The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

“The monster give me lots of trouble,”
Says Downing in his pictured page;
“He allays charged upon the double,
In spite of his unusyal age.
I had to skip like forty crickets
To dodge his vicious pokes an' hits;
For, as to skulkin' 'mongst the thickets,
He'd ripped a wilderness to bits.

“He charged an' charged an' kep' a-chargin',
As full of friskiness as spunk,
An' onst there warn't a finger's margin
Betwixt my bacon an' his trunk.

“I used the powwow's bow an' arrer,
Bewitched to kill at every lick;
An' every time he passed, I'd harrer
His highness with a whizzin' stick.
But, all the same, the pesky creetur
Would face about an' buck agin,
Nor didn't show in limb or feetur
The slightest sign of givin' in.
I had an awful lengthy battle

Afore I fetched a drop of blood,
An' want no more to do with cattle
Who orter drowned in Noah's flood.

“At last I sorter recollected,
While restin' on my twentieth pull,
How finely mammoths are purtected
By that tremenjous clip of wool.
So when the obstinate old bison
Discharged another cannon-roar,
I sent a yard of powwow-pizen
Full-chisel down his yawnin' bore.
The venom took like scarlet fever;
He stopped his rush an' stood aghast,
An' presently begun to weever
An' tremble like a fallin' mast.
His awful sasser-eyes were glassy,
His tongue was furred, his trotters sagged;
Then down he slammed! good lordamassy!
The biggest game I ever bagged!”