Ropin' an' flankin' calves an' standin'
off an old cow with one hand while you irons up her offspring with
t'other, from sun-up till dark, is sedentary compared to makin'
stanzas. What was the on I makes? Well, you can bet a hoss I ain't
forgot it none.
"'A beautiful woman is shorely a moon, The nights of your life to
illoomine; She's all that is graceful, guileful an' soon, Is woman,
lovely woman.'
"I'm plumb tangled up in my rope when I gets this far, an' I takes a
lay-off. Before I gathers strength to tackle it ag'in, Jenks gets
her; so bein' thar's no longer nothin' tharin I never makes a
finish. I allers allowed it would have been a powerful good poem if
I'd stampeded along cl'ar through.
"Yes, son; women that a-way is shorely rangy cattle an' allers on
the move. Thar's a time once when two of 'em comes mighty near
splittin' Wolfville wide open an' leavin' it on both sides of the
trail. All that ever saves the day is the ca'm jedgement an'
promptitood of Old Man Enright.
"This is how Wolfville walks into this petticoat ambush. The camp is
gettin' along all peaceful an' serene an' man-fashion. Thar's the
post-office for our letters; thar's the Red Light for our bug-juice;
thar's the O.
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