XIV
From Truthful James to Mr. Bret Harte.
WILLIAM NYE’S EXPERIMENT.
Angel’s.
DEAR BRET HARTE,I’m in tears,And the camp’s in the dust,For with anguish it hearsAs poor William may bust,And the last of the Nyes is in danger ofsleeping the sleep of the just.
No revolver it wasInterfered with his health,The convivial glassDid not harm him by stealth;It was nary! He fell by a scheme whichhe thought would accumulate wealth!
For a Moqui came roundTo the camp—Injun Joe;And the dollars was foundIn his pockets to flow;For he played off some tricks with livesnakes, as was reckoned a competent show.
They was rattlers; a pairIn his teeth he would hold,And another he’d wearLike a scarf to enfoldHis neck, with them dangerous crittersas safe as the saint was of old.
Sez William, “That sameIs as easy as wink.I am fly to his game;For them rattlers, I think,Has had all their incisors extracted.They’re harmless as suthin’ to drink.”
So he betted his pileHe could handle them snakes;And he tried, with a smile,And a rattler he takes,Feeling safe as they’d somehow beendoctored; but bless you, that sarpent awakes!
Waken snakes! and they didAnd they rattled like mad;For it was not a “kid,”But some medicine he had,Injun Joe, for persuadin’ the critters butWilliam’s bit powerful bad.
So they’ve put him outsideOf a bottle of Rye,And they’ve set him to rideA mustang as kin shy,To keep up his poor circulation; andthat’s the last chance for Bill Nye.
But a near thing it is,And the camp’s in the dust.He’s a pard as we’d missIf poor Bill was to bust—If the last of the Nyes were a-sleepinthe peaceable sleep of the just.