XIX.

I wish, some day, when she's typewritin' and I've took a note out for the boss somewhere, They'd be some outlaws sneak in here and scare That long-legged clerk to death and then the band Would steal her, and nobody else would dare To try to save her, and they'd run away To where they had their cave, and keep her there, And ast more for her than her folks could pay.

Then I would get a gun and bowie-knife And take the name of Buckskin Bob or Joe, And track them to their den, and then I'd go A-galley whoopin' in, and save her life, And she would say: "My hero's came at last!" And we'd stand there and hold each other fast.