He was safe from ragin' cyclones,

Wolves could never force his door,

All the ills of life had vanished,

On his mountain torrent snore.

So when our descent awoke him

Sitting bolt upright in bed,

With the flying hoofs above him,

Kicking hair off of his head,

He aroused his sleeping helpmeet;

Loud his curses and abuse,

"Mary, hike your lazy carcass,

Hell has turned the devil loose."

13  

While ole Jim was shooting at us--

Couldn't make him understand;

Kept his blamed old gun a-going

Till he got me through the hand--

Not a whimper did you utter,

But you grabbed the hosses' heads,

Coaxed and helped them in their trouble,

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