Smoothed the grass down for my pillow,

While the hosses quenched their thirst.

Then you bathed my throbbing forehead,--

Love and healing in the touch,--

Sayin', "Billy, pardner, listen:

That there shootin' wasn't much!"

15  

From your skirt you tore a piece out,

Dressed my wounds so neat and quick,

That I felt the Lord had sent you

Just to soothe and heal the sick.

Bringing back a hat of water,

Through the dim light and the rain,

Thought I saw your face turn paler,

Like you felt a twinge o' pain;

But as you knelt down beside me

I could hear you humming low

Some mysterious song, stopped short by,

"Billy, man, we sure must go!"

And the sun turned loose his glory,

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