Old Spookses Pass | Page 2

as snakes at play in the grass,

An' plungin' thar fangs in the bare old skulls
Of the mountains,
frownin' above the Pass.
An' all so still, that the leetle creek,

Twinklin' an crinklin' from stone to stone,
Grows louder an' louder,
an' fills the air
With a cur'us sort of a singin' tone.
It ain't no matter
wharever ye be,
(I'll 'low it's a cur'us sort of case)
Whar thar's
runnin' water, it's sure to speak
Of folks tew home an' the old home
place;
XI.

An' yer bound tew listen an' hear it talk,
Es yer mustang crunches the
dry, bald sod;
Fur I reckin' the hills, an' stars, an' creek
Are all of
'em preachers sent by God.
An' them mountains talk tew a chap this
way:
"Climb, if ye can, ye degenerate cuss!"
An' the stars smile
down on a man, an say,
"Come higher, poor critter, come up tew us!"
XII.
An' I reckin', pard, thar is One above
The highest old star that a chap
can see,
An' He says, in a solid, etarnal way,
"Ye never can stop till
ye get to ME!"
Good fur Him, tew! fur I calculate
HE ain't the One
to dodge an' tew shirk,
Or waste a mite of the things He's made,
Or
knock off till He's finished His great Day's work!
XIII.
We've got to labor an' strain an' snort
Along thet road thet He's
planned an' made;
Don't matter a mite He's cut His line
Tew run
over a 'tarnal, tough up-grade;
An' if some poor sinner ain't built tew
hold
Es big a head of steam es the next,
An' keeps slippin' an' slidin'
'way down hill,
Why, He don't make out that He's awful vex'd.
XIV.
Fur He knows He made Him in that thar way,
Somewhars tew fit In
His own great plan,
An' He ain't the Bein' tew pour His wrath
On
the head of thet slimpsy an' slippery man,
An' He says tew the feller,
"Look here, my son,
You're the worst hard case that ever I see,
But
be thet it takes ye a million y'ars,
Ye never can stop till ye git tew
ME!"
XV.
Them's my idees es I pann'd them out;
Don't take no stock in them
creeds that say,
Thar's a chap with horns thet's took control
Of the

rollin' stock on thet up-grade way,
Thet's free to tote up es ugly a log

Es grows in his big bush grim an' black,
An' slyly put it across the
rails,
Tew hist a poor critter clar off the track.
XVI.
An' when he's pooty well busted an' smash'd,
The devil comes smilin'
an' bowin' round,
Says tew the Maker, "Guess ye don't keer
Tew
trouble with stock thet ain't parfactly sound;
Lemme tote him
away--best ye can do--
Neglected, I guess, tew build him with care;

I'll hide him in hell--better thet folks
Shouldn't see him laid up on the
track for repair!"
XVII.
Don't take no stock in them creeds at all;
Ain't one of them cur'us sort
of moles
Thet think the Maker is bound to let
The devil git up a
"corner" in souls.
Ye think I've put up a biggish stake?
Wal, I'll bet
fur all I'm wuth, d'ye see?
He ain't wuth shucks thet won't dar tew lay

All his pile on his own idee!
XVIII.
Ye bet yer boots I am safe tew win,
Es the chap thet's able tew smilin'
smack
The ace he's been hidin' up his sleeve
Kerslap on top of a
feller's jack!
Es I wus sayin', the night wus dark,
The lightnin'
skippin' from star to star;
Thar wa'n't no clouds but a thread of mist,

No sound but the coyotes yell afar,
XIX.
An' the noise of the creek as it called tew me,
"Pard, don't ye mind
the mossy, green spot
Whar a creek stood still fur a drowzin' spell

Right in the midst of the old home lot?
Whar, right at sundown on
Sabba'day,
Ye skinn'd yerself of yer meetin' clothes,
An dove, like a

duck, whar the water clar
Shone up like glass through the lily-blows?
XX.
"Yer soul wus white es yer skin them days,
Yer eyes es clar es the
creek at rest;
The wust idee in yer head thet time
Wus robbin' a
bluebird's swingin' nest.
Now ain't ye changed? declar fur it, pard;

Thet creek would question, it 'pears tew me,
Ef ye looked in its
waters agin tew night,
'Who may this old cuss of a sinner be?'"
XXI.
Thet wus the style thet thet thar creek
In "Old Spookses' Pass," in the
Rockies, talked;
Drowzily list'nin' I rode round the herd.
When all
of a sudden the mustang balked,
An' shied with a snort; I never
know'd
Thet tough leetle critter tew show a scare
In storm or dark;
but he jest scrouch'd down,
With his nostrils snuffin' the damp, cool
air,
XXII.
An' his flanks a-quiver. Shook up? Wal, yes
Guess'd we hev heaps of
tarnation fun;
I calculated quicker'n light
That the herd would be off
on a healthy run.
But thar warn't a stir tew horn or hoof;
The herd,
like a great black mist, lay spread,
While har an' thar a grazin' bull

Loom'd up, like a mighty "thunder head."
XXIII.
I riz in my saddle an'