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Did yer hear of Bob Vivers,
How he rode from the fire?
Young Bob of Two Rivers,
The pride of his sire?
Him as sometimes delivers
The mail for M'Guire.
Don't know him? Consarn It,
Some people are queer!
Wa'n't he with you? Why, darn it,
Look here!
He's a boy about 'leven,
With weight in his tread,
Enough freckles for seven,
Hair carrotty red.
Forget him? Great heaven!
Why, what's in your head?
Recollect at th' muster
Was a lad with Long Jim,
When Big Joe got the buster?
Well, him!
They were out near Spring Water,
Right under the glare,
For the moke; when they caught her
They mounted her bare;
An' a seven-months daughter
Jogg'd by the old mare.
Know the one maked a clatter
When urged with a spur,
With her legs all a-scatter?
Well, her!
Th' big blaze seemed to Vivers
To race like a hound,
With more fires 'tween the rivers
That threatened his ground;
An' he's mostly got shivers
When fires are around.
'Ad a' bit of a grillin'
One time when 'twas dry,
An' near handed his bill in —
That's why!
So he started to ride her.
But she was dead slow;
Bob couldn't abide her,
So dropt like a crow
On the filly beside her—
An' didn't she go!
Yer remember Spot's brother,
As nimble's a cat?
Well, this foal's such another
As that.
Like a thing dynamited,
Gee-whiz! she began,
An' she snorted an’ smited,
An' rolled as she ran;
While th’ mare got excited
An' chucked the old man.
Do yer mind that tall saplin'
'Yond Stony Camp,
where We met Skinny Taplin?
Just there!
When he rose, with his eyes on
The friend of old Nick,
Bob was on the horizon,
Still goin' full lick.
No mistake, 'twas surprisin'
The way he could stick.
But she turned at that gully—
Know, near the old pit
Where th' bullock charged Tully?
That's it.
An' he stuck to her till 'e
Was carried right back
Past th' fire, an' th' filly
Came down on its track—
An’ by holy King Billy!
She left him as black.
You'd 'a laughed if you'd seen him,
No part 'thout a tear;
You'd 'a cried if you'd been him,
I'll swear.
But that fire, strike me clever!
Was as tame as a coal.
The old mare, though, had ever
Kept after her foal,
An' a better hack never
Bore boy to his goal.
Just a lad of 'leven,
With gingery knob.
Enough frackles for seven—
That's Bob!
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