XXV.

In the night-air's tremblin', shakin' hands Felt it beatin' kerslap onto me, Like them waves thet chas'd thet President chap Thet went on the war-trail in old Judee. The air wus bustin'--but silent es death; An' lookin' up, in a second I seed The sort of sky thet allers looks down On the rush an' the roar of a night stampede.