The Diamond Hitch
When camp is moved, at break of day,
Then comes old Packer Bill—a king
Who rules, with most despotic sway,
The while he loads the pack-mule string;
‘Now, stand off, fellers, give him room!
Now, let the critter buck and pitch;
That load will stay till crack o’ doom
‘Cause Bill has slung the diamond hitch.’
The helpers stand in trembling awe
And watch the ropes weave round the pack;
The artist’s lightest word is law
While strong and deft hands show their knack;
A false move condemnation brings—
‘This noose must go jest thus and sich;
No tenderfoot must bobble things
When Old Bill slings the diamond hitch.’
Old Bill is gone—and o’er the ways
His caravans trailed, in the past,
The engine thunders through the haze
That hangs above the prairie vast;
But ere the dawn of life is fanned,
Disclosing land of fence and ditch,
I seem to seek the pack-mules stand
While old Bill slings the diamond hitch.
