The Glory Trail

  'Way high up the Mogollons,
    Among the mountain tops,
  A lion cleaned a yearlin's bones
    And licked his thankful chops,
  When on the picture who should ride,
    A-trippin' down a slope,
  But High-Chin Bob, with sinful pride
    And mav'rick-hungry rope.

    "_Oh, glory be to me," says he,_
      "_And fame's unfadin' flowers!_
    _All meddlin' hands are far away;_
    _I ride my good top-hawse today_
    _And I'm top-rope of the Lazy J----_
      _Hi! kitty cat, you're ours!_"

  That lion licked his paw so brown
    And dreamed soft dreams of veal--
  And then the circlin' loop sung down
    And roped him 'round his meal.
  He yowled quick fury to the world
    Till all the hills yelled back;
  The top-hawse gave a snort and whirled
    And Bob caught up the slack.

    "_Oh, glory be to me," laughs he._
      "_We hit the glory trail._
    _No human man as I have read_
    _Darst loop a ragin' lion's head,_
    _Nor ever hawse could drag one dead_
      _Until we told the tale._"

  'Way high up the Mogollons
    That top-hawse done his best,
  Through whippin' brush and rattlin' stones,
    From canyon-floor to crest.
  But ever when Bob turned and hoped
    A limp remains to find,
  A red-eyed lion, belly roped
    But healthy, loped behind.

    "_Oh, glory be to me" grunts he._
      "_This glory trail is rough,_
    _Yet even till the Judgment Morn_
    _I'll keep this dally 'round the horn,_
    _For never any hero born_
      _Could stoop to holler: Nuff!_'"

  Three suns had rode their circle home
    Beyond the desert's rim,
  And turned their star-herds loose to roam
    The ranges high and dim;
  Yet up and down and 'round and 'cross
    Bob pounded, weak and wan,
  For pride still glued him to his hawse
    And glory drove him on.

    "_Oh, glory be to me," sighs he._
      "_He kaint be drug to death,_
    _But now I know beyond a doubt_
    _Them heroes I have read about_
    _Was only fools that stuck it out_
      _To end of mortal breath._"

  'Way high up the Mogollons
    A prospect man did swear
  That moon dreams melted down his bones
    And hoisted up his hair:
  A ribby cow-hawse thundered by,
    A lion trailed along,
  A rider, ga'nt but chin on high,
    Yelled out a crazy song.

    "_Oh, glory be to me!" cries he,_
      "_And to my noble noose!_
    _Oh, stranger, tell my pards below_
    _I took a rampin' dream in tow,_
    _And if I never lay him low,_
      _I'll never turn him loose!_"

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