| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Old Hank | | By N. Howard Thorp |
| | From “Cowboy Songs”
DRIFTIN’ along the rim-rock, old Camp-robber and I, | |
| Out on a scoutin’ trip, circlin’ the flat land dry, | |
| Cuttin’ the sign of the cattle, watchin’ which way they drift, | |
| Pullin’ ’em out of the bog holes, givin’ the weak ones a lift, | |
| Throwin’ ’em back on the home range, each day in a different place, | 5 |
| In slickers en leggins of leather, through sand-storms that blister your face….. | |
| |
| Boss in the ranch house rides easy—his days of worry are gone, | |
| For he made his pile in the old trail days, the days of the old long-horn. | |
| Yep, I’m only a worn-out old puncher—though the boss thinks a heap of me! | |
| For I was with him on the Pecos, in the Raid of Seventy-three!…. | 10 |
| Then he married, en got him religion, en tells you how you mustn’t do wrong; | |
| How a brand is the cow-man’s protection—then he’ll deal you a gospel song! | |
| |
| But I’ll tell you Old Hank was the slickest that ever laid line on a steer, | |
| Or burnt over a brand with a runnin’-iron, or worked on an old cow’s ear! | |
| ’Course, friends, all this talk’s confidential—I wouldn’t want Old Hank to see | 15 |
| That I haven’t changed my damned religion, since the Trail Herd of Seventy-three! | | | | |
|
|
