ALTYN
Altyn, the world's most wicked city, Altyn—
All the old wranglers who jingled in the days
Of open range, and all the Vigilantes,
Cupping their palsied hands behind their ears,
Still shift reflective cuds and wag their heads
Whenever barroom talk swings around to Altyn,
The world's most wicked city.
All the old wranglers who jingled in the days
Of open range, and all the Vigilantes,
Cupping their palsied hands behind their ears,
Still shift reflective cuds and wag their heads
Whenever barroom talk swings around to Altyn,
The world's most wicked city.
Oh, sinful enough
It was when Silver Britt, of Kootenai,
Staked out his claim in Blackfoot Basin, sank
His mattock into a seam of golden luck,
And opened the Yellow Mary; when all the gates
Of hell went out and poured upon the town
A flood of rustlers, mountebanks, and harpies—
As when a logging-dam, with a mighty groan
Gives way and looses on a tranquil valley
A pent up avalanche of rotting weeds
And slithering débris.
It was when Silver Britt, of Kootenai,
Staked out his claim in Blackfoot Basin, sank
His mattock into a seam of golden luck,
And opened the Yellow Mary; when all the gates
Of hell went out and poured upon the town
A flood of rustlers, mountebanks, and harpies—
As when a logging-dam, with a mighty groan
Gives way and looses on a tranquil valley
A pent up avalanche of rotting weeds
And slithering débris.
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