappeared, One minute more, and we gave a roar, for the Injin had

leapt,--and cleared !

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