The cows go grazing o'er the lea,-- Poor Whiskey Bill! Poor Whiskey Bill! An' aching thoughts pour in on me Of Whiskey Bill. The sheriff up and found his stride; Bill's soul went shootin' down the slide,-- How are things on the Great Divide, O Whiskey Bill? _Anonymous._
"SAY, fellers, that ornery thief must be nigh us, For I jist saw him across this way to the right; Ah, there he is now right under that burr-oak As fearless and cool as if waitin' all night. Well, come on, but jist get every shooter all ready Fur him, if he's spilin' to give us a fight; The birds in the grove will sing chants to our picnic An' that limb hangin' over him stands about right.
"Say, stranger, good mornin'. Why, dog blast my lasso, boys, If it ain't Denver Jim that's corralled here at last. Right aside for the jilly. Well, Jim, we are searchin' All night for a couple about of your cast. An' seein' yer enter this openin' so charmin' We thought perhaps yer might give us the trail. Haven't seen anything that would answer description? What a nerve that chap has, but it will not avail.
"Want to trade hosses fur the one I am stridin'! Will you give me five hundred betwixt fur the boot? Say, Jim, that air gold is the strongest temptation An' many a man would say take it and scoot. But we don't belong to that denomination; You have got to the end of your rope, Denver Jim. In ten minutes more we'll be crossin' the prairie, An' you will be hangin' there right from that limb.
"Have you got any speakin' why the sentence ain't proper? Here, take you a drink from the old whiskey flask. Ar' not dry? Well, I am, an' will drink ter yer, pard, An' wish that this court will not bungle this task. There, the old lasso circles your neck like a fixture; Here, boys, take the line an' wait fer the word; I am sorry, old boy, that your claim has gone under; Fer yer don't meet yer fate like the low, common herd.
"What's that? So yer want me to answer a letter,-- Well, give it to me till I make it all right, A moment or two will be only good manners, The judicious acts of this court will be white. 'Long Point, Arkansas, the thirteenth of August, My dearest son James, somewhere out in the West, For long, weary months I've been waiting for tidings Since your last loving letter came eastward to bless.