"
"Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie-e-e,
Where the coyote howls and the wind blows free."
Or the dirge-like wail of the "Cowboy's Lament":
"Then swing your rope slowly and rattle your spurs lowly,
And give a wild whoop as you carry me along:
And in the grave throw me and roll the sod o'er me,
For I'm only a cowboy that knows he's done wrong."
"Shall we take him to Lone Tree Coulee?" asked one. Another answered
disdainfully.
"Don't you know the lone tree's dead? Jest shrivelled up an' died
after Bill Atwood was hung onto it. Some augers he worn't guilty. But
it's better to play safe, an' string up all the doubtful ones, then yer
bound to git the right one onct in a while."
"Swing over into Buffalo Coulee," commanded Tex. "There's a bunch of
cottonwoods just above Hansen's old sheep ranch."
"We'll string him up to a cottonwood limb
An' dig his grave in under him----"
"Shut up!" ordered Curly, favouring the singer with a scowl. "Any one
would think you was joyous-minded, which this here hangin' a man is
plumb serious business, even if it hain't only a pilgrim!"
He edged his horse in beside the Texan's. "He don't seem tore up with
terror, none. D'you think he's onto the racket?"
Tex shook his head, and with his eyes on the face of the prisoner which
showed very white in the moonlight, rode on in silence.
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