| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 1489. A Health at the Ford |
| | | By Robert Cameron Rogers |
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| BRONCHO DAN halts midway of the stream, | |
| Sucking up the water that goes tugging at his knees; | |
| High noon and dry noon,—to-day it doesn’t seem | |
| As if the country ever knew the blessing of a breeze. | |
| A torn felt hat with the brim cockled up, | 5 |
| A dip form the saddle—there you are— | |
| It ’s the brew of old Snake River in a cowboy’s drinking-cup— | |
| At the ford of Deadman’s Bar. | |
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| “Now for a toast, a health before we go,— | |
| A health to the life that makes living worth a try; | 10 |
| A long drink, a deep drink, it ’s bumpers, Dan, you know; | |
| No heel-taps now, old pony, you must drink the river dry! | |
| Here ’s to her then,—every sunrise knows her name, | |
| I ’ve given it away to every star; | |
| Cold water in a hat! Pretty tough, but what of that?— | 15 |
| It ’s the best—at Deadman’s Bar. | |
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| “Where Summer camps all the year by the sea, | |
| By the broad Pacific where your widened waters pour, | |
| Old Snake River, take a message down for me, | |
| Tell the waves that sing to her along the Southern Shore; | 20 |
| Say that I ’m a-rustling, though the trail that leads to wealth | |
| Is mighty hard to find and dim and far, | |
| But tell her that I love her, and say I drank her health | |
| To-day at Deadman’s Bar.” | |
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