CHAPTER X
Peace Hath Its Victories
As they neared the central group of buildings they heard a hilarious and assertive song which sprang from the door and windows of the main saloon. It was in jig time, rollicking and boisterous, but the words had evidently been improvised for the occasion, as they clashed immediately with those which sprang to the minds of the outfit, although they could not be clearly distinguished. As they approached nearer and finally dismounted, however, the words became recognizable and the visitors were at once placed in harmony with the air of jovial recklessness by the roaring of the verses and the stamping of the time.
Oh we're red-hot cow-punchers playin on our luck,
An there ain't a proposition that we won't buck:
From sunrise to sunset we've ridden on the range,
But now we're off for a howlin' change.
Chorus
Laugh a little, sing a little, all th' day;
Play a little, drink a little—we can pay;
Ride a little, dig a little an' rich we'll grow.
Oh, we're that bunch from th' O-Bar-O!
Oh, there was a little tenderfoot an' he had a little gun,
An th' gun an' him went a-trailin up some fun.
They ambles up to Santa Fé to find a quiet game,
An' now they're planted with some more of th' same!
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