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Poem by Arthur Chapman


Daylight Saving in Cactus Center


Down here in Cactus Center we believe in savin' time;
Unlike the waste of powder, wastin' daylight is a crime;
So we held a solemn meetin', down in Poker Johnson's place,
And agreed that here in Cactus every clock must change its face;
"For," Bear Hawkins said, reflective, "it will give one hour more
For the studyin' by sunlight of this here draw poker lore.
We are proud of all the sunshine that suffuses yonder range;
If we was n't boosters for it, it's be almighty strange."

But a shadder fell upon us when old Pegleg brought the mail
And he stumped in, from his stage seat, with his customary hail,
For he said, when we had told him of our daylight savin' plan:
"This is rough on pore old Pegleg—you have got me on the pan,
For they've just sent word from Lone Wolf that the old-time schedule stays,
And they say I'll run this bus line just as on all previous days,
So I'd like to have you tell me how I'll land among you here
At the time I'm leavin' Lone Wolf.  Do I make my meanin' clear?

We are peaceful here in Cactus—it takes lots to stir our ire—
But this impudence from Lone Wolf set our fightin' blood afire;
So we 'phoned the Two-Bar foreman, and the Star, and Lazy Y,
And we got word to the round-ups and they let the brand-irons lie,
And the top hands come a-peltin' from the wide and dusty plain,
And we even took a sheepman, though it went against the grain.
Whereupon, when all assembled, we sent word: "Hunt trees to climb,
For we're comin' over, Lone Wolf, and we'll make you change your time!"

There's been battles over poker, there's been bloodshed over booze,
There's been men who've gone to Boot Hill 'cause of words that they would use;
Men have been turned into lead mines for remarks misunderstood;
Men who would n't drink have perished—men have died because they would'
But the fight of fights was started when we entered Lone Wolf's streets
And we carried daylight savin' to the uttermost retreats.
Though we lost some ten good gunmen, we was pleased, on takin' stock,
When we found that we had shot holes in each laggin' Lone Wolf clock.



Arthur Chapman


Arthur Chapman's other poems:
  1. The High-Heeled Boots
  2. Arroyo Al on Worry
  3. Christmas Shopping in Cactus Center
  4. The Old Yaller Slicker
  5. The Magic Mulligan


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