"Grrr!" shrieked the boss, with teeth clench'd

tight,

Just as the lone ranche hove in sight,

And with a face of ghastly hue

He flogg'd the horses till they flew,

As if the devil were at their back,

Along the wild and stony track.

From side to side the waggon swung,

While to the quaking seat I clung.

Dogs bark'd; on each side of the pass

The cattle grazing on the grass

Raised heads and stared; and with a cry

Out the men rush'd as we roll'd by.

"Grrr!" shriek'd the boss; and o'er and o'er

He flogg'd the foaming steeds and swore;

Harder and harder grew his face

As by the ranÇhe we swept apace,

And faced the hill, and past the pond,

And gallop'd up the height beyond,

Nor tighten'd rein till field and farm

Were hidden by the mountain's arm

A mile behind; when, hot and spent,

The horses paused on the ascent,

And mopping from his brow the sweat.

The boy glanced round with teeth still set,

And panting, with his eyes on me,

Smil'd with a look of savage glee.

Joe Wilson is the boss's name,

A Western boy well known to fame.

He goes about the dangerous land

His life for ever in his hand;

Has lost three fingers in a fray,

Has scalp'd his Indian too they say;

Between the white man and the red

Four times he hath been left for dead;

Can drink, and swear, and laugh, and brawl,

And keeps his big heart thro' it all

Tender for babes and women.

He

Turned, smiled, and nodded savagely;

Then, with a dark look in his eyes

In answer to my dumb surprise,

Pointed with jerk of the whip's heft

Back to the place that we had left,

And cried aloud,

"I guess you think

I'm mad, or vicious, or in drink.

But theer you're wrong. I never pass

The ranche down theer and bit of grass,

I never pass 'em, night nor day,

But the fit takes me jest that way!

The hosses know as well as me

What's coming, miles afore we see

The dem'd old corner of a place,

And they git ready for the race!

Lord! if I didn't lash and sweer,

And ease my rage out passing theer,

Guess I should go clean mad, that's all.

And thet's the reason why I call

This turn of road where I am took

Jest Old Nick's Gallop!"

Then his look

Grew more subdued yet darker still;

And as the horses up the hill

With loosen'd rein toil'd slowly, he

Went on in half soliloquy,

Indifferent almost if I heard,

And grimly grinding out each word.