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And he came a-runnin' to me and I jumped upon his back,
And he pitched for sheer enjoyment when I hit his flank a whack.

Well, I rode across the open and I stooped down on the run,
And picked up the polo mallet (fer the player he was done),
And I hit that ball a crack, sir, and it sailed plum o'er the fence,
And the crowd just howled with pleasure, fer they thought the sport immense.

Well, it cost me just six hundred fer to git my little bronk,
And to have that player patched up from his heels to injured conk;
But I got my old cow-pony — and jest hear this one thing more:
Don't whisper "polo" to him or he'll buck like Satan, shore!

THE BIBLICAL COWBOY

Sent me by Jim Hagan, of Tulsa, Oklahoma

All day long on the prairies I ride,
Not even a dog to trot by my side;
My fire I kindle with chips gathered round,
My coffee I boil without being ground.

I wash in a pool and wipe on a sack;
I carry my wardrobe all on my back;