by Arthur Chapman
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.
Last updated February 10, 2018