And Crazy Jane is good as gold.
And Jim, they say, rides pretty bold;
Not like your father, but very fair.
Jim will have to follow the mare."
"It never was yet in father's hide
To best my Jim on the mountain-side.
Jim can rally, and Jim can ride."
But here again Amelia cried.
. . . . .
The sound of a whip comes faint and far,
A rattle of hoofs, and here they are,
In all their tameless pride.
The fleet wild horses snort with fear,
And wheel and break as the yard draws near.
Now, Jim the Ringer, ride!
Wheel 'em! wheel 'em! Whoa back there, whoa!
And the foam-flakes fly like the driven snow,
As under the whip the horses go
Adown the mountain side.
And Jim, hands down, and teeth firm set,
On a horse that never has failed him yet,
Is after them down the range.
Well ridden! well ridden! they wheel -- whoa back!
And long and loud the stockwhips crack,
Their flying course they change,
"Steadily does it -- let Sambo go!
Open those sliprails down below.
Smart! or you'll be too late.
They'll follow old Sambo up -- look out!
Wheel that black horse -- give Sam a clout.
They're in! Make fast the gate."
. . . . .
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