XI.

An' yer bound tew listen an' hear it talk, Es yer mustang crunches the dry, bald sod; Fur I reckin' the hills, an' stars, an' creek Are all of 'em preachers sent by God. An' them mountains talk tew a chap this way: "Climb, if ye can, ye degenerate cuss!" An' the stars smile down on a man, an say, "Come higher, poor critter, come up tew us!"