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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cowboy Songs, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Cowboy Songs
+       and Other Frontier Ballads
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: May 4, 2007 [EBook #21300]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COWBOY SONGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net. Music transcribed by Linda Cantoni,
+Joyce Wilson, Espe (Nada Prodanovic), and the PG Finale
+Project Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Transcriber's notes:
+-Page vii: The word following "view of what Owen" was unclear,
+and may not be the "Writes" which has been chosen.
+-(Mus. Not.) following a title means that the original book contains
+musical notation for that song.]
+
+
+
+
+                             COWBOY SONGS
+
+                       AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS
+
+
+
+
+                    What keeps the herd from running,
+                    Stampeding far and wide?
+                    The cowboy's long, low whistle,
+                    And singing by their side.
+
+
+
+
+                              COWBOY SONGS
+
+                      AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS
+
+
+
+
+                              COLLECTED BY
+
+
+                          JOHN A. LOMAX, M.A.
+
+
+                        THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS
+         SHELDON FELLOW FOR THE INVESTIGATION OF AMERICAN BALLADS,
+                          HARVARD UNIVERSITY
+
+
+
+
+                        WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
+                             BARRETT WENDELL
+
+
+
+                               _New York_
+                        THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
+                                 1929
+
+                        _All rights reserved_
+
+
+                        COPYRIGHT, 1910, 1916,
+                     By STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY.
+
+          Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1910.
+                 Reprinted April, 1911; January, 1915.
+
+         New Edition with additions, March, 1916; April, 1917;
+                      December, 1918; July, 1919.
+
+           Reissued January, 1927. Reprinted February, 1929.
+
+
+                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
+                         BY BERWICK & SMITH CO.
+
+
+
+
+
+                                  _To_
+
+                          MR. THEODORE ROOSEVELT
+
+                 WHO WHILE PRESIDENT WAS NOT TOO BUSY TO
+               TURN ASIDE--CHEERFULLY AND EFFECTIVELY--AND
+                  AID WORKERS IN THE FIELD OF AMERICAN
+                   BALLADRY, THIS VOLUME IS GRATEFULLY
+                                DEDICATED
+
+
+
+
+                                                   Cheyenne
+                                                   Aug 28th 1910
+
+Dear Mr. Lomax,
+
+    You have done a work emphatically worth doing and one which should
+    appeal to the people of all our country, but particularly to the
+    people of the west and southwest. Your subject is not only
+    exceedingly interesting to the student of literature, but also to
+    the student of the general history of the west. There is something
+    very curious in the reproduction here on this new continent of
+    essentially the conditions of ballad-growth which obtained in
+    mediæval England; including, by the way, sympathy for the outlaw,
+    Jesse James taking the place of Robin Hood. Under modern conditions
+    however, the native ballad is speedily killed by competition with the
+    music hall songs; the cowboys becoming ashamed to sing the crude
+    homespun ballads in view of what Owen Writes calls the "ill-smelling
+    saloon cleverness" of the far less interesting compositions
+    of the music-hall singers. It is therefore a work of real importance
+    to preserve permanently this unwritten ballad literature of the back
+    country and the frontier.
+                            With all good wishes,
+                                 I am
+                                     very truly yours
+                                                    Theodore Roosevelt
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+                                                  PAGE
+
+ARAPHOE, OR BUCKSKIN JOE                           390
+
+ARIZONA BOYS AND GIRLS, THE                        211
+
+BILL PETERS, THE STAGE DRIVER                      100
+
+BILLY THE KID                                      344
+
+BILLY VENERO                                       299
+
+BOB STANFORD                                       265
+
+BONNIE BLACK BESS                                  194
+
+BOOZER, THE                                        304
+
+BOSTON BURGLAR, THE                                147
+
+BRIGHAM YOUNG, I                                   399
+
+BRIGHAM YOUNG, II                                  401
+
+BRONC PEELER'S SONG                                377
+
+BUCKING BRONCHO                                    367
+
+BUENA VISTA BATTLEFIELD                             34
+
+BUFFALO HUNTERS                                    185
+
+BUFFALO SKINNERS, THE                              158
+
+BULL WHACKER, THE                                   69
+
+BY MARKENTURA'S FLOWERY MARGE                      224
+
+CALIFORNIA JOE                                     139
+
+CALIFORNIA STAGE COMPANY                           411
+
+CALIFORNIA TRAIL                                   375
+
+CAMP FIRE HAS GONE OUT, THE                        322
+
+CHARLIE RUTLAGE                                    267
+
+CHOPO                                              371
+
+COLE YOUNGER                                       106
+
+CONVICT, THE                                       290
+
+COW CAMP ON THE RANGE, A                           358
+
+COWBOY, THE                                         96
+
+COWBOY AT CHURCH, THE                              246
+
+COWBOY AT WORK, THE                                352
+
+COWBOY'S CHRISTMAS BALL, THE                       335
+
+COWBOY'S DREAM, THE                                 18
+
+COWBOY'S LAMENT, THE                                74
+
+COWBOY'S LIFE, THE                                  20
+
+COWBOY'S MEDITATION, THE                           297
+
+COWGIRL, THE                                       251
+
+COWMAN'S PRAYER, THE                                24
+
+CROOKED TRAIL TO HOLBROOK, THE                     121
+
+DAN TAYLOR                                          51
+
+DAYS OF FORTY-NINE, THE                              9
+
+DEER HUNT, A                                       379
+
+DESERTED ADOBE, THE                                350
+
+DISHEARTENED RANGER, THE                           261
+
+DOGIE SONG                                         303
+
+DOWN SOUTH ON THE RIO GRANDE                       331
+
+DREARY BLACK HILLS, THE                            177
+
+DREARY, DREARY LIFE, THE                           233
+
+DRINKING SONG                                      305
+
+DRUNKARD'S HELL, THE                               395
+
+DYING COWBOY, THE                                    3
+
+DYING RANGER, THE                                  214
+
+FAIR FANNIE MOORE                                  219
+
+FOOLS OF FORTY-NINE, THE                           404
+
+FOREMAN MONROE                                     174
+
+FRECKLES, A FRAGMENT                               360
+
+FULLER AND WARREN                                  126
+
+FRAGMENT, A                                        306
+
+FRAGMENT, A                                        309
+
+FREIGHTING FROM WILCOX TO GLOBE                    207
+
+GAL I LEFT BEHIND ME, THE                          342
+
+GOL-DARNED WHEEL, THE                              190
+
+GREAT ROUND-UP, THE                                282
+
+GREER COUNTY                                       278
+
+HABIT, THE                                         327
+
+HAPPY MINER, THE                                   409
+
+HARD TIMES                                         103
+
+HARRY BALE                                         172
+
+HELL IN TEXAS                                      222
+
+HELL-BOUND TRAIN, THE                              345
+
+HERE'S TO THE RANGER                               354
+
+HER WHITE BOSOM BARE                               271
+
+HOME ON THE RANGE, A                                39
+
+HORSE WRANGLER, THE                                136
+
+I'M A GOOD OLD REBEL                                94
+
+JACK DONAHOO                                        64
+
+JACK O' DIAMONDS                                   292
+
+JERRY, GO ILE THAT CAR                             112
+
+JESSE JAMES                                         27
+
+JIM FARROW                                         237
+
+JOE BOWERS                                          15
+
+JOHN GARNER'S TRAIL HERD                           114
+
+JOLLY COWBOY, THE                                  284
+
+JUAN MURRAY                                        276
+
+KANSAS LINE, THE                                    22
+
+LACKEY BILL                                         83
+
+LAST LONGHORN, THE                                 197
+
+LIFE IN A HALF-BREED SHACK                         386
+
+LITTLE JOE, THE WRANGLER                           167
+
+LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY, THE                         187
+
+LONE BUFFALO HUNTER, THE                           119
+
+LONE STAR TRAIL, THE                               310
+
+LOVE IN DISGUISE                                    77
+
+MCCAFFIE'S CONFESSION                              164
+
+MAN NAMED HODS, A                                  307
+
+MELANCHOLY COWBOY, THE                             263
+
+METIS SONG OF THE BUFFALO HUNTERS                   72
+
+MINER'S SONG, THE                                   25
+
+MISSISSIPPI GIRLS                                  108
+
+MORMON SONG                                        182
+
+MORMON BISHOP'S LAMENT, THE                         47
+
+MUSTANG GRAY                                        79
+
+MUSTER OUT THE RANGER                              356
+
+NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM                                413
+
+NIGHT-HERDING SONG                                 324
+
+OLD CHISHOLM TRAIL, THE                             58
+
+OLD GRAY MULE, THE                                 403
+
+OLD MAN UNDER THE HILL, THE                        110
+
+OLD PAINT                                          329
+
+OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT, THE                            117
+
+OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT, THE                            348
+
+OLD TIME COWBOY                                    365
+
+ONLY A COWBOY                                      124
+
+PECOS QUEEN, THE                                   369
+
+PINTO                                              340
+
+POOR LONESOME COWBOY                                32
+
+PRISONER FOR LIFE, A                               200
+
+RAILROAD CORRAL, THE                               318
+
+RAMBLING BAY                                       397
+
+RAMBLING COWBOY, THE                               244
+
+RANGE RIDERS, THE                                  269
+
+RATTLESNAKE--A RANCH HAYING SONG                   315
+
+RIPPING TRIP, A                                    407
+
+ROAD TO COOK'S PEAK                                388
+
+ROOT HOG OR DIE                                    254
+
+ROSIN THE BOW                                      280
+
+ROUNDED UP IN GLORY                                393
+
+SAM BASS                                           149
+
+SHANTY BOY, THE                                    252
+
+SILVER JACK                                        332
+
+SIOUX INDIANS                                       56
+
+SKEW-BALL BLACK, THE                               243
+
+SONG OF THE "METIS" TRAPPER, THE                   320
+
+STATE OF ARKANSAW, THE                             226
+
+SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE                              258
+
+TAIL PIECE                                         326
+
+TEXAS COWBOY, THE                                  229
+
+TOP HAND                                           373
+
+TEXAS RANGERS                                       44
+
+TRAIL TO MEXICO, THE                               132
+
+U.S.A. RECRUIT, THE                                249
+
+UTAH CARROLL                                        66
+
+WARS OF GERMANY, THE                               204
+
+WAY DOWN IN MEXICO                                 314
+
+WESTWARD HO                                         37
+
+WHEN THE WORK IS DONE THIS FALL                     53
+
+WHOOPEE-TI-YI-YO, GIT ALONG LITTLE DOGIES           87
+
+WHOSE OLD COW                                      362
+
+WILD ROVERS                                        383
+
+WINDY BILL                                         381
+
+U-S-U RANGE                                         92
+
+YOUNG CHARLOTTIE                                   239
+
+YOUNG COMPANIONS                                    81
+
+ZEBRA DUN, THE                                     154
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+It is now four or five years since my attention was called to the
+collection of native American ballads from the Southwest, already
+begun by Professor Lomax. At that time, he seemed hardly to appreciate
+their full value and importance. To my colleague, Professor G.L.
+Kittredge, probably the most eminent authority on folk-song in
+America, this value and importance appeared as indubitable as it
+appeared to me. We heartily joined in encouraging the work, as a real
+contribution both to literature and to learning. The present volume is
+the first published result of these efforts.
+
+The value and importance of the work seems to me double. One phase of
+it is perhaps too highly special ever to be popular. Whoever has begun
+the inexhaustibly fascinating study of popular song and literature--of
+the nameless poetry which vigorously lives through the centuries--must
+be perplexed by the necessarily conjectural opinions concerning its
+origin and development held by various and disputing scholars. When
+songs were made in times and terms which for centuries have been not
+living facts but facts of remote history or tradition, it is impossible
+to be sure quite how they begun, and by quite what means they sifted
+through the centuries into the forms at last securely theirs,
+in the final rigidity of print. In this collection of American
+ballads, almost if not quite uniquely, it is possible to trace the
+precise manner in which songs and cycles of song--obviously analogous
+to those surviving from older and antique times--have come into being.
+The facts which are still available concerning the ballads of our own
+Southwest are such as should go far to prove, or to disprove, many of
+the theories advanced concerning the laws of literature as evinced in
+the ballads of the old world.
+
+Such learned matter as this, however, is not so surely within my
+province, who have made no technical study of literary origins, as is
+the other consideration which made me feel, from my first knowledge of
+these ballads, that they are beyond dispute valuable and important. In
+the ballads of the old world, it is not historical or philological
+considerations which most readers care for. It is the wonderful,
+robust vividness of their artless yet supremely true utterance; it is
+the natural vigor of their surgent, unsophisticated human rhythm. It
+is the sense, derived one can hardly explain how, that here is
+expression straight from the heart of humanity; that here is something
+like the sturdy root from which the finer, though not always more
+lovely, flowers of polite literature have sprung. At times when we
+yearn for polite grace, ballads may seem rude; at times when polite
+grace seems tedious, sophisticated, corrupt, or mendacious, their very
+rudeness refreshes us with a new sense of brimming life. To
+compare the songs collected by Professor Lomax with the immortalities
+of olden time is doubtless like comparing the literature of America
+with that of all Europe together. Neither he nor any of us would
+pretend these verses to be of supreme power and beauty. None the less,
+they seem to me, and to many who have had a glimpse of them,
+sufficiently powerful, and near enough beauty, to give us some such
+wholesome and enduring pleasure as comes from work of this kind proved
+and acknowledged to be masterly.
+
+What I mean may best be implied, perhaps, by a brief statement of
+fact. Four or five years ago, Professor Lomax, at my request, read
+some of these ballads to one of my classes at Harvard, then engaged in
+studying the literary history of America. From that hour to the
+present, the men who heard these verses, during the cheerless progress
+of a course of study, have constantly spoken of them and written of
+them, as of something sure to linger happily in memory. As such I
+commend them to all who care for the native poetry of America.
+
+                                             BARRETT WENDELL.
+Nahant, Massachusetts,
+July 11, 1910.
+
+
+
+
+COLLECTOR'S NOTE
+
+
+Out in the wild, far-away places of the big and still unpeopled
+west,--in the cañons along the Rocky Mountains, among the mining camps
+of Nevada and Montana, and on the remote cattle ranches of Texas, New
+Mexico, and Arizona,--yet survives the Anglo-Saxon ballad spirit that
+was active in secluded districts in England and Scotland even after
+the coming of Tennyson and Browning. This spirit is manifested both in
+the preservation of the English ballad and in the creation of local
+songs. Illiterate people, and people cut off from newspapers and
+books, isolated and lonely,--thrown back on primal resources for
+entertainment and for the expression of emotion,--utter themselves
+through somewhat the same character of songs as did their forefathers
+of perhaps a thousand years ago. In some such way have been made and
+preserved the cowboy songs and other frontier ballads contained in
+this volume. The songs represent the operation of instinct and
+tradition. They are chiefly interesting to the present generation,
+however, because of the light they throw on the conditions of pioneer
+life, and more particularly because of the information they contain
+concerning that unique and romantic figure in modern civilization, the
+American cowboy.
+
+The profession of cow-punching, not yet a lost art in a group
+of big western states, reached its greatest prominence during the
+first two decades succeeding the Civil War. In Texas, for example,
+immense tracts of open range, covered with luxuriant grass, encouraged
+the raising of cattle. One person in many instances owned thousands.
+To care for the cattle during the winter season, to round them up in
+the spring and mark and brand the yearlings, and later to drive from
+Texas to Fort Dodge, Kansas, those ready for market, required large
+forces of men. The drive from Texas to Kansas came to be known as
+"going up the trail," for the cattle really made permanent, deep-cut
+trails across the otherwise trackless hills and plains of the long
+way. It also became the custom to take large herds of young steers
+from Texas as far north as Montana, where grass at certain seasons
+grew more luxuriant than in the south. Texas was the best breeding
+ground, while the climate and grass of Montana developed young cattle
+for the market.
+
+A trip up the trail made a distinct break in the monotonous life of
+the big ranches, often situated hundreds of miles from where the
+conventions of society were observed. The ranch community consisted
+usually of the boss, the straw-boss, the cowboys proper, the horse
+wrangler, and the cook--often a negro. These men lived on terms of
+practical equality. Except in the case of the boss, there was little
+difference in the amounts paid each for his services. Society,
+then, was here reduced to its lowest terms. The work of the men, their
+daily experiences, their thoughts, their interests, were all in
+common. Such a community had necessarily to turn to itself for
+entertainment. Songs sprang up naturally, some of them tender and
+familiar lays of childhood, others original compositions, all genuine,
+however crude and unpolished. Whatever the most gifted man could
+produce must bear the criticism of the entire camp, and agree with the
+ideas of a group of men. In this sense, therefore, any song that came
+from such a group would be the joint product of a number of them,
+telling perhaps the story of some stampede they had all fought to
+turn, some crime in which they had all shared equally, some comrade's
+tragic death which they had all witnessed. The song-making did not
+cease as the men went up the trail. Indeed the songs were here
+utilized for very practical ends. Not only were sharp, rhythmic
+yells--sometimes beaten into verse--employed to stir up lagging
+cattle, but also during the long watches the night-guards, as they
+rode round and round the herd, improvised cattle lullabies which
+quieted the animals and soothed them to sleep. Some of the best of the
+so-called "dogie songs" seem to have been created for the purpose of
+preventing cattle stampedes,--such songs coming straight from the
+heart of the cowboy, speaking familiarly to his herd in the stillness
+of the night.
+
+The long drives up the trail occupied months, and called for
+sleepless vigilance and tireless activity both day and night. When at
+last a shipping point was reached, the cattle marketed or loaded on
+the cars, the cowboys were paid off. It is not surprising that the
+consequent relaxation led to reckless deeds. The music, the dancing,
+the click of the roulette ball in the saloons, invited; the lure of
+crimson lights was irresistible. Drunken orgies, reactions from months
+of toil, deprivation, and loneliness on the ranch and on the trail,
+brought to death many a temporarily crazed buckaroo. To match this
+dare-deviltry, a saloon man in one frontier town, as a sign for his
+business, with psychological ingenuity painted across the broad front
+of his building in big black letters this challenge to God, man, and
+the devil: _The Road to Ruin_. Down this road, with swift and eager
+footsteps, has trod many a pioneer viking of the West. Quick to resent
+an insult real or fancied, inflamed by unaccustomed drink, the ready
+pistol always at his side, the tricks of the professional gambler to
+provoke his sense of fair play, and finally his own wild recklessness
+to urge him on,--all these combined forces sometimes brought him into
+tragic conflict with another spirit equally heedless and daring. Not
+nearly so often, however, as one might suppose, did he die with his
+boots on. Many of the most wealthy and respected citizens now living
+in the border states served as cowboys before settling down to quiet
+domesticity.
+
+A cow-camp in the seventies generally contained several types of
+men. It was not unusual to find a negro who, because of his ability to
+handle wild horses or because of his skill with a lasso, had been
+promoted from the chuck-wagon to a place in the ranks of the cowboys.
+Another familiar figure was the adventurous younger son of some
+British family, through whom perhaps became current the English
+ballads found in the West. Furthermore, so considerable was the number
+of men who had fled from the States because of grave imprudence or
+crime, it was bad form to inquire too closely about a person's real
+name or where he came from. Most cowboys, however, were bold young
+spirits who emigrated to the West for the same reason that their
+ancestors had come across the seas. They loved roving; they loved
+freedom; they were pioneers by instinct; an impulse set their faces
+from the East, put the tang for roaming in their veins, and sent them
+ever, ever westward.
+
+That the cowboy was brave has come to be axiomatic. If his life of
+isolation made him taciturn, it at the same time created a spirit of
+hospitality, primitive and hearty as that found in the mead-halls of
+Beowulf. He faced the wind and the rain, the snow of winter, the
+fearful dust-storms of alkali desert wastes, with the same uncomplaining
+quiet. Not all his work was on the ranch and the trail. To the cowboy,
+more than to the goldseekers, more than to Uncle Sam's soldiers, is
+due the conquest of the West. Along his winding cattle trails the
+Forty-Niners found their way to California. The cowboy has fought
+back the Indians ever since ranching became a business and as long as
+Indians remained to be fought. He played his part in winning the great
+slice of territory that the United States took away from Mexico. He
+has always been on the skirmish line of civilization. Restless,
+fearless, chivalric, elemental, he lived hard, shot quick and true,
+and died with his face to his foe. Still much misunderstood, he is
+often slandered, nearly always caricatured, both by the press and by
+the stage. Perhaps these songs, coming direct from the cowboy's
+experience, giving vent to his careless and his tender emotions, will
+afford future generations a truer conception of what he really was
+than is now possessed by those who know him only through highly
+colored romances.
+
+The big ranches of the West are now being cut up into small farms. The
+nester has come, and come to stay. Gone is the buffalo, the Indian
+warwhoop, the free grass of the open plain;--even the stinging lizard,
+the horned frog, the centipede, the prairie dog, the rattlesnake, are
+fast disappearing. Save in some of the secluded valleys of southern
+New Mexico, the old-time round-up is no more; the trails to Kansas and
+to Montana have become grass-grown or lost in fields of waving grain;
+the maverick steer, the regal longhorn, has been supplanted by his
+unpoetic but more beefy and profitable Polled Angus, Durham, and
+Hereford cousins from across the seas. The changing and romantic
+West of the early days lives mainly in story and in song. The last
+figure to vanish is the cowboy, the animating spirit of the vanishing
+era. He sits his horse easily as he rides through a wide valley,
+enclosed by mountains, clad in the hazy purple of coming night,--with
+his face turned steadily down the long, long road, "the road that the
+sun goes down." Dauntless, reckless, without the unearthly purity of
+Sir Galahad though as gentle to a pure woman as King Arthur, he is
+truly a knight of the twentieth century. A vagrant puff of wind shakes
+a corner of the crimson handkerchief knotted loosely at his throat;
+the thud of his pony's feet mingling with the jingle of his spurs is
+borne back; and as the careless, gracious, lovable figure disappears
+over the divide, the breeze brings to the ears, faint and far yet
+cheery still, the refrain of a cowboy song:
+
+  Whoopee ti yi, git along, little dogies;
+    It's my misfortune and none of your own.
+  Whoopee ti yi, git along, little dogies;
+    For you know Wyoming will be your new home.
+
+As for the songs of this collection, I have violated the ethics of
+ballad-gatherers, in a few instances, by selecting and putting together
+what seemed to be the best lines from different versions, all telling
+the same story. Frankly, the volume is meant to be popular. The songs
+have been arranged in some such haphazard way as they were
+collected,--jotted down on a table in the rear of saloons, scrawled on
+an envelope while squatting about a campfire, caught behind the scenes
+of a broncho-busting outfit. Later, it is hoped that enough interest
+will be aroused to justify printing all the variants of these songs,
+accompanied by the music and such explanatory notes as may be useful;
+the negro folk-songs, the songs of the lumber jacks, the songs of the
+mountaineers, and the songs of the sea, already partially collected,
+being included in the final publication. The songs of this collection,
+never before in print, as a rule have been taken down from oral
+recitation. In only a few instances have I been able to discover the
+authorship of any song. They seem to have sprung up as quietly and
+mysteriously as does the grass on the plains. All have been popular
+with the range riders, several being current all the way from Texas to
+Montana, and quite as long as the old Chisholm Trail stretching between
+these states. Some of the songs the cowboy certainly composed; all of
+them he sang. Obviously, a number of the most characteristic cannot be
+printed for general circulation. To paraphrase slightly what Sidney
+Lanier said of Walt Whitman's poetry, they are raw collops slashed
+from the rump of Nature, and never mind the gristle. Likewise some of
+the strong adjectives and nouns have been softened,--Jonahed, as
+George Meredith would have said. There is, however, a Homeric
+quality about the cowboy's profanity and vulgarity that pleases rather
+than repulses. The broad sky under which he slept, the limitless
+plains over which he rode, the big, open, free life he lived near to
+Nature's breast, taught him simplicity, calm, directness. He spoke out
+plainly the impulses of his heart. But as yet so-called polite society
+is not quite willing to hear.
+
+It is entirely impossible to acknowledge the assistance I have
+received from many persons. To Professors Barrett Wendell and G.L.
+Kittredge, of Harvard, I must gratefully acknowledge constant and
+generous encouragement. Messrs. Jeff Hanna, of Meridian, Texas; John
+B. Jones, a student of the Agricultural and Mechanical College of
+Texas; H. Knight, Sterling City, Texas; John Lang Sinclair, San
+Antonio; A.H. Belo & Co., Dallas; Tom Hight, of Mangum, Oklahoma; R.
+Bedichek, of Deming, N.M.; Benjamin Wyche, Librarian of the Carnegie
+Library, San Antonio; Mrs. M.B. Wight, of Ft. Thomas, Arizona; Dr.
+L.W. Payne, Jr., and Dr. Morgan Callaway, Jr., of the University of
+Texas; and my brother, R.C. Lomax, Austin;--have rendered me
+especially helpful service in furnishing material, for which I also
+render grateful thanks.
+
+Among the negroes, rivermen, miners, soldiers, seamen, lumbermen,
+railroad men, and ranchmen of the United States and Canada there are
+many indigenous folk-songs not included in this volume. Of some
+of them I have traces, and I shall surely run them down. I beg
+the co-operation of all who are interested in this vital, however
+humble, expression of American literature.
+
+                                           J.A.L.
+Deming, New Mexico,
+August 8, 1910.
+
+
+
+
+COWBOY SONGS
+
+AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS
+
+
+
+
+THE DYING COWBOY[1]
+
+
+  "O bury me not on the lone prairie,"
+  These words came low and mournfully
+  From the pallid lips of a youth who lay
+  On his dying bed at the close of day.
+
+  He had wailed in pain till o'er his brow
+  Death's shadows fast were gathering now;
+  He thought of his home and his loved ones nigh
+  As the cowboys gathered to see him die.
+
+    "O bury me not on the lone prairie
+    Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,
+    In a narrow grave just six by three,
+    O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+  "In fancy I listen to the well known words
+  Of the free, wild winds and the song of the birds;
+  I think of home and the cottage in the bower
+  And the scenes I loved in my childhood's hour.
+
+  "It matters not, I've oft been told,
+  Where the body lies when the heart grows cold;
+  Yet grant, Oh grant this wish to me,
+  O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+    "O then bury me not on the lone prairie,
+    In a narrow grave six foot by three,
+    Where the buffalo paws o'er a prairie sea,
+    O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+  "I've always wished to be laid when I died
+  In the little churchyard on the green hillside;
+  By my father's grave, there let mine be,
+  And bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+  "Let my death slumber be where my mother's prayer
+  And a sister's tear will mingle there,
+  Where my friends can come and weep o'er me;
+  O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+    "O bury me not on the lone prairie
+    In a narrow grave just six by three,
+    Where the buzzard waits and the wind blows free;
+    Then bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+  "There is another whose tears may be shed
+  For one who lies on a prairie bed;
+  It pained me then and it pains me now;--
+  She has curled these locks, she has kissed this brow.
+
+  "These locks she has curled, shall the rattlesnake kiss?
+  This brow she has kissed, shall the cold grave press?
+  For the sake of the loved ones that will weep for me
+  O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+    "O bury me not on the lone prairie
+    Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,
+    Where the buzzard beats and the wind goes free,
+    O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+  "O bury me not," and his voice failed there,
+  But we took no heed of his dying prayer;
+  In a narrow grave just six by three
+  We buried him there on the lone prairie.
+
+  Where the dew-drops glow and the butterflies rest,
+  And the flowers bloom o'er the prairie's crest;
+  Where the wild cayote and winds sport free
+  On a wet saddle blanket lay a cowboy-ee.
+
+    "O bury me not on the lone prairie
+    Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,
+    Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the crow flies free
+    O bury me not on the lone prairie."
+
+  O we buried him there on the lone prairie
+  Where the wild rose blooms and the wind blows free,
+  O his pale young face nevermore to see,--
+  For we buried him there on the lone prairie.
+
+  Yes, we buried him there on the lone prairie
+  Where the owl all night hoots mournfully,
+  And the blizzard beats and the winds blow free
+  O'er his lowly grave on the lone prairie.
+
+  And the cowboys now as they roam the plain,--
+  For they marked the spot where his bones were lain,--
+  Fling a handful of roses o'er his grave,
+  With a prayer to Him who his soul will save.
+
+    "O bury me not on the lone prairie
+    Where the wolves can howl and growl o'er me;
+    Fling a handful of roses o'er my grave
+    With a prayer to Him who my soul will save."
+
+
+[Footnote 1: In this song, as in several others, the chorus should
+come in after each stanza. The arrangement followed has been adopted
+to illustrate versions current in different sections.]
+
+
+
+The Dying Cowboy (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  "O bu-ry me not on the lone prai-rie,"
+  These words came low ... and mourn-ful-ly ...
+  From the pal-lid lips of a youth who lay
+  On his dy-ing bed at the close of day.
+
+
+
+
+THE DAYS OF FORTY-NINE
+
+
+  We are gazing now on old Tom Moore,
+  A relic of bygone days;
+  'Tis a bummer, too, they call me now,
+  But what cares I for praise?
+  It's oft, says I, for the days gone by,
+  It's oft do I repine
+  For the days of old when we dug out the gold
+  In those days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  My comrades they all loved me well,
+  The jolly, saucy crew;
+  A few hard cases, I will admit,
+  Though they were brave and true.
+  Whatever the pinch, they ne'er would flinch;
+  They never would fret nor whine,
+  Like good old bricks they stood the kicks
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  There's old "Aunt Jess," that hard old cuss,
+  Who never would repent;
+  He never missed a single meal,
+  Nor never paid a cent.
+  But old "Aunt Jess," like all the rest,
+  At death he did resign,
+  And in his bloom went up the flume
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  There is Ragshag Jim, the roaring man,
+  Who could out-roar a buffalo, you bet,
+  He roared all day and he roared all night,
+  And I guess he is roaring yet.
+  One night Jim fell in a prospect hole,--
+  It was a roaring bad design,--
+  And in that hole Jim roared out his soul
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  There is Wylie Bill, the funny man,
+  Who was full of funny tricks,
+  And when he was in a poker game
+  He was always hard as bricks.
+  He would ante you a stud, he would play you a draw,
+  He'd go you a hatful blind,--
+  In a struggle with death Bill lost his breath
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  There was New York Jake, the butcher boy,
+  Who was fond of getting tight.
+  And every time he got on a spree
+  He was spoiling for a fight.
+  One night Jake rampaged against a knife
+  In the hands of old Bob Sine,
+  And over Jake they held a wake
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  There was Monte Pete, I'll ne'er forget
+  The luck he always had,
+  He would deal for you both day and night
+  Or as long as he had a scad.
+  It was a pistol shot that lay Pete out,
+  It was his last resign,
+  And it caught Pete dead sure in the door
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  Of all the comrades that I've had
+  There's none that's left to boast,
+  And I am left alone in my misery
+  Like some poor wandering ghost.
+  And as I pass from town to town,
+  They call me the rambling sign,
+  Since the days of old and the days of gold
+  And the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+
+
+Days of Forty-Nine (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  You are gaz-ing now on old Tom Moore, A
+  rel-ic of by-gone days; 'Tis a bum-mer now they
+  call me. But what cares I for praise; It is
+  oft, says I, for days gone by, It's oft do I repine
+  For those days of old when we dug out the gold, In the
+  days of For-ty-nine, In those days of old when we
+  dug out the gold, In the days of For-ty-nine.
+
+
+
+
+JOE BOWERS
+
+
+  My name is Joe Bowers,
+  I've got a brother Ike,
+  I came here from Missouri,
+  Yes, all the way from Pike.
+  I'll tell you why I left there
+  And how I came to roam,
+  And leave my poor old mammy,
+  So far away from home.
+
+  I used to love a gal there,
+  Her name was Sallie Black,
+  I asked her for to marry me,
+  She said it was a whack.
+  She says to me, "Joe Bowers,
+  Before you hitch for life,
+  You ought to have a little home
+  To keep your little wife."
+
+  Says I, "My dearest Sallie,
+  O Sallie, for your sake,
+  I'll go to California
+  And try to raise a stake."
+  Says she to me, "Joe Bowers,
+  You are the chap to win,
+  Give me a kiss to seal the bargain,"--
+  And I throwed a dozen in.
+
+  I'll never forget my feelings
+  When I bid adieu to all.
+  Sal, she cotched me round the neck
+  And I began to bawl.
+  When I begun they all commenced,
+  You never heard the like,
+  How they all took on and cried
+  The day I left old Pike.
+
+  When I got to this here country
+  I hadn't nary a red,
+  I had such wolfish feelings
+  I wished myself most dead.
+  At last I went to mining,
+  Put in my biggest licks,
+  Came down upon the boulders
+  Just like a thousand bricks.
+
+  I worked both late and early
+  In rain and sun and snow,
+  But I was working for my Sallie
+  So 'twas all the same to Joe.
+  I made a very lucky strike
+  As the gold itself did tell,
+  For I was working for my Sallie,
+  The girl I loved so well.
+
+  But one day I got a letter
+  From my dear, kind brother Ike;
+  It came from old Missouri,
+  Yes, all the way from Pike.
+  It told me the goldarndest news
+  That ever you did hear,
+  My heart it is a-bustin'
+  So please excuse this tear.
+
+  I'll tell you what it was, boys,
+  You'll bust your sides I know;
+  For when I read that letter
+  You ought to seen poor Joe.
+  My knees gave 'way beneath me,
+  And I pulled out half my hair;
+  And if you ever tell this now,
+  You bet you'll hear me swear.
+
+  It said my Sallie was fickle,
+  Her love for me had fled,
+  That she had married a butcher,
+  Whose hair was awful red;
+  It told me more than that,
+  It's enough to make me swear,--
+  It said that Sallie had a baby
+  And the baby had red hair.
+
+  Now I've told you all that I can tell
+  About this sad affair,
+  'Bout Sallie marrying the butcher
+  And the baby had red hair.
+  But whether it was a boy or girl
+  The letter never said,
+  It only said its cussed hair
+  Was inclined to be red.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY'S DREAM[2]
+
+
+  Last night as I lay on the prairie,
+  And looked at the stars in the sky,
+  I wondered if ever a cowboy
+  Would drift to that sweet by and by.
+
+    Roll on, roll on;
+    Roll on, little dogies, roll on, roll on,
+    Roll on, roll on;
+    Roll on, little dogies, roll on.
+
+  The road to that bright, happy region
+  Is a dim, narrow trail, so they say;
+  But the broad one that leads to perdition
+  Is posted and blazed all the way.
+
+  They say there will be a great round-up,
+  And cowboys, like dogies, will stand,
+  To be marked by the Riders of Judgment
+  Who are posted and know every brand.
+
+  I know there's many a stray cowboy
+  Who'll be lost at the great, final sale,
+  When he might have gone in the green pastures
+  Had he known of the dim, narrow trail.
+
+  I wonder if ever a cowboy
+  Stood ready for that Judgment Day,
+  And could say to the Boss of the Riders,
+  "I'm ready, come drive me away."
+
+  For they, like the cows that are locoed,
+  Stampede at the sight of a hand,
+  Are dragged with a rope to the round-up,
+  Or get marked with some crooked man's brand.
+
+  And I'm scared that I'll be a stray yearling,--
+  A maverick, unbranded on high,--
+  And get cut in the bunch with the "rusties"
+  When the Boss of the Riders goes by.
+
+  For they tell of another big owner
+  Whose ne'er overstocked, so they say,
+  But who always makes room for the sinner
+  Who drifts from the straight, narrow way.
+
+  They say he will never forget you,
+  That he knows every action and look;
+  So, for safety, you'd better get branded,
+  Have your name in the great Tally Book.
+
+[Footnote 2: Sung to the air of _My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean_.]
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY'S LIFE[3]
+
+
+  The bawl of a steer,
+  To a cowboy's ear,
+  Is music of sweetest strain;
+  And the yelping notes
+  Of the gray cayotes
+  To him are a glad refrain.
+
+  And his jolly songs
+  Speed him along,
+  As he thinks of the little gal
+  With golden hair
+  Who is waiting there
+  At the bars of the home corral.
+
+  For a kingly crown
+  In the noisy town
+  His saddle he wouldn't change;
+  No life so free
+  As the life we see
+  Way out on the Yaso range.
+
+  His eyes are bright
+  And his heart as light
+  As the smoke of his cigarette;
+  There's never a care
+  For his soul to bear,
+  No trouble to make him fret.
+
+  The rapid beat
+  Of his broncho's feet
+  On the sod as he speeds along,
+  Keeps living time
+  To the ringing rhyme
+  Of his rollicking cowboy song.
+
+  Hike it, cowboys,
+  For the range away
+  On the back of a bronc of steel,
+  With a careless flirt
+  Of the raw-hide quirt
+  And a dig of a roweled heel!
+
+  The winds may blow
+  And the thunder growl
+  Or the breezes may safely moan;--
+  A cowboy's life
+  Is a royal life,
+  His saddle his kingly throne.
+
+  Saddle up, boys,
+  For the work is play
+  When love's in the cowboy's eyes,--
+  When his heart is light
+  As the clouds of white
+  That swim in the summer skies.
+
+[Footnote 3: Attributed to James Barton Adams.]
+
+
+
+
+THE KANSAS LINE
+
+
+  Come all you jolly cowmen, don't you want to go
+  Way up on the Kansas line?
+  Where you whoop up the cattle from morning till night
+  All out in the midnight rain.
+
+    The cowboy's life is a dreadful life,
+    He's driven through heat and cold;
+    I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes,
+    A-ridin' through heat and cold.
+
+  I've been where the lightnin', the lightnin' tangled in my eyes,
+  The cattle I could scarcely hold;
+  Think I heard my boss man say:
+  "I want all brave-hearted men who ain't afraid to die
+  To whoop up the cattle from morning till night,
+  Way up on the Kansas line."
+
+  Speaking of your farms and your shanty charms,
+  Speaking of your silver and gold,--
+  Take a cowman's advice, go and marry you a true and lovely little wife,
+  Never to roam, always stay at home;
+  That's a cowman's, a cowman's advice,
+  Way up on the Kansas line.
+
+  Think I heard the noisy cook say,
+  "Wake up, boys, it's near the break of day,"--
+  Way up on the Kansas line,
+  And slowly we will rise with the sleepy feeling eyes,
+  Way up on the Kansas line.
+
+    The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
+    All out in the midnight rain;
+    I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes,
+    Way up on the Kansas line.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWMAN'S PRAYER
+
+
+  Now, O Lord, please lend me thine ear,
+  The prayer of a cattleman to hear,
+  No doubt the prayers may seem strange,
+  But I want you to bless our cattle range.
+
+  Bless the round-ups year by year,
+  And don't forget the growing steer;
+  Water the lands with brooks and rills
+  For my cattle that roam on a thousand hills.
+
+  Prairie fires, won't you please stop?
+  Let thunder roll and water drop.
+  It frightens me to see the smoke;
+  Unless it's stopped, I'll go dead broke.
+
+  As you, O Lord, my herd behold,
+  It represents a sack of gold;
+  I think at least five cents a pound
+  Will be the price of beef the year around.
+
+  One thing more and then I'm through,--
+  Instead of one calf, give my cows two.
+  I may pray different from other men
+  But I've had my say, and now, Amen.
+
+
+
+
+THE MINER'S SONG[4]
+
+
+  In a rusty, worn-out cabin sat a broken-hearted leaser,
+  His singlejack was resting on his knee.
+  His old "buggy" in the corner told the same old plaintive tale,
+  His ore had left in all his poverty.
+  He lifted his old singlejack, gazed on its battered face,
+  And said: "Old boy, I know we're not to blame;
+  Our gold has us forsaken, some other path it's taken,
+  But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.
+
+    "We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same,
+    Although it's gone into some other's claim.
+    My dear old boy don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it,
+    And we'll drill and shoot and find it just the same.
+
+  "For forty years I've hammered steel and tried to make a strike,
+  I've burned twice the powder Custer ever saw.
+  I've made just coin enough to keep poorer than a snake.
+  My jack's ate all my books on mining law.
+  I've worn gunny-sacks for overalls, and 'California socks,'
+  I've burned candles that would reach from here to Maine,
+  I've lived on powder, smoke, and bacon, that's no lie, boy, I'm not
+      fakin',
+  But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.
+
+  "Last night as I lay sleeping in the midst of all my dream
+  My assay ran six ounces clear in gold,
+  And the silver it ran clean sixteen ounces to the seam,
+  And the poor old miner's joy could scarce be told.
+  I lay there, boy, I could not sleep, I had a feverish brow,
+  Got up, went back, and put in six holes more.
+  And then, boy, I was chokin' just to see the ground I'd broken;
+  But alas! alas! the miner's dream was o'er.
+
+    "We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same,
+    Although it's gone into some other's claim.
+    My dear old boy, don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it,
+    And I still believe I'll strike it just the same."
+
+[Footnote 4: Printed as a fugitive ballad in _Grandon of Sierra_, by
+Charles E. Winter.]
+
+
+
+
+JESSE JAMES
+
+
+  Jesse James was a lad that killed a-many a man;
+  He robbed the Danville train.
+  But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard
+  Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.
+
+      Poor Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life,
+      Three children, they were brave.
+      But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard
+      Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.
+
+  It was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward,
+  I wonder how he does feel,
+  For he ate of Jesse's bread and he slept in Jesse's bed,
+  Then laid poor Jesse in his grave.
+
+  Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor,
+  He never would see a man suffer pain;
+  And with his brother Frank he robbed the Chicago bank,
+  And stopped the Glendale train.
+
+  It was his brother Frank that robbed the Gallatin bank,
+  And carried the money from the town;
+  It was in this very place that they had a little race,
+  For they shot Captain Sheets to the ground.
+
+  They went to the crossing not very far from there,
+  And there they did the same;
+  With the agent on his knees, he delivered up the keys
+  To the outlaws, Frank and Jesse James.
+
+  It was on Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright,
+  They robbed the Glendale train;
+  The people they did say, for many miles away,
+  It was robbed by Frank and Jesse James.
+
+  It was on Saturday night, Jesse was at home
+  Talking with his family brave,
+  Robert Ford came along like a thief in the night
+  And laid poor Jesse in his grave.
+
+  The people held their breath when they heard of Jesse's death,
+  And wondered how he ever came to die.
+  It was one of the gang called little Robert Ford,
+  He shot poor Jesse on the sly.
+
+  Jesse went to his rest with his hand on his breast;
+  The devil will be upon his knee.
+  He was born one day in the county of Clay
+  And came from a solitary race.
+
+  This song was made by Billy Gashade,
+  As soon as the news did arrive;
+  He said there was no man with the law in his hand
+  Who could take Jesse James when alive.
+
+
+
+Jesse James (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Jes-se James was a lad that killed a-ma-ny a
+  man; He robbed the Dan-ville train; But that
+  dirt-y lit-tle cow-ard that shot Mis-ter
+  How-ard Has laid poor Jes-se in the grave.
+
+  REFRAIN.
+
+  Poor Jes-se had a wife to mourn for his life.
+  Three chil-dren, they were brave; But that
+  dir-ty lit-tle cow-ard That shot Mis-ter
+  How-ard Has laid poor Jes-se in the grave.
+
+
+
+
+POOR LONESOME COWBOY
+
+
+  I ain't got no father,
+  I ain't got no father,
+  I ain't got no father,
+  To buy the clothes I wear.
+
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy
+      And a long ways from home.
+
+  I ain't got no mother,
+  I ain't got no mother,
+  I ain't got no mother
+  To mend the clothes I wear.
+
+  I ain't got no sister,
+  I ain't got no sister,
+  I ain't got no sister
+  To go and play with me.
+
+  I ain't got no brother,
+  I ain't got no brother,
+  I ain't got no brother
+  To drive the steers with me.
+
+  I ain't got no sweetheart,
+  I ain't got no sweetheart,
+  I ain't got no sweetheart
+  To sit and talk with me.
+
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy
+      And a long ways from home.
+
+
+
+
+BUENA VISTA BATTLEFIELD
+
+
+  On Buena Vista battlefield
+  A dying soldier lay,
+  His thoughts were on his mountain home
+  Some thousand miles away.
+  He called his comrade to his side,
+  For much he had to say,
+  In briefest words to those who were
+  Some thousand miles away.
+
+  "My father, comrade, you will tell
+  About this bloody fray;
+  My country's flag, you'll say to him,
+  Was safe with me to-day.
+  I make a pillow of it now
+  On which to lay my head,
+  A winding sheet you'll make of it
+  When I am with the dead.
+
+  "I know 'twill grieve his inmost soul
+  To think I never more
+  Will sit with him beneath the oak
+  That shades the cottage door;
+  But tell that time-worn patriot,
+  That, mindful of his fame,
+  Upon this bloody battlefield
+  I sullied not his name.
+
+  "My mother's form is with me now,
+  Her will is in my ear,
+  And drop by drop as flows my blood
+  So flows from her the tear.
+  And oh, when you shall tell to her
+  The tidings of this day,
+  Speak softly, comrade, softly speak
+  What you may have to say.
+
+  "Speak not to her in blighting words
+  The blighting news you bear,
+  The cords of life might snap too soon,
+  So, comrade, have a care.
+  I am her only, cherished child,
+  But tell her that I died
+  Rejoicing that she taught me young
+  To take my country's side.
+
+  "But, comrade, there's one more,
+  She's gentle as a fawn;
+  She lives upon the sloping hill
+  That overlooks the lawn,
+  The lawn where I shall never more
+  Go forth with her in merry mood
+  To gather wild-wood flowers.
+
+  "Tell her when death was on my brow
+  And life receding fast,
+  Her looks, her form was with me then,
+  Were with me to the last.
+  On Buena Vista's bloody field
+  Tell her I dying lay,
+  And that I knew she thought of me
+  Some thousand miles away."
+
+
+
+
+WESTWARD HO
+
+
+  I love not Colorado
+  Where the faro table grows,
+  And down the desperado
+  The rippling Bourbon flows;
+
+  Nor seek I fair Montana
+  Of bowie-lunging fame;
+  The pistol ring of fair Wyoming
+  I leave to nobler game.
+
+  Sweet poker-haunted Kansas
+  In vain allures the eye;
+  The Nevada rough has charms enough
+  Yet its blandishments I fly.
+
+  Shall Arizona woo me
+  Where the meek Apache bides?
+  Or New Mexico where natives grow
+  With arrow-proof insides?
+
+  Nay, 'tis where the grizzlies wander
+  And the lonely diggers roam,
+  And the grim Chinese from the squatter flees
+  That I'll make my humble home.
+
+  I'll chase the wild tarantula
+  And the fierce cayote I'll dare,
+  And the locust grim, I'll battle him
+  In his native wildwood lair.
+
+  Or I'll seek the gulch deserted
+  And dream of the wild Red man,
+  And I'll build a cot on a corner lot
+  And get rich as soon as I can.
+
+
+
+
+A HOME ON THE RANGE
+
+
+  Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam,
+  Where the deer and the antelope play,
+  Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
+  And the skies are not cloudy all day.
+
+    Home, home on the range,
+    Where the deer and the antelope play;
+    Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
+    And the skies are not cloudy all day.
+
+  Where the air is so pure, the zephyrs so free,
+  The breezes so balmy and light,
+  That I would not exchange my home on the range
+  For all of the cities so bright.
+
+  The red man was pressed from this part of the West,
+  He's likely no more to return
+  To the banks of Red River where seldom if ever
+  Their flickering camp-fires burn.
+
+  How often at night when the heavens are bright
+  With the light from the glittering stars,
+  Have I stood here amazed and asked as I gazed
+  If their glory exceeds that of ours.
+
+  Oh, I love these wild flowers in this dear land of ours,
+  The curlew I love to hear scream,
+  And I love the white rocks and the antelope flocks
+  That graze on the mountain-tops green.
+
+  Oh, give me a land where the bright diamond sand
+  Flows leisurely down the stream;
+  Where the graceful white swan goes gliding along
+  Like a maid in a heavenly dream.
+
+  Then I would not exchange my home on the range,
+  Where the deer and the antelope play;
+  Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
+  And the skies are not cloudy all day.
+
+    Home, home on the range,
+    Where the deer and the antelope play;
+    Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
+    And the skies are not cloudy all day.
+
+
+
+Home on the Range (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Oh, give me a home where the buf-fa-lo roam,
+  Where the deer and the an-te-lope play;...
+  Where sel-dom is heard a dis-cour-ag-ing word
+  And the skies are not cloud-y all day.
+  Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play;
+  Where sel-dom is heard a dis-cour-ag-ing word
+  And the skies are not cloud-y all day.
+
+
+
+
+TEXAS RANGERS
+
+
+  Come, all you Texas rangers, wherever you may be,
+  I'll tell you of some troubles that happened unto me.
+  My name is nothing extra, so it I will not tell,--
+  And here's to all you rangers, I am sure I wish you well.
+
+  It was at the age of sixteen that I joined the jolly band,
+  We marched from San Antonio down to the Rio Grande.
+  Our captain he informed us, perhaps he thought it right,
+  "Before we reach the station, boys, you'll surely have to fight."
+
+  And when the bugle sounded our captain gave command,
+  "To arms, to arms," he shouted, "and by your horses stand."
+  I saw the smoke ascending, it seemed to reach the sky;
+  The first thought that struck me, my time had come to die.
+
+  I saw the Indians coming, I heard them give the yell;
+  My feelings at that moment, no tongue can ever tell.
+  I saw the glittering lances, their arrows round me flew,
+  And all my strength it left me and all my courage too.
+
+  We fought full nine hours before the strife was o'er,
+  The like of dead and wounded I never saw before.
+  And when the sun was rising and the Indians they had fled,
+  We loaded up our rifles and counted up our dead.
+
+  And all of us were wounded, our noble captain slain,
+  And the sun was shining sadly across the bloody plain.
+  Sixteen as brave rangers as ever roamed the West
+  Were buried by their comrades with arrows in their breast.
+
+  'Twas then I thought of mother, who to me in tears did say,
+  "To you they are all strangers, with me you had better stay."
+  I thought that she was childish, the best she did not know;
+  My mind was fixed on ranging and I was bound to go.
+
+  Perhaps you have a mother, likewise a sister too,
+  And maybe you have a sweetheart to weep and mourn for you;
+  If that be your situation, although you'd like to roam,
+  I'd advise you by experience, you had better stay at home.
+
+  I have seen the fruits of rambling, I know its hardships well;
+  I have crossed the Rocky Mountains, rode down the streets of hell;
+  I have been in the great Southwest where the wild Apaches roam,
+  And I tell you from experience you had better stay at home.
+
+  And now my song is ended; I guess I have sung enough;
+  The life of a ranger I am sure is very tough.
+  And here's to all you ladies, I am sure I wish you well,
+  I am bound to go a-ranging, so ladies, fare you well.
+
+
+
+
+THE MORMON BISHOP'S LAMENT
+
+
+  I am a Mormon bishop and I will tell you what I know.
+  I joined the confraternity some forty years ago.
+  I then had youth upon my brow and eloquence my tongue,
+  But I had the sad misfortune then to meet with Brigham Young.
+
+  He said, "Young man, come join our band and bid hard work farewell,
+  You are too smart to waste your time in toil by hill and dell;
+  There is a ripening harvest and our hooks shall find the fool
+  And in the distant nations we shall train them in our school."
+
+  I listened to his preaching and I learned all the role,
+  And the truth of Mormon doctrines burned deep within my soul.
+  I married sixteen women and I spread my new belief,
+  I was sent to preach the gospel to the pauper and the thief.
+
+  'Twas in the glorious days when Brigham was our only Lord and King,
+  And his wild cry of defiance from the Wasatch tops did ring,
+  'Twas when that bold Bill Hickman and that Porter Rockwell led,
+  And in the blood atonements the pits received the dead.
+
+  They took in Dr. Robertson and left him in his gore,
+  And the Aiken brothers sleep in peace on Nephi's distant shore.
+  We marched to Mountain Meadows and on that glorious field
+  With rifle and with hatchet we made man and woman yield.
+
+  'Twas there we were victorious with our legions fierce and brave.
+  We left the butchered victims on the ground without a grave.
+  We slew the load of emigrants on Sublet's lonely road
+  And plundered many a trader of his then most precious load.
+
+  Alas for all the powers that were in the by-gone time.
+  What we did as deeds of glory are condemned as bloody crime.
+  No more the blood atonements keep the doubting one in fear,
+  While the faithful were rewarded with a wedding once a year.
+
+  As the nation's chieftain president says our days of rule are o'er
+  And his marshals with their warrants are on watch at every door,
+  Old John he now goes skulking on the by-roads of our land,
+  Or unknown he keeps in hiding with the faithful of our band.
+
+  Old Brigham now is stretched beneath the cold and silent clay,
+  And the chieftains now are fallen that were mighty in their day;
+  Of the six and twenty women that I wedded long ago
+  There are two now left to cheer me in these awful hours of woe.
+  The rest are scattered where the Gentile's flag's unfurled
+  And two score of my daughters are now numbered with the world.
+
+  Oh, my poor old bones are aching and my head is turning gray;
+  Oh, the scenes were black and awful that I've witnessed in
+      my day.
+  Let my spirit seek the mansion where old Brigham's gone to dwell,
+  For there's no place for Mormons but the lowest pits of hell.
+
+
+
+
+DAN TAYLOR
+
+
+  Dan Taylor is a rollicking cuss,
+  A frisky son of a gun,
+  He loves to court the maidens
+  And he savies how it's done.
+
+  He used to be a cowboy
+  And they say he wasn't slow,
+  He could ride the bucking bronco
+  And swing the long lasso.
+
+  He could catch a maverick by the head
+  Or heel him on the fly,
+  He could pick up his front ones
+  Whenever he chose to try.
+
+  He used to ride most anything;
+  Now he seldom will.
+  He says they cut some caper in the air
+  Of which he's got his fill.
+
+  He is done and quit the business,
+  Settled down to quiet life,
+  And he's hunting for some maiden
+  Who will be his little wife,--
+
+  One who will wash and patch his britches
+  And feed the setting hen,
+  Milk old Blue and Brindy,
+  And tend to baby Ben.
+
+  Then he'll build a cozy cottage
+  And furnish it complete,
+  He'll decorate the walls inside
+  With pictures new and sweet.
+
+  He will leave off riding broncos
+  And be a different man;
+  He will do his best to please his wife
+  In every way he can.
+
+  Then together in double harness
+  They will trot along down the line,
+  Until death shall call them over
+  To a bright and sunny clime.
+
+  May your joys be then completed
+  And your sorrows have amend,
+  Is the fondest wish of the writer,--
+  Your true and faithful friend.
+
+
+
+
+WHEN WORK IS DONE THIS FALL
+
+
+  A group of jolly cowboys, discussing plans at ease,
+  Says one, "I'll tell you something, boys, if you will listen, please.
+  I am an old cow-puncher and here I'm dressed in rags,
+  And I used to be a tough one and take on great big jags.
+
+  "But I've got a home, boys, a good one, you all know,
+  Although I have not seen it since long, long ago.
+  I'm going back to Dixie once more to see them all;
+  Yes, I'm going to see my mother when the work's all done this fall.
+
+  "After the round-ups are over and after the shipping is done,
+  I am going right straight home, boys, ere all my money is gone.
+  I have changed my ways, boys, no more will I fall;
+  And I am going home, boys, when work is done this fall.
+
+  "When I left home, boys, my mother for me cried,
+  Begged me not to go, boys, for me she would have died;
+  My mother's heart is breaking, breaking for me, that's all,
+  And with God's help I'll see her when the work's all done this fall."
+
+  That very night this cowboy went out to stand his guard;
+  The night was dark and cloudy and storming very hard;
+  The cattle they got frightened and rushed in wild stampede,
+  The cowboy tried to head them, riding at full speed.
+
+  While riding in the darkness so loudly did he shout,
+  Trying his best to head them and turn the herd about,
+  His saddle horse did stumble and on him did fall,
+  The poor boy won't see his mother when the work's all done this fall.
+
+  His body was so mangled the boys all thought him dead,
+  They picked him up so gently and laid him on a bed;
+  He opened wide his blue eyes and looking all around
+  He motioned to his comrades to sit near him on the ground.
+
+  "Boys, send mother my wages, the wages I have earned,
+  For I'm afraid, boys, my last steer I have turned.
+  I'm going to a new range, I hear my Master's call,
+  And I'll not see my mother when the work's all done this fall.
+
+  "Fred, you take my saddle; George, you take my bed;
+  Bill, you take my pistol after I am dead,
+  And think of me kindly when you look upon them all,
+  For I'll not see my mother when work is done this fall."
+
+  Poor Charlie was buried at sunrise, no tombstone at his head,
+  Nothing but a little board and this is what it said,
+  "Charlie died at daybreak, he died from a fall,
+  And he'll not see his mother when the work's all done this fall."
+
+
+
+
+SIOUX INDIANS
+
+
+  I'll sing you a song, though it may be a sad one,
+  Of trials and troubles and where they first begun;
+  I left my dear kindred, my friends, and my home,
+  Across the wild deserts and mountains to roam.
+
+  I crossed the Missouri and joined a large train
+  Which bore us over mountain and valley and plain;
+  And often of evenings out hunting we'd go
+  To shoot the fleet antelope and wild buffalo.
+
+  We heard of Sioux Indians all out on the plains
+  A-killing poor drivers and burning their trains,--
+  A-killing poor drivers with arrows and bow,
+  When captured by Indians no mercy they show.
+
+  We traveled three weeks till we came to the Platte
+  And pitched out our tents at the end of the flat,
+  We spread down our blankets on the green grassy ground,
+  While our horses and mules were grazing around.
+
+  While taking refreshment we heard a low yell,
+  The whoop of Sioux Indians coming up from the dell;
+  We sprang to our rifles with a flash in each eye,
+  "Boys," says our brave leader, "we'll fight till we die."
+
+  They made a bold dash and came near to our train
+  And the arrows fell around us like hail and like rain,
+  But with our long rifles we fed them cold lead
+  Till many a brave warrior around us lay dead.
+
+  We shot their bold chief at the head of his band.
+  He died like a warrior with a gun in his hand.
+  When they saw their bold chief lying dead in his gore,
+  They whooped and they yelled and we saw them no more.
+
+  With our small band,--there were just twenty-four,--
+  And the Sioux Indians there were five hundred or more,--
+  We fought them with courage; we spoke not a word,
+  Till the end of the battle was all that was heard.
+
+  We hitched up our horses and we started our train;
+  Three more bloody battles this trip on the plain;
+  And in our last battle three of our brave boys fell,
+  And we left them to rest in a green, shady dell.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD CHISHOLM TRAIL
+
+
+  Come along, boys, and listen to my tale,
+  I'll tell you of my troubles on the old Chisholm trail.
+
+      Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya,
+      Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya.
+
+  I started up the trail October twenty-third,
+  I started up the trail with the 2-U herd.
+
+  Oh, a ten dollar hoss and a forty dollar saddle,--
+  And I'm goin' to punchin' Texas cattle.
+
+  I woke up one morning on the old Chisholm trail,
+  Rope in my hand and a cow by the tail.
+
+  I'm up in the mornin' afore daylight
+  And afore I sleep the moon shines bright.
+
+  Old Ben Bolt was a blamed good boss,
+  But he'd go to see the girls on a sore-backed hoss.
+
+  Old Ben Bolt was a fine old man
+  And you'd know there was whiskey wherever he'd land.
+
+  My hoss throwed me off at the creek called Mud,
+  My hoss throwed me off round the 2-U herd.
+
+  Last time I saw him he was going cross the level
+  A-kicking up his heels and a-running like the devil.
+
+  It's cloudy in the West, a-looking like rain,
+  And my damned old slicker's in the wagon again.
+
+  Crippled my hoss, I don't know how,
+  Ropin' at the horns of a 2-U cow.
+
+  We hit Caldwell and we hit her on the fly,
+  We bedded down the cattle on the hill close by.
+
+  No chaps, no slicker, and it's pouring down rain,
+  And I swear, by god, I'll never night-herd again.
+
+  Feet in the stirrups and seat in the saddle,
+  I hung and rattled with them long-horn cattle.
+
+  Last night I was on guard and the leader broke the ranks,
+  I hit my horse down the shoulders and I spurred him in the flanks.
+
+  The wind commenced to blow, and the rain began to fall,
+  Hit looked, by grab, like we was goin' to loss 'em all.
+
+  I jumped in the saddle and grabbed holt the horn,
+  Best blamed cow-puncher ever was born.
+
+  I popped my foot in the stirrup and gave a little yell,
+  The tail cattle broke and the leaders went to hell.
+
+  I don't give a damn if they never do stop;
+  I'll ride as long as an eight-day clock.
+
+  Foot in the stirrup and hand on the horn,
+  Best damned cowboy ever was born.
+
+  I herded and I hollered and I done very well,
+  Till the boss said, "Boys, just let 'em go to hell."
+
+  Stray in the herd and the boss said kill it,
+  So I shot him in the rump with the handle of the skillet.
+
+  We rounded 'em up and put 'em on the cars,
+  And that was the last of the old Two Bars.
+
+  Oh it's bacon and beans most every day,--
+  I'd as soon be a-eatin' prairie hay.
+
+  I'm on my best horse and I'm goin' at a run,
+  I'm the quickest shootin' cowboy that ever pulled a gun.
+
+  I went to the wagon to get my roll,
+  To come back to Texas, dad-burn my soul.
+
+  I went to the boss to draw my roll,
+  He had it figgered out I was nine dollars in the hole.
+
+  I'll sell my outfit just as soon as I can,
+  I won't punch cattle for no damned man.
+
+  Goin' back to town to draw my money,
+  Goin' back home to see my honey.
+
+  With my knees in the saddle and my seat in the sky,
+  I'll quit punching cows in the sweet by and by.
+
+      Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya,
+      Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya.
+
+
+
+The Old Chisholm Trail (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Come a-long, boys, and list-en to my tale, I'll
+  tell you of my trou-bles on the old Chisholm trail.
+
+  REFRAIN
+
+  Co-ma ti yi you-pe, you-pe ya, you-pe ya,
+  Co-ma ti yi you-pe, you-pe ya.
+
+
+
+
+JACK DONAHOO
+
+
+  Come, all you bold, undaunted men,
+  You outlaws of the day,
+  It's time to beware of the ball and chain
+  And also slavery.
+  Attention pay to what I say,
+  And verily if you do,
+  I will relate you the actual fate
+  Of bold Jack Donahoo.
+
+  He had scarcely landed, as I tell you,
+  Upon Australia's shore,
+  Than he became a real highwayman,
+  As he had been before.
+  There was Underwood and Mackerman,
+  And Wade and Westley too,
+  These were the four associates
+  Of bold Jack Donahoo.
+
+  Jack Donahoo, who was so brave,
+  Rode out that afternoon,
+  Knowing not that the pain of death
+  Would overtake him soon.
+  So quickly then the horse police
+  From Sidney came to view;
+  "Begone from here, you cowardly dogs,"
+  Says bold Jack Donahoo.
+
+  The captain and the sergeant
+  Stopped then to decide.
+  "Do you intend to fight us
+  Or unto us resign?"
+  "To surrender to such cowardly dogs
+  Is more than I will do,
+  This day I'll fight if I lose my life,"
+  Says bold Jack Donahoo.
+
+  The captain and the sergeant
+  The men they did divide;
+  They fired from behind him
+  And also from each side;
+  It's six police he did shoot down
+  Before the fatal ball
+  Did pierce the heart of Donahoo
+  And cause bold Jack to fall.
+
+  And when he fell, he closed his eyes,
+  He bid the world adieu;
+  Come, all you boys, and sing the song
+  Of bold Jack Donahoo.
+
+
+
+
+UTAH CARROLL
+
+
+  And as, my friend, you ask me what makes me sad and still,
+  And why my brow is darkened like the clouds upon the hill;
+  Run in your pony closer and I'll tell to you the tale
+  Of Utah Carroll, my partner, and his last ride on the trail.
+
+  'Mid the cactus and the thistles of Mexico's fair lands,
+  Where the cattle roam in thousands, a-many a herd and brand,
+  There is a grave with neither headstone, neither date nor name,--
+  There lies my partner sleeping in the land from which I came.
+
+  We rode the range together and had rode it side by side;
+  I loved him as a brother, I wept when Utah died;
+  We were rounding up one morning, our work was almost done,
+  When on the side the cattle started on a mad and fearless run.
+
+  The boss man's little daughter was holding on that side.
+  She rushed; the cattle saw the blanket, they charged with
+      maddened fear.
+  And little Varro, seeing the danger, turned her pony a pace
+  And leaning in the saddle, tied the blanket in its place.
+
+  In leaning, she lost her balance and fell in front of that wild tide.
+  Utah's voice controlled the round-up. "Lay still, little Varro," he
+      cried.
+  His only hope was to raise her, to catch her at full speed,
+  And oft-times he had been known to catch the trail rope off his steed.
+
+  His pony reached the maiden with a firm and steady bound;
+  Utah swung out from the saddle to catch her from the ground.
+  He swung out from the saddle, I thought her safe from harm,
+  As he swung in his saddle to raise her in his arm.
+
+  But the cinches of his saddle had not been felt before,
+  And his back cinch snapt asunder and he fell by the side of Varro.
+  He picked up the blanket and swung it over his head
+  And started across the prairie; "Lay still, little Varro," he said.
+
+  Well, he got the stampede turned and saved little Varro, his
+      friend.
+  Then he turned to face the cattle and meet his fatal end.
+  His six-shooter from his pocket, from the scabbard he quickly drew,--
+  He was bound to die defended as all young cowboys do.
+
+  His six-shooter flashed like lightning, the report rang loud and clear;
+  As the cattle rushed in and killed him he dropped the leading steer.
+  And when we broke the circle where Utah's body lay,
+  With many a wound and bruise his young life ebbed away.
+
+  "And in some future morning," I heard the preacher say,
+  "I hope we'll all meet Utah at the round-up far away."
+  Then we wrapped him in a blanket sent by his little friend,
+  And it was that very red blanket that brought him to his end.
+
+
+
+
+THE BULL-WHACKER
+
+
+  I'm a lonely bull-whacker
+  On the Red Cloud line,
+  I can lick any son of a gun
+  That will yoke an ox of mine.
+  And if I can catch him,
+  You bet I will or try,
+  I'd lick him with an ox-bow,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  It's out on the road
+  With a very heavy load,
+  With a very awkward team
+  And a very muddy road,
+  You may whip and you may holler,
+  But if you cuss it's on the sly;
+  Then whack the cattle on, boys,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  It's out on the road
+  These sights are to be seen,
+  The antelope and buffalo,
+  The prairie all so green,--
+  The antelope and buffalo,
+  The rabbit jumps so high;
+  It's whack the cattle on, boys,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  It's every day at twelve
+  There's something for to do;
+  And if there's nothing else,
+  There's a pony for to shoe;
+  I'll throw him down,
+  And still I'll make him lie;
+  Little pig, big pig,
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  Now perhaps you'd like to know
+  What we have to eat,
+  A little piece of bread
+  And a little dirty meat,
+  A little black coffee,
+  And whiskey on the sly;
+  It's whack the cattle on, boys,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  There's hard old times on Bitter Creek
+  That never can be beat,
+  It was root hog or die
+  Under every wagon sheet;
+  We cleaned up all the Indians,
+  Drank all the alkali,
+  And it's whack the cattle on, boys,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  There was good old times in Salt Lake
+  That never can pass by,
+  It was there I first spied
+  My China girl called Wi.
+  She could smile, she could chuckle,
+  She could roll her hog eye;
+  Then it's whack the cattle on, boys,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  Oh, I'm going home
+  Bull-whacking for to spurn,
+  I ain't got a nickel,
+  And I don't give a dern.
+  'Tis when I meet a pretty girl,
+  You bet I will or try,
+  I'll make her my little wife,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+
+
+
+THE "METIS" SONG OF THE BUFFALO HUNTERS
+
+BY ROBIDEAU
+
+
+  Hurrah for the buffalo hunters!
+      Hurrah for the cart brigade!
+  That creak along on its winding way,
+      While we dance and sing and play.
+  Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade!
+
+  Hurrah for the Pembinah hunters!
+      Hurrah for its cart brigade!
+  For with horse and gun we roll along
+      O'er mountain and hill and plain.
+  Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade!
+
+  We whipped the Sioux and scalped them too,
+      While on the western plain,
+  And rode away on our homeward way
+      With none to say us nay,--
+  Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade! Hurrah!
+
+  Mon ami, mon ami, hurrah for our black-haired girls!
+      That braved the Sioux and fought them too,
+  While on Montana's plains.
+      We'll hold them true and love them too,
+  While on the trail of the Pembinah, hurrah!
+      Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade of Pembinah!
+
+  We have the skins and the meat so sweet.
+      And we'll sit by the fire in the lodge so neat,
+  While the wind blows cold and the snow is deep.
+      Then roll in our robes and laugh as we sleep.
+  Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade! Hurrah!
+              Hurrah! Hurrah!
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY'S LAMENT
+
+
+  As I walked out in the streets of Laredo,
+  As I walked out in Laredo one day,
+  I spied a poor cowboy wrapped up in white linen,
+  Wrapped up in white linen as cold as the clay.
+
+    "Oh, beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly,
+    Play the Dead March as you carry me along;
+    Take me to the green valley, there lay the sod o'er me,
+    For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.
+
+  "I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy,"
+  These words he did say as I boldly stepped by.
+  "Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story;
+  I was shot in the breast and I know I must die.
+
+    "Let sixteen gamblers come handle my coffin,
+    Let sixteen cowboys come sing me a song,
+    Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o'er me,
+    For I'm a poor cowboy and I know I've done wrong.
+
+  "My friends and relations, they live in the Nation,
+  They know not where their boy has gone.
+  He first came to Texas and hired to a ranchman,
+  Oh, I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.
+
+  "Go write a letter to my gray-haired mother,
+  And carry the same to my sister so dear;
+  But not a word of this shall you mention
+  When a crowd gathers round you my story to hear.
+
+    "Then beat your drum lowly and play your fife slowly,
+    Beat the Dead March as you carry me along;
+    We all love our cowboys so young and so handsome,
+    We all love our cowboys although they've done wrong.
+
+  "There is another more dear than a sister,
+  She'll bitterly weep when she hears I am gone.
+  There is another who will win her affections,
+  For I'm a young cowboy and they say I've done wrong.
+
+  "Go gather around you a crowd of young cowboys,
+  And tell them the story of this my sad fate;
+  Tell one and the other before they go further
+  To stop their wild roving before 'tis too late.
+
+    "Oh, muffle your drums, then play your fifes merrily;
+    Play the Dead March as you go along.
+    And fire your guns right over my coffin;
+    There goes an unfortunate boy to his home.
+
+  "It was once in the saddle I used to go dashing,
+  It was once in the saddle I used to go gay;
+  First to the dram-house, then to the card-house,
+  Got shot in the breast, I am dying to-day.
+
+  "Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin;
+  Get six pretty maidens to bear up my pall.
+  Put bunches of roses all over my coffin,
+  Put roses to deaden the clods as they fall.
+
+    "Then swing your rope slowly and rattle your spurs lowly,
+    And give a wild whoop as you carry me along;
+    And in the grave throw me and roll the sod o'er me,
+    For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.
+
+  "Go bring me a cup, a cup of cold water,
+  To cool my parched lips," the cowboy said;
+  Before I turned, the spirit had left him
+  And gone to its Giver,--the cowboy was dead.
+
+    We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly,
+    And bitterly wept as we bore him along;
+    For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young, and handsome,
+    We all loved our comrade although he'd done wrong.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE IN DISGUISE
+
+
+  As William and Mary stood by the seashore
+  Their last farewell to take,
+  Returning no more, little Mary she said,
+  "Why surely my heart will break."
+  "Oh, don't be dismayed, little Mary," he said,
+  As he pressed the dear girl to his side,
+  "In my absence don't mourn, for when I return
+  I'll make little Mary my bride."
+
+  Three years passed on without any news.
+  One day as she stood by the door
+  A beggar passed by with a patch on his eye,
+  "I'm home, oh, do pity, my love;
+  Have compassion on me, your friend I will be.
+  Your fortune I'll tell besides.
+  The lad you mourn will never return
+  To make little Mary his bride."
+
+  She startled and trembled and then she did say,
+  "All the fortune I have I freely give
+  If what I ask you will tell unto me,--
+  Say, does young William yet live?"
+  "He lives and is true and poverty poor,
+  And shipwreck has suffered beside;
+  He'll return no more, because he is poor,
+  To make little Mary his bride."
+
+  "No tongue can tell the joy I do feel
+  Although his misfortune I mourn,
+  And he's welcome to me though poverty poor,
+  His jacket all tattered and torn.
+  I love him so dear, so true and sincere,
+  I'll have no other beside;
+  Those with riches enrobed and covered with gold
+  Can't make little Mary their bride."
+
+  The beggar then tore the patch from his eye,
+  His crutches he laid by his side,
+  Coat, jacket and bundle; cheeks red as a rose,
+  'Twas William that stood by her side.
+  "Then excuse me, dear maid," to her he said,
+  "It was only your love I tried."
+  So he hastened away at the close of the day
+  To make little Mary his bride.
+
+
+
+
+MUSTANG GRAY
+
+
+  There once was a noble ranger,
+  They called him Mustang Gray;
+  He left his home when but a youth,
+  Went ranging far away.
+
+    But he'll go no more a-ranging,
+    The savage to affright;
+    He has heard his last war-whoop,
+    And fought his last fight.
+
+  He ne'er would sleep within a tent,
+  No comforts would he know;
+  But like a brave old Tex-i-an,
+  A-ranging he would go.
+
+  When Texas was invaded
+  By a mighty tyrant foe,
+  He mounted his noble war-horse
+  And a-ranging he did go.
+
+  Once he was taken prisoner,
+  Bound in chains upon the way,
+  He wore the yoke of bondage
+  Through the streets of Monterey.
+
+  A senorita loved him,
+  And followed by his side;
+  She opened the gates and gave to him
+  Her father's steed to ride.
+
+  God bless the senorita,
+  The belle of Monterey,
+  She opened wide the prison door
+  And let him ride away.
+
+  And when this veteran's life was spent,
+  It was his last command
+  To bury him on Texas soil
+  On the banks of the Rio Grande;
+
+  And there the lonely traveler,
+  When passing by his grave,
+  Will shed a farewell tear
+  O'er the bravest of the brave.
+
+    And he'll go no more a-ranging,
+    The savage to affright;
+    He has heard his last war-whoop,
+    And fought his last fight.
+
+
+
+
+YOUNG COMPANIONS
+
+
+  Come all you young companions
+  And listen unto me,
+  I'll tell you a story
+  Of some bad company.
+
+  I was born in Pennsylvania
+  Among the beautiful hills
+  And the memory of my childhood
+  Is warm within me still.
+
+  I did not like my fireside,
+  I did not like my home;
+  I had in view far rambling,
+  So far away did roam.
+
+  I had a feeble mother,
+  She oft would plead with me;
+  And the last word she gave me
+  Was to pray to God in need.
+
+  I had two loving sisters,
+  As fair as fair could be,
+  And oft beside me kneeling
+  They oft would plead with me.
+
+  I bid adieu to loved ones,
+  To my home I bid farewell,
+  And I landed in Chicago
+  In the very depth of hell.
+
+  It was there I took to drinking,
+  I sinned both night and day,
+  And there within my bosom
+  A feeble voice would say:
+
+  "Then fare you well, my loved one,
+  May God protect my boy,
+  And blessings ever with him
+  Throughout his manhood joy."
+
+  I courted a fair young maiden,
+  Her name I will not tell,
+  For I should ever disgrace her
+  Since I am doomed for hell.
+
+  It was on one beautiful evening,
+  The stars were shining bright,
+  And with a fatal dagger
+  I bid her spirit flight.
+
+  So justice overtook me,
+  You all can plainly see,
+  My soul is doomed forever
+  Throughout eternity.
+
+  It's now I'm on the scaffold,
+  My moments are not long;
+  You may forget the singer
+  But don't forget the song.
+
+
+
+
+LACKEY BILL
+
+
+  Come all you good old boys and listen to my rhymes,
+  We are west of Eastern Texas and mostly men of crimes;
+  Each with a hidden secret well smothered in his breast,
+  Which brought us out to Mexico, way out here in the West.
+
+  My parents raised me tenderly, they had no child but me,
+  Till I began to ramble and with them could never agree.
+  My mind being bent on rambling did grieve their poor hearts sore,
+  To leave my aged parents them to see no more.
+
+  I was borned and raised in Texas, though never come to fame,
+  A cowboy by profession, C.W. King, by name.
+  Oh, when the war was ended I did not like to work,
+  My brothers were not happy, for I had learned to shirk.
+
+  In fact I was not able, my health was very bad,
+  I had no constitution, I was nothing but a lad.
+  I had no education, I would not go to school,
+  And living off my parents I thought it rather cool.
+
+  So I set a resolution to travel to the West,
+  My parents they objected, but still I thought it best.
+  It was out on the Seven Rivers all out on the Pecos stream,
+  It was there I saw a country I thought just suited me.
+
+  I thought I would be no stranger and lead a civil life,
+  In order to be happy would choose myself a wife.
+  On one Sabbath evening in the merry month of May
+  To a little country singing I happened there to stray.
+
+  It was there I met a damsel I never shall forget,
+  The impulse of that moment remains within me yet.
+  We soon became acquainted, I thought she would fill the bill,
+  She seemed to be good-natured, which helps to climb the hill.
+
+  She was a handsome figure though not so very tall;
+  Her hair was red as blazes, I hate it worst of all.
+  I saw her home one evening in the presence of her pap,
+  I bid them both good evening with a note left in her lap.
+
+  And when I got an answer I read it with a rush,
+  I found she had consented, my feelings was a hush.
+  But now I have changed my mind, boys, I am sure I wish her well.
+  Here's to that precious jewel, I'm sure I wish her well.
+
+  This girl was Miss Mollie Walker who fell in love with me,
+  She was a lovely Western girl, as lovely as could be,
+  She was so tall, so handsome, so charming and so fair,
+  There is not a girl in this whole world with her I could compare.
+
+  She said my pockets would be lined with gold, hard work then I'd
+      leave o'er
+  If I'd consent to live with her and say I'd roam no more.
+  My mind began to ramble and it grieved my poor heart sore,
+  To leave my darling girl, her to see no more.
+
+  I asked if it made any difference if I crossed o'er the plains;
+  She said it made no difference if I returned again.
+  So we kissed, shook hands, and parted, I left that girl behind.
+  She said she'd prove true to me till death proved her unkind.
+
+  I rode in the town of Vagus, all in the public square;
+  The mail coach had arrived, the post boy met me there.
+  He handed me a letter that gave me to understand
+  That the girl I loved in Texas had married another man.
+
+  So I read a little farther and found those words were true.
+  I turned myself all around, not knowing what to do.
+  I'll sell my horse, saddle, and bridle, cow-driving I'll resign,
+  I'll search this world from town to town for the girl I left behind.
+
+  Here the gold I find in plenty, the girls to me are kind,
+  But my pillow is haunted with the girl I left behind.
+  It's trouble and disappointment is all that I can see,
+  For the dearest girl in all the world has gone square back on me.
+
+
+
+
+WHOOPEE TI YI YO, GIT ALONG LITTLE DOGIES
+
+
+  As I walked out one morning for pleasure,
+  I spied a cow-puncher all riding alone;
+  His hat was throwed back and his spurs was a jingling,
+  As he approached me a-singin' this song,
+
+    Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies,
+    It's your misfortune, and none of my own.
+    Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies,
+    For you know Wyoming will be your new home.
+
+  Early in the spring we round up the dogies,
+  Mark and brand and bob off their tails;
+  Round up our horses, load up the chuck-wagon,
+  Then throw the dogies upon the trail.
+
+  It's whooping and yelling and driving the dogies;
+  Oh how I wish you would go on;
+  It's whooping and punching and go on little dogies,
+  For you know Wyoming will be your new home.
+
+  Some boys goes up the trail for pleasure,
+  But that's where you get it most awfully wrong;
+  For you haven't any idea the trouble they give us
+  While we go driving them all along.
+
+  When the night comes on and we hold them on the bedground,
+  These little dogies that roll on so slow;
+  Roll up the herd and cut out the strays,
+  And roll the little dogies that never rolled before.
+
+  Your mother she was raised way down in Texas,
+  Where the jimson weed and sand-burrs grow;
+  Now we'll fill you up on prickly pear and cholla
+  Till you are ready for the trail to Idaho.
+
+  Oh, you'll be soup for Uncle Sam's Injuns;
+  "It's beef, heap beef," I hear them cry.
+  Git along, git along, git along little dogies
+  You're going to be beef steers by and by.
+
+
+
+Whoopee Ti Yi Yo, Git Along Little Dogies (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  As I was a-walk-ing one morn-ing for pleasure,
+  I spied   a cow-punch-er all rid-ing a-lone;
+  His hat was throw'd back and his spurs was a-jing-lin',
+  As he ap-proach'd me a-sing-in' this song:
+
+  REFRAIN.
+
+  Whoopee ti yi yo, git a-long little dog-ies,
+  Its your mis-for-tune and none of my own.
+  Whoop-ee ti yi yo, git a-long lit-tie dog-ies,
+  For you know Wy-o-ming will be your new home.
+
+
+
+
+THE U-S-U RANGE
+
+
+  O come cowboys and listen to my song,
+  I'm in hopes I'll please you and not keep you long;
+  I'll sing you of things you may think strange
+  About West Texas and the U-S-U range.
+
+  You may go to Stamford and there see a man
+  Who wears a white shirt and is asking for hands;
+  You may ask him for work and he'll answer you short,
+  He will hurry you up, for he wants you to start.
+  He will put you in a wagon and be off in the rain,
+  You will go up on Tongue River on the U-S-U range.
+
+  You will drive up to the ranch and there you will stop.
+  It's a little sod house with dirt all on top.
+  You will ask what it is and they will tell you out plain
+  That it's the ranch house on the U-S-U range.
+
+  You will go in the house and he will begin to explain;
+  You will see some blankets rolled up on the floor;
+  You may ask what it is and they will tell you out plain
+  That it is the bedding on the U-S-U range.
+
+  You are up in the morning at the daybreak
+  To eat cold beef and U-S-U steak,
+  And out to your work no matter if it's rain,--
+  And that is the life on the U-S-U range.
+
+  You work hard all day and come in at night,
+  And turn your horse loose, for they say it's all right,
+  And set down to supper and begin to complain
+  Of the chuck that you eat on the U-S-U range.
+
+  The grub that you get is beans and cold rice
+  And U-S-U steak cooked up very nice;
+  And if you don't like that you needn't complain,
+  For that's what you get on the U-S-U range.
+
+  Now, kind friends, I must leave you, I no longer can remain,
+  I hope I have pleased you and given you no pain.
+  But when I am gone, don't think me strange,
+  For I have been a cow-puncher on the U-S-U range.
+
+
+
+
+I'M A GOOD OLD REBEL
+
+
+  Oh, I'm a good old rebel, that's what I am;
+  And for this land of freedom, I don't care a damn,
+  I'm glad I fought agin her, I only wish we'd won,
+  And I don't axe any pardon for anything I've done.
+
+  I served with old Bob Lee, three years about,
+  Got wounded in four places and starved at Point Lookout;
+  I caught the rheumatism a-campin' in the snow,
+  But I killed a _chance_ of Yankees and wish I'd killed some mo'.
+
+      For I'm a good old rebel, etc.
+
+  I hate the constitooshin, this great republic too;
+  I hate the mouty eagle, an' the uniform so blue;
+  I hate their glorious banner, an' all their flags an' fuss,
+  Those lyin', thievin' Yankees, I hate 'em wuss an' wuss.
+
+      For I'm a good old rebel, etc.
+
+  I won't be re-constructed! I'm better now than them;
+  And for a carpet-bagger, I don't give a damn;
+  So I'm off for the frontier, soon as I can go,
+  I'll prepare me a weapon and start for Mexico.
+
+      For I'm a good old rebel, etc.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY
+
+
+  All day long on the prairies I ride,
+  Not even a dog to trot by my side;
+  My fire I kindle with chips gathered round,
+  My coffee I boil without being ground.
+
+  I wash in a pool and wipe on a sack;
+  I carry my wardrobe all on my back;
+  For want of an oven I cook bread in a pot,
+  And sleep on the ground for want of a cot.
+
+  My ceiling is the sky, my floor is the grass,
+  My music is the lowing of the herds as they pass;
+  My books are the brooks, my sermons the stones,
+  My parson is a wolf on his pulpit of bones.
+
+  And then if my cooking is not very complete
+  You can't blame me for wanting to eat.
+  But show me a man that sleeps more profound
+  Than the big puncher-boy who stretches himself on the ground.
+
+  My books teach me ever consistence to prize,
+  My sermons, that small things I should not despise;
+  My parson remarks from his pulpit of bones
+  That fortune favors those who look out for their own.
+
+  And then between me and love lies a gulf very wide.
+  Some lucky fellow may call her his bride.
+  My friends gently hint I am coming to grief,
+  But men must make money and women have beef.
+
+  But Cupid is always a friend to the bold,
+  And the best of his arrows are pointed with gold.
+  Society bans me so savage and dodge
+  That the Masons would ball me out of their lodge.
+
+  If I had hair on my chin, I might pass for the goat
+  That bore all the sins in the ages remote;
+  But why it is I can never understand,
+  For each of the patriarchs owned a big brand.
+
+  Abraham emigrated in search of a range,
+  And when water was scarce he wanted a change;
+  Old Isaac owned cattle in charge of Esau,
+  And Jacob punched cows for his father-in-law.
+
+  He started in business way down at bed rock,
+  And made quite a streak at handling stock;
+  Then David went from night-herding to using a sling;
+  And, winning the battle, he became a great king.
+  Then the shepherds, while herding the sheep on a hill,
+  Got a message from heaven of peace and goodwill.
+
+
+
+
+The Cowboy (Mus. Not.)
+
+Music by the "Kid"
+
+
+  All day on the prai-rie in the sad-dle I ride,
+  Not e-ven a dog, boys, to trot by my side.
+  My fire I must kin-dle with chips gathered round,
+  And boil my own cof-fee with-out be-ing ground.
+  I wash in a pool and I wipe on a sack,
+  I car-ry my ward-robe all on my back.
+
+
+
+
+BILL PETERS, THE STAGE DRIVER
+
+
+  Bill Peters was a hustler
+  From Independence town;
+  He warn't a college scholar
+  Nor man of great renown,
+  But Bill had a way o' doing things
+  And doin' 'em up brown.
+
+  Bill driv the stage from Independence
+  Up to the Smokey Hill;
+  And everybody knowed him thar
+  As Independence Bill,--
+  Thar warn't no feller on the route
+  That driv with half the skill.
+
+  Bill driv four pair of horses,
+  Same as you'd drive a team,
+  And you'd think you was a-travelin'
+  On a railroad driv by steam;
+  And he'd git thar on time, you bet,
+  Or Bill 'u'd bust a seam.
+
+  He carried mail and passengers,
+  And he started on the dot,
+  And them teams o' his'n, so they say,
+  Was never known to trot;
+  But they went it in a gallop
+  And kept their axles hot.
+
+  When Bill's stage 'u'd bust a tire,
+  Or something 'u'd break down,
+  He'd hustle round and patch her up
+  And start off with a bound;
+  And the wheels o' that old shack o' his
+  Scarce ever touched the ground.
+
+  And Bill didn't low no foolin',
+  And when Inguns hove in sight
+  And bullets rattled at the stage,
+  He druv with all his might;
+  He'd holler, "Fellers, give 'em hell,
+  I ain't got time to fight."
+
+  Then the way them wheels 'u'd rattle,
+  And the way the dust 'u'd fly,
+  You'd think a million cattle,
+  Had stampeded and gone by;
+  But the mail 'u'd get thar just the same,
+  If the horses had to die.
+
+  He driv that stage for many a year
+  Along the Smokey Hill,
+  And a pile o' wild Comanches
+  Did Bill Peters have to kill,--
+  And I reckon if he'd had good luck
+  He'd been a drivin' still.
+
+  But he chanced one day to run agin
+  A bullet made o' lead,
+  Which was harder than he bargained for
+  And now poor Bill is dead;
+  And when they brung his body home
+  A barrel of tears was shed.
+
+
+
+
+HARD TIMES
+
+
+  Come listen a while and I'll sing you a song
+  Concerning the times--it will not be long--
+  When everybody is striving to buy,
+  And cheating each other, I cannot tell why,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  From father to mother, from sister to brother,
+  From cousin to cousin, they're cheating each other.
+  Since cheating has grown to be so much the fashion,
+  I believe to my soul it will run the whole Nation,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  Now there is the talker, by talking he eats,
+  And so does the butcher by killing his meats.
+  He'll toss the steelyards, and weigh it right down,
+  And swear it's just right if it lacks forty pounds,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there is the merchant, as honest, we're told.
+  Whatever he sells you, my friend, you are sold;
+  Believe what I tell you, and don't be surprised
+  To find yourself cheated half out of your eyes,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there is the lawyer you plainly will see,
+  He will plead your case for a very large fee,
+  He'll law you and tell you the wrong side is right,
+  And make you believe that a black horse is white,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there is the doctor, I like to forgot,
+  I believe to my soul he's the worst of the lot;
+  He'll tell you he'll cure you for half you possess,
+  And when you're buried he'll take all the rest,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there's the old bachelor, all hated with scorn,
+  He's like an old garment all tattered and torn,
+  The girls and the widows all toss him a sigh,
+  And think it quite right, and so do I,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there's the young widow, coquettish and shy,
+  With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye,
+  But when she gets married she'll cut quite a dash,
+  She'll give him the reins and she'll handle the cash,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there's the young lady I like to have missed,
+  And I believe to my soul she'd like to be kissed;
+  She'll tell you she loves you with all pretence
+  And ask you to call again some time hence,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there's the young man, the worst of the whole.
+  Oh, he will tell you with all of his soul,
+  He'll tell you he loves you and for you will die,
+  And when he's away he will swear it's a lie,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+
+
+
+COLE YOUNGER
+
+
+  Am one of a band of highwaymen, Cole Younger is my name;
+  My crimes and depredations have brought my friends to shame;
+  The robbing of the Northfield Bank, the same I can't deny,
+  For now I am a prisoner, in the Stillwater jail I lie.
+
+  'Tis of a bold, high robbery, a story to you I'll tell,
+  Of a California miner who unto us befell;
+  We robbed him of his money and bid him go his way,
+  For which I will be sorry until my dying day.
+
+  And then we started homeward, when brother Bob did say:
+  "Now, Cole, we will buy fast horses and on them ride away.
+  We will ride to avenge our father's death and try to win the prize;
+  We will fight those anti-guerrillas until the day we die."
+
+  And then we rode towards Texas, that good old Lone Star State,
+  But on Nebraska's prairies the James boys we did meet;
+  With knives, guns, and revolvers we all sat down to play,
+  A-drinking of good whiskey to pass the time away.
+
+  A Union Pacific railway train was the next we did surprise,
+  And the crimes done by our bloody hands bring tears into my eyes.
+  The engineerman and fireman killed, the conductor escaped alive,
+  And now their bones lie mouldering beneath Nebraska's skies.
+
+  Then we saddled horses, northwestward we did go,
+  To the God-forsaken country called Min-ne-so-te-o;
+  I had my eye on the Northfield bank when brother Bob did say,
+  "Now, Cole, if you undertake the job, you will surely curse the day."
+
+  But I stationed out my pickets and up to the bank did go,
+  And there upon the counter I struck my fatal blow.
+  "Just hand us over your money and make no further delay,
+  We are the famous Younger brothers, we spare no time to pray."
+
+
+
+
+MISSISSIPPI GIRLS
+
+
+  Come, all you Mississippi girls, and listen to my noise,
+  If you happen to go West, don't you marry those Texian boys;
+  For if you do, your fortune will be
+  Cold jonny-cake and beefsteak, that's all that you will see,--
+  Cold jonny-cake and beefsteak, that's all that you will see.
+
+  When they go courting, here's what they wear:
+  An old leather coat, and it's all ripped and tore;
+  And an old brown hat with the brim tore down,
+  And a pair of dirty socks, they've worn the winter round.
+
+  When one comes in, the first thing you hear
+  Is, "Madam, your father has killed a deer";
+  And the next thing they say when they sit down
+  Is, "Madam, the jonny-cake is too damned brown."
+
+  They live in a hut with hewed log wall,
+  But it ain't got any windows at all;
+  With a clap-board roof and a puncheon floor,
+  And that's the way all Texas o'er.
+
+  They will take you out on a live-oak hill
+  And there they will leave you much against your will.
+  They will leave you on the prairie, starve you on the plains,
+  For that is the way with the Texians,--
+  For that is the way with the Texians.
+
+  When they go to preaching let me tell you how they dress;
+  Just an old black shirt without any vest,
+  Just an old straw hat more brim than crown
+  And an old sock leg that they wear the winter round,--
+  And an old sock leg that they wear the winter round.
+
+  For your wedding supper, there'll be beef and cornbread;
+  There it is to eat when the ceremony's said.
+  And when you go to milk you'll milk into a gourd;
+  And set it in the corner and cover it with a board;
+  Some gets little and some gets none,
+  For that is the way with the Texians,--
+  For that is the way with the Texians.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MAN UNDER THE HILL
+
+
+  There was an old man who lived under the hill,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, lived under the hill,
+  And if he ain't dead he's living there still,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, living there still.
+
+  One day the old man went out to plow,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, went out to plow;
+  'Tis good-bye the old fellow, and how are you now,
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, and how are you now.
+
+  And then another came to his house,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, came to his house;
+  "There's one of your family I've got to have now,
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, got to have now.
+
+  "It's neither you nor your oldest son,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, nor your oldest son."
+  "Then take my old woman and take her for fun,
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, take her for fun."
+
+  He takened her all upon his back,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, upon his back,
+  And like an old rascal went rickity rack,
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, went rickity rack.
+
+  But when he got half way up the road,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, up the road,
+  Says he, "You old lady, you're sure a load,"
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, you're sure a load.
+
+  He set her down on a stump to rest,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, stump to rest;
+  She up with a stick and hit him her best.
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, hit him her best.
+
+  He taken her on to hell's old gate,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, hell's old gate,
+  But when he got there he got there too late,
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, got there too late.
+
+  And so he had to keep his wife,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, had to keep his wife,
+  And keep her he did for the rest of his life.
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, for the rest of his life.
+
+
+
+
+JERRY, GO ILE THAT CAR
+
+
+  Come all ye railroad section men an' listen to my song,
+  It is of Larry O'Sullivan who now is dead and gone.
+  For twinty years a section boss, he niver hired a tar--
+  Oh, it's "j'int ahead and cinter back,
+  An' Jerry, go ile that car!"
+
+    For twinty years a section boss, he niver hired a tar,
+    But it's "j'int ahead an cinter back,
+    An' Jerry, go ile that car-r-r!"
+
+  For twinty years a section boss, he worked upon the track,
+  And be it to his cred-i-it he niver had a wrack.
+  For he kept every j'int right up to the p'int wid the tap of the
+      tampin-bar-r-r;
+  And while the byes was a-swimmin' up the ties,
+  It's "Jerry, wud yez ile that car-r-r!"
+
+  God rest ye, Larry O'Sullivan, to me ye were kind and good;
+  Ye always made the section men go out and chop me wood;
+  An' fetch me wather from the well an' chop me kindlin' fine;
+  And any man that wouldn't lind a hand, 'twas Larry give
+      him his Time.
+
+  And ivery Sunday morni-i-ing unto the gang he'd say:
+  "Me byes, prepare--yez be aware the ould lady goes to church the day.
+  Now, I want ivery man to pump the best he can, for the distance it
+      is far-r-r;
+  An' we have to get in ahead of number tin--
+  So, Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
+
+  'Twas in November in the winter time and the ground all covered
+      wid snow,
+  "Come put the hand-car-r-r on the track an' over the section go!"
+  Wid his big soger coat buttoned up to his t'roat, all weathers he
+      would dare--
+  An' it's "Paddy Mack, will yez walk the track,
+  An' Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
+
+  "Give my respects to the roadmas-ther," poor Larry he did cry,
+  "An lave me up that I may see the ould hand-car before I die.
+  Come, j'int ahead an' cinter back,
+  An' Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
+
+    Then lay the spike maul upon his chist, the gauge, and the ould
+         claw-bar-r-r,
+    And while the byes do be fillin' up his grave,
+    "Oh, Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
+
+
+
+
+JOHN GARNER'S TRAIL HERD
+
+
+  Come all you old timers and listen to my song;
+  I'll make it short as possible and I'll not keep you long;
+  I'll relate to you about the time you all remember well
+  When we, with old Joe Garner, drove a beef herd up the trail.
+
+  When we left the ranch it was early in the spring,
+  We had as good a corporal as ever rope did swing,
+  Good hands and good horses, good outfit through and through,--
+  We went well equipped, we were a jolly crew.
+
+  We had no little herd--two thousand head or more--
+  And some as wild a brush beeves as you ever saw before.
+  We swung to them all the way and sometimes by the tail,--
+  Oh, you know we had a circus as we all went up the trail.
+
+  All things went on well till we reached the open ground,
+  And then them cattle turned in and they gave us merry hell.
+  They stampeded every night that came and did it without
+      fail,--
+  Oh, you know we had a circus as we all went up the trail.
+
+  We would round them up at morning and the boss would make a count,
+  And say, "Look here, old punchers, we are out quite an amount;
+  You must make all losses good and do it without fail
+  Or you will never get another job of driving up the trail."
+
+  When we reached Red River we gave the Inspector the dodge.
+  He swore by God Almighty, in jail old John should lodge.
+  We told him if he'd taken our boss and had him locked in jail,
+  We would shore get his scalp as we all came down the trail.
+
+  When we reached the Reservation, how squirmish we did feel,
+  Although we had tried old Garner and knew him true as steel.
+  And if we would follow him and do as he said do,
+  That old bald-headed cow-thief would surely take us through.
+
+  When we reached Dodge City we drew our four months' pay.
+  Times was better then, boys, that was a better day.
+  The way we drank and gambled and threw the girls around,--
+  "Say, a crowd of Texas cowboys has come to take our town."
+
+  The cowboy sees many hardships although he takes them well;
+  The fun we had upon that trip, no human tongue can tell.
+  The cowboy's life is a dreary life, though his mind it is no load,
+  And he always spends his money like he found it in the road.
+
+  If ever you meet old Garner, you must meet him on the square,
+  For he is the biggest cow-thief that ever tramped out there.
+  But if you want to hear him roar and spin a lively tale,
+  Just ask him about the time we all went up the trail.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT
+
+
+  Come all of you, my brother scouts,
+  And join me in my song;
+  Come, let us sing together
+  Though the shadows fall so long.
+
+  Of all the old frontiersmen
+  That used to scour the plain,
+  There are but very few of them
+  That with us yet remain.
+
+  Day after day they're dropping off,
+  They're going one by one;
+  Our clan is fast decreasing,
+  Our race is almost run.
+
+  There were many of our number
+  That never wore the blue,
+  But, faithfully, they did their part,
+  As brave men, tried and true.
+
+  They never joined the army,
+  But had other work to do
+  In piloting the coming folks,
+  To help them safely through.
+
+  But, brothers, we are falling,
+  Our race is almost run;
+  The days of elk and buffalo
+  And beaver traps are gone.
+
+  Oh, the days of elk and buffalo!
+  It fills my heart with pain
+  To know these days are past and gone
+  To never come again.
+
+  We fought the red-skin rascals
+  Over valley, hill, and plain;
+  We fought him in the mountain top,
+  And fought him down again.
+
+  These fighting days are over;
+  The Indian yell resounds
+  No more along the border;
+  Peace sends far sweeter sounds.
+
+  But we found great joy, old comrades,
+  To hear, and make it die;
+  We won bright homes for gentle ones,
+  And now, our West, good-bye.
+
+
+
+
+THE LONE BUFFALO HUNTER
+
+
+  It's of those Texas cowboys, a story I'll tell;
+  No name I will mention though in Texas they do dwell.
+  Go find them where you will, they are all so very brave,
+  And when in good society they seldom misbehave.
+
+  When the fall work is all over in the line-camp they'll be found,
+  For they have to ride those lonesome lines the long winter round;
+  They prove loyal to a comrade, no matter what's to do;
+  And when in love with a fair one they seldom prove untrue.
+
+  But springtime comes at last and finds them glad and gay;
+  They ride out to the round-up about the first of May;
+  About the first of August they start up the trail,
+  They have to stay with the cattle, no matter rain or hail.
+
+  But when they get to the shipping point, then they receive their tens,
+  Straightway to the bar-room and gently blow them in;
+  It's the height of their ambition, so I've been truly told,
+  To ride good horses and saddles and spend the silver and gold.
+
+  Those last two things I've mentioned, it is their heart's desire,
+  And when they leave the shipping point, their eyes are like balls
+      of fire.
+  It's of those fighting cattle, they seem to have no fear,
+  A-riding bucking broncos oft is their heart's desire.
+
+  They will ride into the branding pen, a rope within their hands,
+  They will catch them by each forefoot and bring them to the sands;
+  It's altogether in practice with a little bit of sleight,
+  A-roping Texas cattle, it is their heart's delight.
+
+  But now comes the rising generation to take the cowboy's place,
+  Likewise the corn-fed granger, with his bold and cheeky face;
+  It's on those plains of Texas a lone buffalo hunter does stand
+  To tell the fate of the cowboy that rode at his right hand.
+
+
+
+
+THE CROOKED TRAIL TO HOLBROOK
+
+
+  Come all you jolly cowboys that follow the bronco steer,
+  I'll sing to you a verse or two your spirits for to cheer;
+  It's all about a trip, a trip that I did undergo
+  On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.
+
+  It's on the seventeenth of February, our herd it started out,
+  It would have made your hearts shudder to hear them bawl and shout,
+  As wild as any buffalo that ever rode the Platte,
+  Those dogies we were driving, and every one was fat.
+
+  We crossed the Mescal Mountains on the way to Gilson Flats,
+  And when we got to Gilson Flats, Lord, how the wind did blow;
+  It blew so hard, it blew so fierce, we knew not where to go,
+  But our spirits never failed us as onward we did go,--
+  On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.
+
+  That night we had a stampede; Christ, how the cattle run!
+  We made it to our horses; I tell you, we had no fun;
+  Over the prickly pear and catclaw brush we quickly made our way;
+  We thought of our long journey and the girls we'd left one day.
+
+  It's long by Sombserva we slowly punched along,
+  While each and every puncher would sing a hearty song
+  To cheer up his comrade as onward we did go,
+  On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.
+
+  We crossed the Mongollen Mountains where the tall pines do grow,
+  Grass grows in abundance, and rippling streams do flow;
+  Our packs were always turning, of course our gait was slow,
+  On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.
+
+  At last we got to Holbrook, a little gale did blow;
+  It blew up sand and pebble stones and it didn't blow them slow.
+  We had to drink the water from that muddy little stream
+  And swallowed a peck of dirt when we tried to eat a bean.
+
+  But the cattle now are shipped and homeward we are bound
+  With a lot of as tired horses as ever could be found;
+  Across the reservation no danger did we fear,
+  But thought of wives and sweethearts and the ones we love so dear.
+  Now we are back in Globe City, our friendship there to share;
+  Here's luck to every puncher that follows the bronco steer.
+
+
+
+
+ONLY A COWBOY
+
+
+  Away out in old Texas, that great lone star state,
+  Where the mocking bird whistles both early and late;
+  It was in Western Texas on the old N A range
+  The boy fell a victim on the old staked plains.
+
+    He was only a cowboy gone on before,
+    He was only a cowboy, we will never see more;
+    He was doing his duty on the old N A range
+    But now he is sleeping on the old staked plains.
+
+  His crew they were numbered twenty-seven or eight,
+  The boys were like brothers, their friendship was great,
+  When "O God, have mercy" was heard from behind,--
+  The cattle were left to drift on the line.
+
+  He leaves a dear wife and little ones, too,
+  To earn them a living, as fathers oft do;
+  For while he was working for the loved ones so dear
+  He was took without warning or one word of cheer.
+
+  And while he is sleeping where the sun always shines,
+  The boys they go dashing along on the line;
+  The look on their faces it speaks to us all
+  Of one who departed to the home of the soul.
+
+  He was only a cowboy gone on before,
+  He was only a cowboy, we will never see more;
+  He was doing his duty on the old N A range
+  But now he is sleeping on the old staked plains.
+
+
+
+
+FULLER AND WARREN
+
+
+  Ye sons of Columbia, your attention I do crave,
+  While a sorrowful story I do tell,
+  Which happened of late, in the Indiana state,
+  And a hero not many could excel;
+  Like Samson he courted, made choice of the fair,
+  And intended to make her his wife;
+  But she, like Delilah, his heart did ensnare,
+  Which cost him his honor and his life.
+
+  A gold ring he gave her in token of his love,
+  On the face was the image of the dove;
+  They mutually agreed to get married with speed
+  And were promised by the powers above.
+  But the fickle-minded maiden vowed again to wed
+  To young Warren who lived in that place;
+  It was a fatal blow that caused his overthrow
+  And added to her shame and disgrace.
+
+  When Fuller came to hear he was deprived of his dear
+  Whom he vowed by the powers to wed,
+  With his heart full of woe unto Warren he did go,
+  And smilingly unto him he said:
+  "Young man, you have injured me to gratify your cause
+  By reporting that I left a prudent wife;
+  Acknowledge now that you have wronged me, for although
+      I break the laws,
+  Young Warren, I'll deprive you of your life."
+
+  Then Warren, he replied: "Your request must be denied,
+  For your darling to my heart she is bound;
+  And further I can say that this is our wedding day,
+  In spite of all the heroes in town."
+  Then Fuller in the passion of his love and anger bound,--
+  Alas! it caused many to cry,--
+  At one fatal shot killed Warren on the spot,
+  And smilingly said, "I'm ready now to die."
+
+  The time was drawing nigh when Fuller had to die;
+  He bid the audience adieu.
+  Like an angel he did stand, for he was a handsome man,
+  On his breast he had a ribbon of blue.
+  Ten thousand spectators did smite him on the breast,
+  And the guards dropped a tear from the eye,
+  Saying, "Cursed be she who caused this misery,
+  Would to God in his stead she had to die."
+
+  The gentle god of Love looked with anger from above
+  And the rope flew asunder like the sand.
+  Two doctors for the pay they murdered him, they say,
+  They hung him by main strength of hand.
+  But the corpse it was buried and the doctors lost their prey,
+  Oh, that harlot was bribed, I do believe;
+  Bad women to a certainty are the downfall of men,
+  As Adam was beguiled by Eve.
+
+
+
+
+Fuller and Warren (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Ye sons of Co-lum-bia, your at-ten-tion I do crave,
+  While a sor-ri-ful sto-ry I do tell,
+  Which hap-pened of late in the In-di-an-a state,
+  And a he-ro ... not ma-ny could ex-cel.
+  Like Sam-son he court-ed, made choice of the fair,
+  And in-tend-ed ... to make her his wife;
+  But she, like De-li-la,... his heart did en-snare,
+  Which cost him his hon-or and his life.
+
+
+
+
+THE TRAIL TO MEXICO
+
+
+  I made up my mind to change my way
+  And quit my crowd that was so gay,
+  To leave my native home for a while
+  And to travel west for many a mile.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  'Twas all in the merry month of May
+  When I started for Texas far away,
+  I left my darling girl behind,--
+  She said her heart was only mine.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  Oh, it was when I embraced her in my arms
+  I thought she had ten thousand charms;
+  Her caresses were soft, her kisses were sweet,
+  Saying, "We will get married next time we meet."
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  It was in the year of eighty-three
+  That A.J. Stinson hired me.
+  He says, "Young fellow, I want you to go
+  And drive this herd to Mexico."
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  The first horse they gave me was an old black
+  With two big set-fasts on his back;
+  I padded him with gunny-sacks and my bedding all;
+  He went up, then down, and I got a fall.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  The next they gave me was an old gray,
+  I'll remember him till my dying day.
+  And if I had to swear to the fact,
+  I believe he was worse off than the black.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  Oh, it was early in the year
+  When I went on trail to drive the steer.
+  I stood my guard through sleet and snow
+  While on the trail to Mexico.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  Oh, it was a long and lonesome go
+  As our herd rolled on to Mexico;
+  With laughter light and the cowboy's song
+  To Mexico we rolled along.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  When I arrived in Mexico
+  I wanted to see my love but could not go;
+  So I wrote a letter, a letter to my dear,
+  But not a word from her could I hear.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  When I arrived at the once loved home
+  I called for the darling of my own;
+  They said she had married a richer life,
+  Therefore, wild cowboy, seek another wife.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  Oh, the girl she is married I do adore,
+  And I cannot stay at home any more;
+  I'll cut my way to a foreign land
+  Or I'll go back west to my cowboy band.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  I'll go back to the Western land,
+  I'll hunt up my old cowboy band,--
+  Where the girls are few and the boys are true
+  And a false-hearted love I never knew.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  "O Buddie, O Buddie, please stay at home,
+  Don't be forever on the roam.
+  There is many a girl more true than I,
+  So pray don't go where the bullets fly."
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  "It's curse your gold and your silver too,
+  God pity a girl that won't prove true;
+  I'll travel West where the bullets fly,
+  I'll stay on the trail till the day I die."
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+
+
+
+THE HORSE WRANGLER
+
+
+  I thought one spring just for fun
+  I'd see how cow-punching was done,
+  And when the round-ups had begun
+  I tackled the cattle-king.
+  Says he, "My foreman is in town,
+  He's at the plaza, and his name is Brown,
+  If you'll see him, he'll take you down."
+  Says I, "That's just the thing."
+
+  We started for the ranch next day;
+  Brown augured me most all the way.
+  He said that cow-punching was nothing but play,
+  That it was no work at all,--
+  That all you had to do was ride,
+  And only drifting with the tide;
+  The son of a gun, oh, how he lied.
+  Don't you think he had his gall?
+
+  He put me in charge of a cavyard,
+  And told me not to work too hard,
+  That all I had to do was guard
+  The horses from getting away;
+  I had one hundred and sixty head,
+  I sometimes wished that I was dead;
+  When one got away, Brown's head turned red,
+  And there was the devil to pay.
+
+  Sometimes one would make a break,
+  Across the prairie he would take,
+  As if running for a stake,--
+  It seemed to them but play;
+  Sometimes I could not head them at all,
+  Sometimes my horse would catch a fall
+  And I'd shoot on like a cannon ball
+  Till the earth came in my way.
+
+  They saddled me up an old gray hack
+  With two set-fasts on his back,
+  They padded him down with a gunny sack
+  And used my bedding all.
+  When I got on he quit the ground,
+  Went up in the air and turned around,
+  And I came down and busted the ground,--
+  I got one hell of a fall.
+
+  They took me up and carried me in
+  And rubbed me down with an old stake pin.
+  "That's the way they all begin;
+  You're doing well," says Brown.
+  "And in the morning, if you don't die,
+  I'll give you another horse to try."
+  "Oh say, can't I walk?" says I.
+  Says he, "Yes, back to town."
+
+  I've traveled up and I've traveled down,
+  I've traveled this country round and round,
+  I've lived in city and I've lived in town,
+  But I've got this much to say:
+  Before you try cow-punching, kiss your wife,
+  Take a heavy insurance on your life,
+  Then cut your throat with a barlow knife,--
+  For it's easier done that way.
+
+
+
+
+CALIFORNIA JOE
+
+
+  Well, mates, I don't like stories;
+  Or am I going to act
+  A part around the campfire
+  That ain't a truthful fact?
+  So fill your pipes and listen,
+  I'll tell you--let me see--
+  I think it was in fifty,
+  From that till sixty-three.
+
+  You've all heard tell of Bridger;
+  I used to run with Jim,
+  And many a hard day's scouting
+  I've done longside of him.
+  Well, once near old Fort Reno,
+  A trapper used to dwell;
+  We called him old Pap Reynolds,
+  The scouts all knew him well.
+
+  One night in the spring of fifty
+  We camped on Powder River,
+  And killed a calf of buffalo
+  And cooked a slice of liver.
+  While eating, quite contented,
+  I heard three shots or four;
+  Put out the fire and listened,--
+  We heard a dozen more.
+
+  We knew that old man Reynolds
+  Had moved his traps up here;
+  So picking up our rifles
+  And fixing on our gear
+  We moved as quick as lightning,
+  To save was our desire.
+  Too late, the painted heathens
+  Had set the house on fire.
+
+  We hitched our horses quickly
+  And waded up the stream;
+  While down close beside the waters
+  I heard a muffled scream.
+  And there among the bushes
+  A little girl did lie.
+  I picked her up and whispered,
+  "I'll save you or I'll die."
+
+  Lord, what a ride! Old Bridger
+  Had covered my retreat;
+  Sometimes that child would whisper
+  In voice low and sweet,
+  "Poor Papa, God will take him
+  To Mama up above;
+  There is no one left to love me,
+  There is no one left to love."
+
+  The little one was thirteen
+  And I was twenty-two;
+  I says, "I'll be your father
+  And love you just as true."
+  She nestled to my bosom,
+  Her hazel eyes so bright,
+  Looked up and made me happy,--
+  The close pursuit that night.
+
+  One month had passed and Maggie,
+  We called her Hazel Eye,
+  In truth was going to leave me,
+  Was going to say good-bye.
+  Her uncle, Mad Jack Reynolds,
+  Reported long since dead,
+  Had come to claim my angel,
+  His brother's child, he said.
+
+  What could I say? We parted,
+  Mad Jack was growing old;
+  I handed him a bank note
+  And all I had in gold.
+  They rode away at sunrise,
+  I went a mile or two,
+  And parting says, "We will meet again;
+  May God watch over you."
+
+  By a laughing, dancing brook
+  A little cabin stood,
+  And weary with a long day's scout,
+  I spied it in the wood.
+  The pretty valley stretched beyond,
+  The mountains towered above,
+  And near its willow banks I heard
+  The cooing of a dove.
+
+  'Twas one grand pleasure;
+  The brook was plainly seen,
+  Like a long thread of silver
+  In a cloth of lovely green;
+  The laughter of the water,
+  The cooing of the dove,
+  Was like some painted picture,
+  Some well-told tale of love.
+
+  While drinking in the country
+  And resting in the saddle,
+  I heard a gentle rippling
+  Like the dipping of a paddle,
+  And turning to the water,
+  A strange sight met my view,--
+  A lady with her rifle
+  In a little bark canoe.
+
+  She stood up in the center,
+  With her rifle to her eye;
+  I thought just for a second
+  My time had come to die.
+  I doffed my hat and told her,
+  If it was just the same,
+  To drop her little shooter,
+  For I was not her game.
+
+  She dropped the deadly weapon
+  And leaped from the canoe.
+  Says she, "I beg your pardon;
+  I thought you was a Sioux.
+  Your long hair and your buckskin
+  Looked warrior-like and rough;
+  My bead was spoiled by sunshine,
+  Or I'd have killed you sure enough."
+
+  "Perhaps it would've been better
+  If you'd dropped me then," says I;
+  "For surely such an angel
+  Would bear me to the sky."
+  She blushingly dropped her eyelids,
+  Her cheeks were crimson red;
+  One half-shy glance she gave me
+  And then hung down her head.
+
+  I took her little hand in mine;
+  She wondered what it meant,
+  And yet she drew it not away,
+  But rather seemed content.
+  We sat upon the mossy bank,
+  Her eyes began to fill;
+  The brook was rippling at our feet,
+  The dove was cooing still.
+
+  'Tis strong arms were thrown around her.
+  "I'll save you or I'll die."
+  I clasped her to my bosom,
+  My long lost Hazel Eye.
+  The rapture of that moment
+  Was almost heaven to me;
+  I kissed her 'mid the tear-drops,
+  Her merriment and glee.
+
+  Her heart near mine was beating
+  When sobbingly she said,
+  "My dear, my brave preserver,
+  They told me you were dead.
+  But oh, those parting words, Joe,
+  Have never left my mind,
+  You said, 'We'll meet again, Mag,'
+  Then rode off like the wind.
+
+  "And oh, how I have prayed, Joe,
+  For you who saved my life,
+  That God would send an angel
+  To guide you through all strife.
+  The one who claimed me from you,
+  My Uncle, good and true,
+  Is sick in yonder cabin;
+  Has talked so much of you.
+
+  "'If Joe were living darling,'
+  He said to me last night,
+  'He would care for you, Maggie,
+  When God puts out my light.'"
+  We found the old man sleeping.
+  "Hush, Maggie, let him rest."
+  The sun was slowly setting
+  In the far-off, glowing West.
+
+  And though we talked in whispers
+  He opened wide his eyes:
+  "A dream, a dream," he murmured;
+  "Alas, a dream of lies."
+  She drifted like a shadow
+  To where the old man lay.
+  "You had a dream, dear Uncle,
+  Another dream to-day?"
+
+  "Oh yes, I saw an angel
+  As pure as mountain snow,
+  And near her at my bedside
+  Stood California Joe."
+  "I'm sure I'm not an angel,
+  Dear Uncle, that you know;
+  These hands that hold your hand, too,
+  My face is not like snow.
+
+  "Now listen while I tell you,
+  For I have news to cheer;
+  Hazel Eye is happy,
+  For Joe is truly here."
+  It was but a few days after
+  The old man said to me,
+  "Joe, boy, she is an angel,
+  And good as angels be.
+
+  "For three long months she hunted,
+  And trapped and nursed me too;
+  God bless you, boy, I believe it,
+  She's safe along with you."
+  The sun was slowly sinking,
+  When Maggie, my wife, and I
+  Went riding through the valley,
+  The tear-drops in her eye.
+
+  "One year ago to-day, Joe,
+  I saw the mossy grave;
+  We laid him neath the daisies,
+  My Uncle, good and brave."
+  And comrade, every springtime
+  Is sure to find me there;
+  There is something in the valley
+  That is always fresh and fair.
+
+  Our love is always kindled
+  While sitting by the stream,
+  Where two hearts were united
+  In love's sweet happy dream.
+
+
+
+
+THE BOSTON BURGLAR
+
+
+  I was born in Boston City, a city you all know well,
+  Brought up by honest parents, the truth to you I'll tell,
+  Brought up by honest parents and raised most tenderly,
+  Till I became a roving man at the age of twenty-three.
+
+  My character was taken then, and I was sent to jail.
+  My friends they found it was in vain to get me out on bail.
+  The jury found me guilty, the clerk he wrote it down,
+  The judge he passed me sentence and I was sent to Charleston town.
+
+  You ought to have seen my aged father a-pleading at the bar,
+  Also my dear old mother a-tearing of her hair,
+  Tearing of her old gray locks as the tears came rolling down,
+  Saying, "Son, dear son, what have you done, that you are sent to
+      Charleston town?"
+
+  They put me aboard an eastbound train one cold December day,
+  And every station that we passed, I'd hear the people say,
+  "There goes a noted burglar, in strong chains he'll be bound,--
+  For the doing of some crime or other he is sent to Charleston town."
+
+  There is a girl in Boston, she is a girl that I love well,
+  And if I ever gain my liberty, along with her I'll dwell;
+  And when I regain my liberty, bad company I will shun,
+  Night-walking, gambling, and also drinking rum.
+
+  Now, you who have your liberty, pray keep it if you can,
+  And don't go around the streets at night to break the laws of man;
+  For if you do you'll surely rue and find yourself like me,
+  A-serving out my twenty-one years in the penitentiary.
+
+
+
+
+SAM BASS
+
+
+  Sam Bass was born in Indiana, it was his native home,
+  And at the age of seventeen young Sam began to roam.
+  Sam first came out to Texas a cowboy for to be,--
+  A kinder-hearted fellow you seldom ever see.
+
+  Sam used to deal in race stock, one called the Denton mare,
+  He matched her in scrub races, and took her to the Fair.
+  Sam used to coin the money and spent it just as free,
+  He always drank good whiskey wherever he might be.
+
+  Sam left the Collin's ranch in the merry month of May
+  With a herd of Texas cattle the Black Hills for to see,
+  Sold out in Custer City and then got on a spree,--
+  A harder set of cowboys you seldom ever see.
+
+  On their way back to Texas they robbed the U.P. train,
+  And then split up in couples and started out again.
+  Joe Collins and his partner were overtaken soon,
+  With all their hard-earned money they had to meet their doom.
+
+  Sam made it back to Texas all right side up with care;
+  Rode into the town of Denton with all his friends to share.
+  Sam's life was short in Texas; three robberies did he do,
+  He robbed all the passenger, mail, and express cars too.
+
+  Sam had four companions--four bold and daring lads--
+  They were Richardson, Jackson, Joe Collins, and Old Dad;
+  Four more bold and daring cowboys the rangers never knew,
+  They whipped the Texas rangers and ran the boys in blue.
+
+  Sam had another companion, called Arkansas for short,
+  Was shot by a Texas ranger by the name of Thomas Floyd;
+  Oh, Tom is a big six-footer and thinks he's mighty fly,
+  But I can tell you his racket,--he's a deadbeat on the sly.
+
+  Jim Murphy was arrested, and then released on bail;
+  He jumped his bond at Tyler and then took the train for
+     Terrell;
+  But Mayor Jones had posted Jim and that was all a stall,
+  'Twas only a plan to capture Sam before the coming fall.
+
+  Sam met his fate at Round Rock, July the twenty-first,
+  They pierced poor Sam with rifle balls and emptied out his purse.
+  Poor Sam he is a corpse and six foot under clay,
+  And Jackson's in the bushes trying to get away.
+
+  Jim had borrowed Sam's good gold and didn't want to pay,
+  The only shot he saw was to give poor Sam away.
+  He sold out Sam and Barnes and left their friends to mourn,--
+  Oh, what a scorching Jim will get when Gabriel blows his horn.
+
+  And so he sold out Sam and Barnes and left their friends to mourn,
+  Oh, what a scorching Jim will get when Gabriel blows his horn.
+  Perhaps he's got to heaven, there's none of us can say,
+  But if I'm right in my surmise he's gone the other way.
+
+
+
+Sam Bass (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Sam Bass was born in In-di-an-a, It
+  was his na-tive home;   And at the age of
+  sev-en-teen, Young Sam be-gan to roam. Sam
+  first came out to Tex-as,   A cow-boy for to be; A
+  kind-er-heart-ed fel-low You sel-dom ev-er see.
+
+
+
+
+THE ZEBRA DUN
+
+
+  We were camped on the plains at the head of the Cimarron
+  When along came a stranger and stopped to arger some.
+  He looked so very foolish that we began to look around,
+  We thought he was a greenhorn that had just 'scaped from town.
+
+  We asked if he had been to breakfast; he hadn't had a smear,
+  So we opened up the chuck-box and bade him have his share.
+  He took a cup of coffee and some biscuits and some beans,
+  And then began to talk and tell about foreign kings and queens,--
+
+  About the Spanish war and fighting on the seas
+  With guns as big as steers and ramrods big as trees,--
+  And about old Paul Jones, a mean, fighting son of a gun,
+  Who was the grittiest cuss that ever pulled a gun.
+
+  Such an educated feller his thoughts just came in herds,
+  He astonished all them cowboys with them jaw-breaking words.
+  He just kept on talking till he made the boys all sick,
+  And they began to look around just how to play a trick.
+
+  He said he had lost his job upon the Santa Fé
+  And was going across the plains to strike the 7-D.
+  He didn't say how come it, some trouble with the boss,
+  But said he'd like to borrow a nice fat saddle hoss.
+
+  This tickled all the boys to death, they laughed way down in their
+      sleeves,--
+  "We will lend you a horse just as fresh and fat as you please."
+  Shorty grabbed a lariat and roped the Zebra Dun
+  And turned him over to the stranger and waited for the fun.
+
+  Old Dunny was a rocky outlaw that had grown so awful wild
+  That he could paw the white out of the moon every jump for a mile.
+  Old Dunny stood right still,--as if he didn't know,--
+  Until he was saddled and ready for to go.
+
+  When the stranger hit the saddle, old Dunny quit the earth
+  And traveled right straight up for all that he was worth.
+  A-pitching and a-squealing, a-having wall-eyed fits,
+  His hind feet perpendicular, his front ones in the bits.
+
+  We could see the tops of the mountains under Dunny every jump,
+  But the stranger he was growed there just like the camel's hump;
+  The stranger sat upon him and curled his black mustache
+  Just like a summer boarder waiting for his hash.
+
+  He thumped him in the shoulders and spurred him when he whirled,
+  To show them flunky punchers that he was the wolf of the world.
+  When the stranger had dismounted once more upon the ground,
+  We knew he was a thoroughbred and not a gent from town;
+
+  The boss who was standing round watching of the show,
+  Walked right up to the stranger and told him he needn't go,--
+  "If you can use the lasso like you rode old Zebra Dun,
+  You are the man I've been looking for ever since the year one."
+
+  Oh, he could twirl the lariat and he didn't do it slow,
+  He could catch them fore feet nine out of ten for any kind of dough.
+  And when the herd stampeded he was always on the spot
+  And set them to nothing, like the boiling of a pot.
+
+  There's one thing and a shore thing I've learned since I've been born,
+  That every educated feller ain't a plumb greenhorn.
+
+
+
+
+THE BUFFALO SKINNERS
+
+
+  Come all you jolly fellows and listen to my song,
+  There are not many verses, it will not detain you long;
+  It's concerning some young fellows who did agree to go
+  And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo.
+
+  It happened in Jacksboro in the spring of seventy-three,
+  A man by the name of Crego came stepping up to me,
+  Saying, "How do you do, young fellow, and how would you like to go
+  And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo?"
+
+  "It's me being out of employment," this to Crego I did say,
+  "This going out on the buffalo range depends upon the pay.
+  But if you will pay good wages and transportation too,
+  I think, sir, I will go with you to the range of the buffalo."
+
+  "Yes, I will pay good wages, give transportation too,
+  Provided you will go with me and stay the summer through;
+  But if you should grow homesick, come back to Jacksboro,
+  I won't pay transportation from the range of the buffalo."
+
+  It's now our outfit was complete--seven able-bodied men,
+  With navy six and needle gun--our troubles did begin;
+  Our way it was a pleasant one, the route we had to go,
+  Until we crossed Pease River on the range of the buffalo.
+
+  It's now we've crossed Pease River, our troubles have begun.
+  The first damned tail I went to rip, Christ! how I cut my thumb!
+  While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives wasn't a show,
+  For the Indians watched to pick us off while skinning the buffalo.
+
+  He fed us on such sorry chuck I wished myself most dead,
+  It was old jerked beef, croton coffee, and sour bread.
+  Pease River's as salty as hell fire, the water I could
+      never go,--
+  O God! I wished I had never come to the range of the buffalo.
+
+  Our meat it was buffalo hump and iron wedge bread,
+  And all we had to sleep on was a buffalo robe for a bed;
+  The fleas and gray-backs worked on us, O boys, it was not slow,
+  I'll tell you there's no worse hell on earth than the range of the
+      buffalo.
+
+  Our hearts were cased with buffalo hocks, our souls were cased with
+      steel,
+  And the hardships of that summer would nearly make us reel.
+  While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives they had no show,
+  For the Indians waited to pick us off on the hills of Mexico.
+
+  The season being near over, old Crego he did say
+  The crowd had been extravagant, was in debt to him that day,--
+  We coaxed him and we begged him and still it was no go,--
+  We left old Crego's bones to bleach on the range of the buffalo.
+
+  Oh, it's now we've crossed Pease River and homeward we are
+      bound,
+  No more in that hell-fired country shall ever we be found.
+  Go home to our wives and sweethearts, tell others not to go,
+  For God's forsaken the buffalo range and the damned old buffalo.
+
+
+
+Range of the Buffalo (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  'Twas in the town of Jacksbo-ro, In eigh-teen eigh-ty-
+  three, When a man by the name of Cre-go... Came
+  step-ping up to me; Say-ing, "How do you do, young
+  fel-low, And how would you like to go... And
+  spend one summer sea-son On the range of the Buf-fa-lo?"
+
+
+
+
+MACAFFIE'S CONFESSION
+
+
+  Now come young men and list to me,
+  A sad and mournful history;
+  And may you ne'er forgetful be
+  Of what I tell this day to thee.
+
+  Oh, I was thoughtless, young, and gay
+  And often broke the Sabbath day,
+  In wickedness I took delight
+  And sometimes done what wasn't right.
+
+  I'd scarcely passed my fifteenth year,
+  My mother and my father dear
+  Were silent in their deep, dark grave,
+  Their spirits gone to Him who gave.
+
+  'Twas on a pleasant summer day
+  When from my home I ran away
+  And took unto myself a wife,
+  Which step was fatal to my life.
+
+  Oh, she was kind and good to me
+  As ever woman ought to be,
+  And might this day have been alive no doubt,
+  Had I not met Miss Hatty Stout.
+
+  Ah, well I mind the fatal day
+  When Hatty stole my heart away;
+  'Twas love for her controlled my will
+  And did cause me my wife to kill.
+
+  'Twas on a brilliant summer's night
+  When all was still; the stars shone bright.
+  My wife lay still upon the bed
+  And I approached to her and said:
+
+  "Dear wife, here's medicine I've brought,
+  For you this day, my love, I've bought.
+  I know it will be good for you
+  For those vile fits,--pray take it, do."
+
+  She cast on me a loving look
+  And in her mouth the poison took;
+  Down by her infant on the bed
+  In her last, long sleep she laid her head.
+
+  Oh, who could tell a mother's thought
+  When first to her the news was brought;
+  The sheriff said her son was sought
+  And into prison must be brought.
+
+  Only a mother standing by
+  To hear them tell the reason why
+  Her son in prison, he must lie
+  Till on the scaffold he must die.
+
+  My father, sixty years of age,
+  The best of counsel did engage,
+  To see if something could be done
+  To save his disobedient son.
+
+  So, farewell, mother, do not weep,
+  Though soon with demons I will sleep,
+  My soul now feels its mental hell
+  And soon with demons I will dwell.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  The sheriff cut the slender cord,
+  His soul went up to meet its Lord;
+  The doctor said, "The wretch is dead,
+  His spirit from his body's fled."
+
+  His weeping mother cried aloud,
+  "O God, do save this gazing crowd,
+  That none may ever have to pay
+  For gambling on the Sabbath day."
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE JOE, THE WRANGLER
+
+
+  It's little Joe, the wrangler, he'll wrangle never more,
+  His days with the _remuda_ they are o'er;
+  'Twas a year ago last April when he rode into our camp,--
+  Just a little Texas stray and all alone,--
+  On a little Texas pony he called "Chaw."
+  With his brogan shoes and overalls, a tougher kid
+  You never in your life before had saw.
+
+  His saddle was a Texas "kak," built many years ago,
+  With an O.K. spur on one foot lightly swung;
+  His "hot roll" in a cotton sack so loosely tied behind,
+  And his canteen from his saddle-horn was swung.
+  He said that he had to leave his home, his pa had married twice;
+  And his new ma whipped him every day or two;
+  So he saddled up old Chaw one night and lit a shuck this way,
+  And he's now trying to paddle his own canoe.
+
+  He said if we would give him work, he'd do the best he could,
+  Though he didn't know straight up about a cow;
+  So the boss he cut him out a mount and kindly put him on,
+  For he sorta liked this little kid somehow.
+  Learned him to wrangle horses and to try to know them all,
+  And get them in at daylight if he could;
+  To follow the chuck-wagon and always hitch the team,
+  And to help the _cocinero_ rustle wood.
+
+  We had driven to the Pecos, the weather being fine;
+  We had camped on the south side in a bend;
+  When a norther commenced blowin', we had doubled up our guard,
+  For it taken all of us to hold them in.
+  Little Joe, the wrangler, was called out with the rest;
+  Though the kid had scarcely reached the herd,
+  When the cattle they stampeded, like a hailstorm long they fled,
+  Then we were all a-ridin' for the lead.
+
+  'Midst the streaks of lightin' a horse we could see in the lead,
+  'Twas Little Joe, the wrangler, in the lead;
+  He was riding Old Blue Rocket with a slicker o'er his head,
+  A tryin' to check the cattle in their speed.
+  At last we got them milling and kinda quieted down,
+  And the extra guard back to the wagon went;
+  But there was one a-missin' and we knew it at a glance,
+  'Twas our little Texas stray, poor Wrangling Joe.
+
+  The next morning just at day break, we found where Rocket fell,
+  Down in a washout twenty feet below;
+  And beneath the horse, mashed to a pulp,--his spur had rung the knell,--
+  Was our little Texas stray, poor Wrangling Joe.
+
+
+
+Little Joe, The Wrangler (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Lit-tle Joe, the wran-gler, He'll wran-gle nev-er-more,
+                              rode up to our herd
+  His days with the re--mu--da they are o'er;
+  On a lit-tle Tex-as Po-ny he call'd Chaw;
+  'Twas a year a-go last A-pril he rode in-to our herd;
+  With his bro-gan shoes and o-veralls, a tough-er look-in' kid
+  Just a lit-tle Tex-as stray, and all a-lone.
+  You nev-er in your life be-fore had saw.
+  It was late in the eve-ning he
+
+
+
+
+HARRY BALE
+
+
+  Come all kind friends and kindred dear and Christians young and old,
+  A story I'll relate to you, 'twill make your blood run cold;
+  'Tis all about an unfortunate boy who lived not far from here,
+  In the township of Arcade in the County of Lapeer.
+  It seems his occupation was a sawyer in a mill,
+  He followed it successfully two years, one month, until,
+  Until this fatal accident that caused many to weep and wail;
+  'Twas where this young man lost his life,--his name was Harry Bale.
+
+  On the 29th of April in the year of seventy-nine,
+  He went to work as usual, no fear did he design;
+  In lowering of the feed bar throwing the carriage into gear
+  It brought him down upon the saw and cut him quite severe;
+  It cut him through the collar-bone and half way down the back,
+  It threw him down upon the saw, the carriage coming back.
+  He started for the shanty, his strength was failing fast;
+  He said, "Oh, boys, I'm wounded: I fear it is my last."
+
+  His brothers they were sent for, likewise his sisters too,
+  The doctors came and dressed his wound, but kind words proved untrue.
+  Poor Harry had no father to weep beside his bed,
+  No kind and loving mother to sooth his aching head.
+  He was just as gallant a young man as ever you wished to know,
+  But he withered like a flower, it was his time to go.
+
+  They placed him in his coffin and laid him in his grave;
+  His brothers and sisters mourned the loss of a brother so true and brave.
+  They took him to the graveyard and laid him away to rest,
+  His body lies mouldering, his soul is among the blest.
+
+
+
+
+FOREMAN MONROE
+
+
+  Come all you brave young shanty boys, and list while I relate
+  Concerning a young shanty boy and his untimely fate;
+  Concerning a young river man, so manly, true and brave;
+  'Twas on a jam at Gerry's Rock he met his watery grave;
+
+  'Twas on a Sunday morning as you will quickly hear,
+  Our logs were piled up mountain high, we could not keep them clear.
+  Our foreman said, "Come on, brave boys, with hearts devoid of fear,
+  We'll break the jam on Gerry's Rock and for Agonstown we'll steer."
+
+  Now, some of them were willing, while others they were not,
+  All for to work on Sunday they did not think they ought;
+  But six of our brave shanty boys had volunteered to go
+  And break the jam on Gerry's Rock with their foreman, young Monroe.
+
+  They had not rolled off many logs 'till they heard his clear
+      voice say,
+  "I'd have you boys be on your guard, for the jam will soon give way."
+  These words he'd scarcely spoken when the jam did break and go,
+  Taking with it six of those brave boys and their foreman, young Monroe.
+
+  Now when those other shanty boys this sad news came to hear,
+  In search of their dead comrades to the river they did steer;
+  Six of their mangled bodies a-floating down did go,
+  While crushed and bleeding near the banks lay the foreman, young Monroe.
+
+  They took him from his watery grave, brushed back his raven hair;
+  There was a fair form among them whose cries did rend the air;
+  There was a fair form among them, a girl from Saginaw town.
+  Whose cries rose to the skies for her lover who'd gone down.
+
+  Fair Clara was a noble girl, the river-man's true friend;
+  She and her widowed mother lived at the river's bend;
+  And the wages of her own true love the boss to her did pay,
+  But the shanty boys for her made up a generous sum next day.
+
+  They buried him quite decently; 'twas on the first of May;
+  Come all you brave young shanty boys and for your comrade pray.
+  Engraved upon the hemlock tree that by the grave does grow
+  Is the aged date and the sad fate of the foreman, young Monroe.
+
+  Fair Clara did not long survive, her heart broke with her grief;
+  And less than three months afterwards Death came to her relief;
+  And when the time had come and she was called to go,
+  Her last request was granted, to be laid by young Monroe.
+
+  Come all you brave young shanty boys, I'd have you call and see
+  Two green graves by the river side where grows a hemlock tree;
+  The shanty boys cut off the wood where lay those lovers low,--
+  'Tis the handsome Clara Vernon and her true love, Jack Monroe.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREARY BLACK HILLS
+
+
+  Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale,
+  I am an object of pity, I am looking quite stale,
+  I gave up my trade selling Right's Patent Pills
+  To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills.
+
+    Don't go away, stay at home if you can,
+    Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,
+    For big Walipe or Comanche Bills
+    They will lift up your hair on the dreary Black Hills.
+
+  The round-house in Cheyenne is filled every night
+  With loafers and bummers of most every plight;
+  On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills,
+  Each day they keep starting for the dreary Black Hills.
+
+  I got to Cheyenne, no gold could I find,
+  I thought of the lunch route I'd left far behind;
+  Through rain, hail, and snow, frozen plumb to the gills,--
+  They call me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills.
+
+  Kind friend, to conclude, my advice I'll unfold,
+  Don't go to the Black Hills a-hunting for gold;
+  Railroad speculators their pockets you'll fill
+  By taking a trip to those dreary Black Hills.
+
+  Don't go away, stay at home if you can,
+  Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,
+  For old Sitting Bull or Comanche Bills
+  They will take off your scalp on the dreary Black Hills.
+
+
+
+The Dreary Black Hills (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Kind friends, you must pit-y my hor-ri-ble tale,
+  I'm an ob-ject of pit-y, I'm look-ing quite stale;
+  I gave up my trade, Selling Right's Pat-ent Pills,
+  To go hunt-ing gold In the drear-y Black Hills.
+
+  REFRAIN
+
+  Don't go a-way, stay at home if you can;
+  Stay a-way from that cit-y they call it Chey-enne;
+  For big Wal-i-pee or Co-man-che Bills,
+  They will lift up your hair On the drear-y Black Hills.
+
+
+
+
+A MORMON SONG
+
+
+  I used to live on Cottonwood and owned a little farm,
+  I was called upon a mission that gave me much alarm;
+  The reason that they called me, I'm sure I do not know.
+  But to hoe the cane and cotton, straightway I must go.
+
+  I yoked up Jim and Baldy, all ready for the start;
+  To leave my farm and garden, it almost broke my heart;
+  But at last we got started, I cast a look behind,
+  For the sand and rocks of Dixie were running through my mind.
+
+  Now, when we got to Black Ridge, my wagon it broke down,
+  And I, being no carpenter and forty miles from town,--
+  I cut a clumsy cedar and rigged an awkward slide,
+  But the wagon ran so heavy poor Betsy couldn't ride.
+
+  While Betsy was out walking I told her to take care,
+  When all of a sudden she struck a prickly pear,
+  Then she began to hollow as loud as she could bawl,--
+  If I were back in Cottonwood, I wouldn't go at all.
+
+  Now, when we got to Sand Ridge, we couldn't go at all,
+  Old Jim and old Baldy began to puff and loll,
+  I cussed and swore a little, for I couldn't make the route,
+  For the team and I and Betsy were all of us played out.
+
+  At length we got to Washington; I thought we'd stay a while
+  To see if the flowers would make their virgin smile,
+  But I was much mistaken, for when we went away
+  The red hills of September were just the same in May.
+
+  It is so very dreary, there's nothing here to cheer,
+  But old pathetic sermons we very often hear;
+  They preach them by the dozens and prove them by the book,
+  But I'd sooner have a roasting-ear and stay at home and cook.
+
+  I am so awful weary I'm sure I'm almost dead;
+  'Tis six long weeks last Sunday since I have tasted bread;
+  Of turnip-tops and lucerne greens I've had enough to eat,
+  But I'd like to change my diet to buckwheat cakes and meat.
+
+  I had to sell my wagon for sorghum seed and bread;
+  Old Jim and old Baldy have long since been dead.
+  There's no one left but me and Bet to hoe the cotton tree,--
+  God pity any Mormon that attempts to follow me!
+
+
+
+
+THE BUFFALO HUNTERS
+
+
+  Come all you pretty girls, to you these lines I'll write,
+  We are going to the range in which we take delight;
+  We are going on the range as we poor hunters do,
+  And the tender-footed fellows can stay at home with you.
+
+  It's all of the day long as we go tramping round
+  In search of the buffalo that we may shoot him down;
+  Our guns upon our shoulders, our belts of forty rounds,
+  We send them up Salt River to some happy hunting grounds.
+
+  Our game, it is the antelope, the buffalo, wolf, and deer,
+  Who roam the wide prairies without a single fear;
+  We rob him of his robe and think it is no harm,
+  To buy us food and clothing to keep our bodies warm.
+
+  The buffalo, he is the noblest of the band,
+  He sometimes rejects in throwing up his hand.
+  His shaggy main thrown forward, his head raised to the sky,
+  He seems to say, "We're coming, boys; so hunter, mind your eye."
+
+  Our fires are made of mesquite roots, our beds are on the ground;
+  Our houses made of buffalo hides, we make them tall and round;
+  Our furniture is the camp kettle, the coffee pot, and pan,
+  Our chuck it is both bread and meat, mingled well with sand.
+
+  Our neighbors are the Cheyennes, the 'Rapahoes, and Sioux,
+  Their mode of navigation is a buffalo-hide canoe.
+  And when they come upon you they take you unaware,
+  And such a peculiar way they have of raising hunter's hair.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY
+
+
+  I am looking rather seedy now while holding down my claim,
+  And my victuals are not always served the best;
+  And the mice play shyly round me as I nestle down to rest
+  In my little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+    The hinges are of leather and the windows have no glass,
+    While the board roof lets the howling blizzards in,
+    And I hear the hungry cayote as he slinks up through the grass
+    Round the little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+  Yet, I rather like the novelty of living in this way,
+  Though my bill of fare is always rather tame,
+  But I'm happy as a clam on the land of Uncle Sam
+  In the little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+  But when I left my Eastern home, a bachelor so gay,
+  To try and win my way to wealth and fame,
+  I little thought I'd come down to burning twisted hay
+  In the little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+  My clothes are plastered o'er with dough, I'm looking like a
+     fright,
+  And everything is scattered round the room,
+  But I wouldn't give the freedom that I have out in the West
+  For the table of the Eastern man's old home.
+
+  Still, I wish that some kind-hearted girl would pity on me take
+  And relieve me from the mess that I am in;
+  The angel, how I'd bless her if this her home she'd make
+  In the little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+  And we would make our fortunes on the prairies of the West,
+  Just as happy as two lovers we'd remain;
+  We'd forget the trials and troubles we endured at the first
+  In the little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+  And if fate should bless us with now and then an heir
+  To cheer our hearts with honest pride of fame,
+  Oh, then we'd be contented for the toil that we had spent
+  In the little old sod shanty on our claim.
+
+  When time enough had lapsed and all those little brats
+  To noble man and womanhood had grown,
+  It wouldn't seem half so lonely as round us we should look
+  And we'd see the old sod shanty on our claim.
+
+
+
+
+THE GOL-DARNED WHEEL
+
+
+  I can take the wildest bronco in the tough old woolly West.
+  I can ride him, I can break him, let him do his level best;
+  I can handle any cattle ever wore a coat of hair,
+  And I've had a lively tussle with a tarnel grizzly bear.
+  I can rope and throw the longhorn of the wildest Texas brand,
+  And in Indian disagreements I can play a leading hand,
+  But at last I got my master and he surely made me squeal
+  When the boys got me a-straddle of that gol-darned wheel.
+
+  It was at the Eagle Ranch, on the Brazos,
+  When I first found that darned contrivance that upset me in the dust.
+  A tenderfoot had brought it, he was wheeling all the way
+  From the sun-rise end of freedom out to San Francisco Bay.
+  He tied up at the ranch for to get outside a meal,
+  Never thinking we would monkey with his gol-darned wheel.
+
+  Arizona Jim begun it when he said to Jack McGill
+  There was fellows forced to limit bragging on their riding skill,
+  And he'd venture the admission the same fellow that he meant
+  Was a very handy cutter far as riding bronchos went;
+  But he would find that he was bucking 'gainst a different kind of deal
+  If he threw his leather leggins 'gainst a gol-darned wheel.
+
+  Such a slam against my talent made me hotter than a mink,
+  And I swore that I would ride him for amusement or for chink.
+  And it was nothing but a plaything for the kids and such about,
+  And they'd have their ideas shattered if they'd lead the critter out.
+  They held it while I mounted and gave the word to go;
+  The shove they gave to start me warn't unreasonably slow.
+  But I never spilled a cuss word and I never spilled a squeal--
+  I was building reputation on that gol-darned wheel.
+
+  Holy Moses and the Prophets, how we split the Texas air,
+  And the wind it made whip-crackers of my same old canthy hair,
+  And I sorta comprehended as down the hill we went
+  There was bound to be a smash-up that I couldn't well prevent.
+  Oh, how them punchers bawled, "Stay with her, Uncle Bill!
+  Stick your spurs in her, you sucker! turn her muzzle up the hill!"
+  But I never made an answer, I just let the cusses squeal,
+  I was finding reputation on that gol-darned wheel.
+
+  The grade was mighty sloping from the ranch down to the creek
+  And I went a-galliflutin' like a crazy lightning streak,--
+  Went whizzing and a-darting first this way and then that,
+  The darned contrivance sort o' wobbling like the flying of a bat.
+  I pulled upon the handles, but I couldn't check it up,
+  And I yanked and sawed and hollowed but the darned thing wouldn't stop.
+  Then a sort of a meachin' in my brain began to steal,
+  That the devil held a mortgage on that gol-darned wheel.
+
+  I've a sort of dim and hazy remembrance of the stop,
+  With the world a-goin' round and the stars all tangled up;
+  Then there came an intermission that lasted till I found
+  I was lying at the ranch with the boys all gathered round,
+  And a doctor was a-sewing on the skin where it was ripped,
+  And old Arizona whispered, "Well, old boy, I guess you're whipped,"
+  And I told him I was busted from sombrero down to heel,
+  And he grinned and said, "You ought to see that gol-darned wheel."
+
+
+
+
+BONNIE BLACK BESS
+
+
+  When fortune's blind goddess
+  Had fled my abode,
+  And friends proved unfaithful,
+  I took to the road;
+  To plunder the wealthy
+  And relieve my distress,
+  I bought you to aid me,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  No vile whip nor spur
+  Did your sides ever gall,
+  For none did you need,
+  You would bound at my call;
+  And for each act of kindness
+  You would me caress,
+  Thou art never unfaithful,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  When dark, sable midnight
+  Her mantle had thrown
+  O'er the bright face of nature,
+  How oft we have gone
+  To the famed Houndslow heath,
+  Though an unwelcome guest
+  To the minions of fortune,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  How silent you stood
+  When the carriage I stopped,
+  The gold and the jewels
+  Its inmates would drop.
+  No poor man I plundered
+  Nor e'er did oppress
+  The widows or orphans,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  When Argus-eyed justice
+  Did me hot pursue,
+  From Yorktown to London
+  Like lightning we flew.
+  No toll bars could stop you,
+  The waters did breast,
+  And in twelve hours we made it,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  But hate darkens o'er me,
+  Despair is my lot,
+  And the law does pursue me
+  For the many I've shot;
+  To save me, poor brute,
+  Thou hast done thy best,
+  Thou art worn out and weary,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  Hark! they never shall have
+  A beast like thee;
+  So noble and gentle
+  And brave, thou must die,
+  My dumb friend,
+  Though it does me distress,--
+  There! There! I have shot thee,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  In after years
+  When I am dead and gone,
+  This story will be handed
+  From father to son;
+  My fate some will pity,
+  And some will confess
+  'Twas through kindness I killed thee,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  No one can e'er say
+  That ingratitude dwelt
+  In the bosom of Turpin,--
+  'Twas a vice never felt.
+  I will die like a man
+  And soon be at rest;
+  Now, farewell forever,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+
+
+
+THE LAST LONGHORN
+
+
+  An ancient long-horned bovine
+  Lay dying by the river;
+  There was lack of vegetation
+  And the cold winds made him shiver;
+  A cowboy sat beside him
+  With sadness in his face.
+  To see his final passing,--
+  This last of a noble race.
+
+  The ancient eunuch struggled
+  And raised his shaking head,
+  Saying, "I care not to linger
+  When all my friends are dead.
+  These Jerseys and these Holsteins,
+  They are no friends of mine;
+  They belong to the nobility
+  Who live across the brine.
+
+  "Tell the Durhams and the Herefords
+  When they come a-grazing round,
+  And see me lying stark and stiff
+  Upon the frozen ground,
+  I don't want them to bellow
+  When they see that I am dead,
+  For I was born in Texas
+  Near the river that is Red.
+
+  "Tell the cayotes, when they come at night
+  A-hunting for their prey,
+  They might as well go further,
+  For they'll find it will not pay.
+  If they attempt to eat me,
+  They very soon will see
+  That my bones and hide are petrified,--
+  They'll find no beef on me.
+
+  "I remember back in the seventies,
+  Full many summers past,
+  There was grass and water plenty,
+  But it was too good to last.
+  I little dreamed what would happen
+  Some twenty summers hence,
+  When the nester came with his wife, his kids,
+  His dogs, and his barbed-wire fence."
+
+  His voice sank to a murmur,
+  His breath was short and quick;
+  The cowboy tried to skin him
+  When he saw he couldn't kick;
+  He rubbed his knife upon his boot
+  Until he made it shine,
+  But he never skinned old longhorn,
+  Caze he couldn't cut his rine.
+
+  And the cowboy riz up sadly
+  And mounted his cayuse,
+  Saying, "The time has come when longhorns
+  And their cowboys are no use!"
+  And while gazing sadly backward
+  Upon the dead bovine,
+  His bronc stepped in a dog-hole
+  And fell and broke his spine.
+
+  The cowboys and the longhorns
+  Who partnered in eighty-four
+  Have gone to their last round-up
+  Over on the other shore;
+  They answered well their purpose,
+  But their glory must fade and go,
+  Because men say there's better things
+  In the modern cattle show.
+
+
+
+
+A PRISONER FOR LIFE
+
+
+  Fare you well, green fields,
+  Soft meadows, adieu!
+  Rocks and mountains,
+  I depart from you;
+  Nevermore shall my eyes
+  By your beauties be blest,
+  Nevermore shall you soothe
+  My sad bosom to rest.
+
+  Farewell, little birdies,
+  That fly in the sky,
+  You fly all day long
+  And sing your troubles by;
+  I am doomed to this cell,
+  I heave a deep sigh;
+  My heart sinks within me,
+  In anguish I die.
+
+  Fare you well, little fishes,
+  That glides through the sea,
+  Your life's all sunshine,
+  All light, and all glee;
+  Nevermore shall I watch
+  Your skill in the wave,
+  I'll depart from all friends
+  This side of the grave.
+
+  What would I give
+  Such freedom to share,
+  To roam at my ease
+  And breathe the fresh air;
+  I would roam through the cities,
+  Through village and dell,
+  But I never would return
+  To my cold prison cell.
+
+  What's life without liberty?
+  I ofttimes have said,
+  Of a poor troubled mind
+  That's always in dread;
+  No sun, moon, and stars
+  Can on me now shine,
+  No change in my danger
+  From daylight till dawn.
+
+  Fare you well, kind friends,
+  I am willing to own,
+  Such a wild outcast
+  Never was known;
+  I'm the downfall of my family,
+  My children, my wife;
+  God pity and pardon
+  The poor prisoner for life.
+
+
+
+A Prisoner For Life (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Fare you well green fields,... Soft mead-ows, a-dieu!
+  Rocks and moun-tains I de-part ... from you,
+  Nev-er-more shall my eyes by your beau-ties be fed,
+  Nev-er more shall you soothe my poor bo-som to rest.
+
+
+
+
+THE WARS OF GERMANY
+
+
+  There was a wealthy merchant,
+  In London he did dwell,
+  He had an only daughter,
+  The truth to you I'll tell.
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  She was courted by a lord
+  Of very high degree,
+  She was courted by a sailor Jack
+  Just from the wars of Germany.
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  Her parents came to know this,
+  That such a thing could be,
+  A sailor Jack, a sailor lad,
+  Just from the wars of Germany.
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  So Polly she's at home
+  With money at command,
+  She taken a notion
+  To view some foreign land.
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  She went to the tailor's shop
+  And dressed herself in man's array,
+  And was off to an officer
+  To carry her straight away.
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  "Good morning," says the officer,
+  And "Morning," says she,
+  "Here's fifty guineas if you'll carry me
+  To the wars of Germany."
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  "Your waist is too slender,
+  Your fingers are too small,
+  I am afraid from your countenance
+  You can't face a cannon ball."
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  "My waist is not too slender,
+  My fingers are not too small,
+  And never would I quiver
+  To face a cannon ball."
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  "We don't often 'list an officer
+  Unless the name we know;"
+  She answered him in a low, sweet voice,
+  "You may call me Jack Munro."
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  We gathered up our men
+  And quickly we did sail,
+  We landed in France
+  With a sweet and pleasant gale.
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  We were walking on the land,
+  Up and down the line,--
+  Among the dead and wounded
+  Her own true love she did find.
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  She picked him up all in her arms,
+  To Tousen town she went;
+  She soon found a doctor
+  To dress and heal his wounds,
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  So Jacky, he is married,
+  And his bride by his side,
+  In spite of her old parents
+  And all the world beside.
+       Sing no longer left alone,
+       Sing no longer left alone.
+
+
+
+
+FREIGHTING FROM WILCOX TO GLOBE
+
+
+  Come all you jolly freighters
+  That has freighted on the road,
+  That has hauled a load of freight
+  From Wilcox to Globe;
+  We freighted on this road
+  For sixteen years or more
+  A-hauling freight for Livermore,--
+  No wonder that I'm poor.
+
+      And it's home, dearest home;
+      And it's home you ought to be,
+      Over on the Gila
+      In the white man's country,
+      Where the poplar and the ash
+      And mesquite will ever be
+      Growing green down on the Gila;
+      There's a home for you and me.
+
+  'Twas in the spring of seventy-three
+  I started with my team,
+  Led by false illusion
+  And those foolish, golden dreams;
+  The first night out from Wilcox
+  My best wheel horse was stole,
+  And it makes me curse a little
+  To come out in the hole.
+
+  This then only left me three,--
+  Kit, Mollie and old Mike;
+  Mike being the best one of the three
+  I put him out on spike;
+  I then took the mountain road
+  So the people would not smile,
+  And it took fourteen days
+  To travel thirteen mile.
+
+  But I got there all the same
+  With my little three-up spike;
+  It taken all my money, then,
+  To buy a mate for Mike.
+  You all know how it is
+  When once you get behind,
+  You never get even again
+  Till you damn steal them blind.
+
+  I was an honest man
+  When I first took to the road,
+  I would not swear an oath,
+  Nor would I tap a load;
+  But now you ought to see my mules
+  When I begin to cuss,
+  They flop their ears and wiggle their tails
+  And pull the load or bust.
+
+  Now I can tap a whiskey barrel
+  With nothing but a stick,
+  No one can detect me
+  I've got it down so slick;
+  Just fill it up with water,--
+  Sure, there's no harm in that.
+
+  Now my clothes are not the finest,
+  Nor are they genteel;
+  But they will have to do me
+  Till I can make another steal.
+  My boots are number elevens,
+  For I swiped them from a chow,
+  And my coat cost dos reals
+  From a little Apache squaw.
+
+  Now I have freighted in the sand,
+  I have freighted in the rain,
+  I have bogged my wagons down
+  And dug them out again;
+  I have worked both late and early
+  Till I was almost dead,
+  And I have spent some nights sleeping
+  In an Arizona bed.
+
+  Now barbed wire and bacon
+  Is all that they will pay,
+  But you have to show your copper checks
+  To get your grain and hay;
+  If you ask them for five dollars,
+  Old Meyers will scratch his pate,
+  And the clerks in their white, stiff collars
+  Say, "Get down and pull your freight."
+
+  But I want to die and go to hell,
+  Get there before Livermore and Meyers,
+  And get a job of hauling coke
+  To keep up the devil's fires;
+  If I get the job of singeing them,
+  I'll see they don't get free;
+  I'll treat them like a yaller dog,
+  As they have treated me.
+
+      And it's home, dearest home;
+      And it's home you ought to be,
+      Over on the Gila,
+      In the white man's country,
+      Where the poplar and the ash
+      And mesquite will ever be
+      Growing green down on the Gila;
+      There's a home for you and me.
+
+
+
+
+THE ARIZONA BOYS AND GIRLS
+
+
+  Come all of you people, I pray you draw near,
+  A comical ditty you all shall hear.
+  The boys in this country they try to advance
+  By courting the ladies and learning to dance,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  The boys in this country they try to be plain,
+  Those words that you hear you may hear them again,
+  With twice as much added on if you can.
+  There's many a boy stuck up for a man,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  They will go to their parties, their whiskey they'll
+  take,
+  And out in the dark their bottles they'll break;
+  You'll hear one say, "There's a bottle around here;
+  So come around, boys, and we'll all take a share,"--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  There is some wears shoes and some wears boots,
+  But there are very few that rides who don't shoot;
+  More than this, I'll tell you what they'll do,
+  They'll get them a watch and a ranger hat, too,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  They'll go in the hall with spurs on their heel,
+  They'll get them a partner to dance the next reel,
+  Saying, "How do I look in my new brown suit,
+  With my pants stuffed down in the top of my boot?"--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  Now I think it's quite time to leave off these lads
+  For here are some girls that's fully as bad;
+  They'll trim up their dresses and curl up their hair,
+  And like an old owl before the glass they'll stare,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  The girls in the country they grin like a cat,
+  And with giggling and laughing they don't know what they're at,
+  They think they're pretty and I tell you they're wise,
+  But they couldn't get married to save their two eyes,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  You can tell a good girl wherever she's found;
+  No trimming, no lace, no nonsense around;
+  With a long-eared bonnet tied under her chin,--
+  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  They'll go to church with their snuff-box in hand,
+  They'll give it a tap to make it look grand;
+  Perhaps there is another one or two
+  And they'll pass it around and it's "Madam, won't you,"--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  Now, I think it's quite time for this ditty to end;
+  If there's anyone here that it will offend,
+  If there's anyone here that thinks it amiss
+  Just come around now and give the singer a kiss,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+
+
+
+THE DYING RANGER
+
+
+  The sun was sinking in the west
+  And fell with lingering ray
+  Through the branches of a forest
+  Where a wounded ranger lay;
+  Beneath the shade of a palmetto
+  And the sunset silvery sky,
+  Far away from his home in Texas
+  They laid him down to die.
+
+  A group had gathered round him,
+  His comrades in the fight,
+  A tear rolled down each manly cheek
+  As he bid a last good-night.
+  One tried and true companion
+  Was kneeling by his side,
+  To stop his life-blood flowing,
+  But alas, in vain he tried.
+
+  When to stop the life-blood flowing
+  He found 'twas all in vain,
+  The tears rolled down each man's cheek
+  Like light showers of rain.
+  Up spoke the noble ranger,
+  "Boys, weep no more for me,
+  I am crossing the deep waters
+  To a country that is free.
+
+  "Draw closer to me, comrades,
+  And listen to what I say,
+  I am going to tell a story
+  While my spirit hastens away.
+  Way back in Northwest Texas,
+  That good old Lone Star state,
+  There is one that for my coming
+  With a weary heart will wait.
+
+  "A fair young girl, my sister,
+  My only joy, my pride,
+  She was my friend from boyhood,
+  I had no one left beside.
+  I have loved her as a brother,
+  And with a father's care
+  I have strove from grief and sorrov
+  Her gentle heart to spare.
+
+  "My mother, she lies sleeping
+  Beneath the church-yard sod,
+  And many a day has passed away
+  Since her spirit fled to God.
+  My father, he lies sleeping
+  Beneath the deep blue sea,
+  I have no other kindred,
+  There are none but Nell and me.
+
+  "But our country was invaded
+  And they called for volunteers;
+  She threw her arms around me,
+  Then burst into tears,
+  Saying, 'Go, my darling brother,
+  Drive those traitors from our shore,
+  My heart may need your presence,
+  But our country needs you more.'
+
+  "It is true I love my country,
+  For her I gave my all.
+  If it hadn't been for my sister,
+  I would be content to fall.
+  I am dying, comrades, dying,
+  She will never see me more,
+  But in vain she'll wait my coming
+  By our little cabin door.
+
+  "Comrades, gather closer
+  And listen to my dying prayer.
+  Who will be to her as a brother,
+  And shield her with a brother's care?"
+  Up spake the noble rangers,
+  They answered one and all,
+  "We will be to her as brothers
+  Till the last one does fall."
+
+  One glad smile of pleasure
+  O'er the ranger's face was spread;
+  One dark, convulsive shadow,
+  And the ranger boy was dead.
+  Far from his darling sister
+  We laid him down to rest
+  With his saddle for a pillow
+  And his gun across his breast.
+
+
+
+The Dying Ranger (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  The sun was sink-ing in  the west, And
+  fell with lin-g'ring ray Through the branches of the
+  for-est,... Where a wound-ed ran-ger lay;
+  'Neath the shade of a  pal-met-to ... And the
+  sun-set sil-v'ry sky, Far a-way from his home in
+  Tex-as,... They laid him down to  die.
+
+
+
+
+THE FAIR FANNIE MOORE
+
+
+  Yonder stands a cottage,
+  All deserted and alone,
+  Its paths are neglected,
+  With grass overgrown;
+  Go in and you will see
+  Some dark stains on the floor,--
+  Alas! it is the blood
+  Of fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  To Fannie, so blooming,
+  Two lovers they came;
+  One offered young Fannie
+  His wealth and his name;
+  But neither his money
+  Nor pride could secure
+  A place in the heart
+  Of fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  The first was young Randell,
+  So bold and so proud,
+  Who to the fair Fannie
+  His haughty head bowed;
+  But his wealth and his house
+  Both failed to allure
+  The heart from the bosom
+  Of fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  The next was young Henry,
+  Of lowest degree.
+  He won her fond love
+  And enraptured was he;
+  And then at the altar
+  He quick did secure
+  The hand with the heart
+  Of the fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  As she was alone
+  In her cottage one day,
+  When business had called
+  Her fond husband away,
+  Young Randell, the haughty,
+  Came in at the door
+  And clasped in his arms
+  The fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  "O Fannie, O Fannie,
+  Reflect on your fate
+  And accept of my offer
+  Before it's too late;
+  For one thing to-night
+  I am bound to secure,--
+  'Tis the love or the life
+  Of the fair Fannie Moore."
+
+  "Spare me, Oh, spare me!"
+  The young Fannie cries,
+  While the tears swiftly flow
+  From her beautiful eyes;
+  "Oh, no!" cries young Randell,
+  "Go home to your rest,"
+  And he buried his knife
+  In her snowy white breast.
+
+  So Fannie, so blooming,
+  In her bright beauty died;
+  Young Randell, the haughty,
+  Was taken and tried;
+  At length he was hung
+  On a tree at the door,
+  For shedding the blood
+  Of the fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  Young Henry, the shepherd,
+  Distracted and wild,
+  Did wander away
+  From his own native isle.
+  Till at length, claimed by death,
+  He was brought to this shore
+  And laid by the side
+  Of the fair Fannie Moore.
+
+
+
+
+HELL IN TEXAS
+
+
+  The devil, we're told, in hell was chained,
+  And a thousand years he there remained;
+  He never complained nor did he groan,
+  But determined to start a hell of his own,
+  Where he could torment the souls of men
+  Without being chained in a prison pen.
+  So he asked the Lord if he had on hand
+  Anything left when he made the land.
+
+  The Lord said, "Yes, I had plenty on hand,
+  But I left it down on the Rio Grande;
+  The fact is, old boy, the stuff is so poor
+  I don't think you could use it in hell anymore."
+  But the devil went down to look at the truck,
+  And said if it came as a gift he was stuck;
+  For after examining it carefully and well
+  He concluded the place was too dry for hell.
+
+  So, in order to get it off his hands,
+  The Lord promised the devil to water the lands;
+  For he had some water, or rather some dregs,
+  A regular cathartic that smelled like bad eggs.
+  Hence the deal was closed and the deed was given
+  And the Lord went back to his home in heaven.
+  And the devil then said, "I have all that is needed
+  To make a good hell," and hence he succeeded.
+
+  He began to put thorns in all of the trees,
+  And mixed up the sand with millions of fleas;
+  And scattered tarantulas along all the roads;
+  Put thorns on the cactus and horns on the toads.
+  He lengthened the horns of the Texas steers,
+  And put an addition on the rabbit's ears;
+  He put a little devil in the broncho steed,
+  And poisoned the feet of the centipede.
+
+  The rattlesnake bites you, the scorpion stings,
+  The mosquito delights you with buzzing wings;
+  The sand-burrs prevail and so do the ants,
+  And those who sit down need half-soles on their pants.
+  The devil then said that throughout the land
+  He'd managed to keep up the devil's own brand,
+  And all would be mavericks unless they bore
+  The marks of scratches and bites and thorns by the score.
+
+  The heat in the summer is a hundred and ten,
+  Too hot for the devil and too hot for men.
+  The wild boar roams through the black chaparral,--
+  It's a hell of a place he has for a hell.
+  The red pepper grows on the banks of the brook;
+  The Mexicans use it in all that they cook.
+  Just dine with a Greaser and then you will shout,
+  "I've hell on the inside as well as the out!"
+
+
+
+
+BY MARKENTURA'S FLOWERY MARGE
+
+
+  By Markentura's flowery marge the Red Chief's wigwam stood,
+  Before the white man's rifle rang, loud echoing through the wood;
+  The tommy-hawk and scalping knife together lay at rest,
+  And peace was in the forest shade and in the red man's breast.
+
+    Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn,
+    The life and light of the forest shade,--
+    The Red Chief's child is gone!
+
+  By Markentura's flowery marge the Spotted Fawn had birth
+  And grew as fair an Indian maid as ever graced the earth.
+  She was the Red Chief's only child and sought by many a brave,
+  But to the gallant young White Cloud her plighted troth she gave.
+
+  By Markentura's flowery marge the bridal song arose,
+  Nor dreamed they in that festive night of near approaching woes;
+  But through the forest stealthily the white man came in wrath.
+  And fiery darts before them spread, and death was in their path.
+
+  By Markentura's flowery marge next morn no strife was seen,
+  But a wail went up, for the young Fawn's blood and White Cloud's dyed
+      the green.
+  A burial in their own rude way the Indians gave them there,
+  And a low sweet requiem the brook sang and the air.
+
+    Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn,
+    The life and light of the forest shade,--
+    The Red Chief's child is gone!
+
+
+
+
+THE STATE OF ARKANSAW
+
+
+  My name is Stamford Barnes, I come from Nobleville town;
+  I've traveled this wide world over, I've traveled this wide world round.
+  I've met with ups and downs in life but better days I've saw,
+  But I've never knew what misery were till I came to Arkansaw.
+
+  I landed in St. Louis with ten dollars and no more;
+  I read the daily papers till both my eyes were sore;
+  I read them evening papers until at last I saw
+  Ten thousand men were wanted in the state of Arkansaw.
+
+  I wiped my eyes with great surprise when I read this grateful news,
+  And straightway off I started to see the agent, Billy Hughes.
+  He says, "Pay me five dollars and a ticket to you I'll draw,
+  It'll land you safe upon the railroad in the State of Arkansaw."
+
+  I started off one morning a quarter after five;
+  I started from St. Louis, half dead and half alive;
+  I bought me a quart of whiskey my misery to thaw,
+  I got as drunk as a biled owl when I left for old Arkansaw.
+
+  I landed in Ft. Smith one sultry Sunday afternoon,
+  It was in the month of May, the early month of June,
+  Up stepped a walking skeleton with a long and lantern jaw,
+  Invited me to his hotel, "The best in Arkansaw."
+
+  I followed my conductor into his dwelling place;
+  Poverty were depictured in his melancholy face.
+  His bread it was corn dodger, his beef I could not chaw;
+  This was the kind of hash they fed me in the State of Arkansaw.
+
+  I started off next morning to catch the morning train,
+  He says to me, "You'd better work, for I have some land to drain.
+  I'll pay you fifty cents a day, your board, washing, and all,--
+  You'll find yourself a different man when you leave old Arkansaw."
+
+  I worked six weeks for the son of a gun, Jesse Herring was his name,
+  He was six foot seven in his stocking feet and taller than any crane;
+  His hair hung down in strings over his long and lantern jaw,--
+  He was a photograph of all the gents who lived in Arkansaw.
+
+  He fed me on corn dodgers as hard as any rock,
+  Until my teeth began to loosen and my knees began to knock;
+  I got so thin on sassafras tea I could hide behind a straw,
+  And indeed I was a different man when I left old Arkansaw.
+
+  Farewell to swamp angels, cane brakes, and chills;
+  Farewell to sage and sassafras and corn dodger pills.
+  If ever I see this land again, I'll give to you my paw;
+  It will be through a telescope from here to Arkansaw.
+
+
+
+
+THE TEXAS COWBOY
+
+
+  Oh, I am a Texas cowboy,
+  Far away from home,
+  If ever I get back to Texas
+  I never more will roam.
+
+  Montana is too cold for me
+  And the winters are too long;
+  Before the round-ups do begin
+  Our money is all gone.
+
+  Take this old hen-skin bedding,
+  Too thin to keep me warm,--
+  I nearly freeze to death, my boys.
+  Whenever there's a storm.
+
+  And take this old "tarpoleon,"
+  Too thin to shield my frame,--
+  I got it down in Nebraska
+  A-dealin' a Monte game.
+
+  Now to win these fancy leggins
+  I'll have enough to do;
+  They cost me twenty dollars
+  The day that they were new.
+
+  I have an outfit on the Mussel Shell,
+  But that I'll never see,
+  Unless I get sent to represent
+  The Circle or D.T.
+
+  I've worked down in Nebraska
+  Where the grass grows ten feet high,
+  And the cattle are such rustlers
+  That they seldom ever die;
+
+  I've worked up in the sand hills
+  And down upon the Platte,
+  Where the cowboys are good fellows
+  And the cattle always fat;
+
+  I've traveled lots of country,--
+  Nebraska's hills of sand,
+  Down through the Indian Nation,
+  And up the Rio Grande;--
+
+  But the Bad Lands of Montana
+  Are the worst I ever seen,
+  The cowboys are all tenderfeet
+  And the dogies are too lean.
+
+  If you want to see some bad lands,
+  Go over on the Dry;
+  You will bog down in the coulees
+  Where the mountains reach the sky.
+
+  A tenderfoot to lead you
+  Who never knows the way,
+  You are playing in the best of luck
+  If you eat more than once a day.
+
+  Your grub is bread and bacon
+  And coffee black as ink;
+  The water is so full of alkali
+  It is hardly fit to drink.
+
+  They will wake you in the morning
+  Before the break of day,
+  And send you on a circle
+  A hundred miles away.
+
+  All along the Yellowstone
+  'Tis cold the year around;
+  You will surely get consumption
+  By sleeping on the ground.
+
+  Work in Montana
+  Is six months in the year;
+  When all your bills are settled
+  There is nothing left for beer.
+
+  Work down in Texas
+  Is all the year around;
+  You will never get consumption
+  By sleeping on the ground.
+
+  Come all you Texas cowboys
+  And warning take from me,
+  And do not go to Montana
+  To spend your money free.
+
+  But stay at home in Texas
+  Where work lasts the year around,
+  And you will never catch consumption
+  By sleeping on the ground.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREARY, DREARY LIFE
+
+
+  A cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
+  Some say it's free from care;
+  Rounding up the cattle from morning till night
+  In the middle of the prairie so bare.
+
+    Half-past four, the noisy cook will roar,
+   "Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey!"
+    Slowly you will rise with sleepy-feeling eyes,
+    The sweet, dreamy night passed away.
+
+  The greener lad he thinks it's play,
+  He'll soon peter out on a cold rainy day,
+  With his big bell spurs and his Spanish hoss,
+  He'll swear to you he was once a boss.
+
+  The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
+  He's driven through the heat and cold;
+  While the rich man's a-sleeping on his velvet couch,
+  Dreaming of his silver and gold.
+
+  Spring-time sets in, double trouble will begin,
+  The weather is so fierce and cold;
+  Clothes are wet and frozen to our necks,
+  The cattle we can scarcely hold.
+
+  The cowboy's life is a dreary one,
+  He works all day to the setting of the sun;
+  And then his day's work is not done,
+  For there's his night herd to go on.
+
+  The wolves and owls with their terrifying howls
+  Will disturb us in our midnight dream,
+  As we lie on our slickers on a cold, rainy night
+  Way over on the Pecos stream.
+
+  You are speaking of your farms, you are speaking of your charms,
+  You are speaking of your silver and gold;
+  But a cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
+  He's driven through the heat and cold.
+
+  Some folks say that we are free from care,
+  Free from all other harm;
+  But we round up the cattle from morning till night
+  Way over on the prairie so dry.
+
+  I used to run about, now I stay at home,
+  Take care of my wife and child;
+  Nevermore to roam, always stay at home,
+  Take care of my wife and child.
+
+    Half-past four the noisy cook will roar,
+   "Hurrah, boys! she's breaking day!"
+    Slowly we will rise and wipe our sleepy eyes,
+    The sweet, dreamy night passed away.
+
+
+
+The Dreary, Dreary Life (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  A cow-boy's life is a drear-y, drear-y life, Some
+  REFRAIN.--Half-past four the ... noi-sy cook will roar,
+
+  say it's free from care; Rounding up the
+  "Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey!" Slow-ly you will
+
+  cat-tle from morn-ing till night In  the
+  rise ... with sleep-y feel-ing eyes, The ...
+  mid-dle of the prai-rie    so ... bare,
+  sweet, dream-y night passed a-way.
+
+
+
+
+JIM FARROW
+
+
+  It's Jim Farrow and John Farrow and little Simon, too,
+  Have plenty of cattle where I have but few.
+  Marking and branding both night and day,--
+  It's "Keep still, boys, my boys, and you'll all get your pay."
+  It's up to the courthouse, the first thing they know,
+  Before the Grand Jury they'll have to go.
+  They'll ask you about ear-marks, they'll ask you about brand,
+  But tell them you were absent when the work was on hand.
+  Jim Farrow brands J.F. on the side;
+  The next comes Johnnie who takes the whole hide;
+  Little Simon, too has H. on the loin;--
+  All stand for Farrow but it's not good for Sime.
+  You ask for the mark, I don't think it's fair,
+  You'll find the cow's head but the ear isn't there
+  It's a crop and a split and a sort of a twine,--
+  All stand for F. but it's not good for Sime.
+
+  "Get up, my boys," Jim Farrow will say,
+  "And out to horse hunting before it is day."
+  So we get up and are out on the way
+  But it's damn few horses we find before day.
+  "Now saddle your horses and out on the peaks
+  To see if the heifers are out on the creeks."
+  We'll round 'em to-day and we'll round 'em to-morrow,
+  And this ends my song concerning the Farrows.
+
+
+
+
+YOUNG CHARLOTTIE
+
+
+  Young Charlottie lived by a mountain side in a wild and lonely spot,
+  There was no village for miles around except her father's cot;
+  And yet on many a wintry night young boys would gather there,--
+  Her father kept a social board, and she was very fair.
+
+  One New Year's Eve as the sun went down, she cast a wistful eye
+  Out from the window pane as a merry sleigh went by.
+  At a village fifteen miles away was to be a ball that night;
+  Although the air was piercing cold, her heart was merry and light.
+
+  At last her laughing eye lit up as a well-known voice she heard,
+  And dashing in front of the door her lover's sleigh appeared.
+  "O daughter, dear," her mother said, "this blanket round you fold,
+  'Tis such a dreadful night abroad and you will catch your death of cold."
+
+  "Oh no, oh no!" young Charlottie cried, as she laughed like a
+      gipsy queen,
+  "To ride in blankets muffled up, I never would be seen.
+  My silken coat is quite enough, you know it is lined throughout,
+  And there is my silken scarf to wrap my head and neck about."
+
+  Her bonnet and her gloves were on, she jumped into the sleigh,
+  And swiftly slid down the mountain side and over the hills away.
+  All muffled up so silent, five miles at last were past
+  When Charlie with few but shivering words, the silence broke at last.
+
+  "Such a dreadful night I never saw, my reins I can scarcely hold."
+  Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I am exceedingly cold."
+  He cracked his whip and urged his speed much faster than before,
+  While at least five other miles in silence had passed o'er.
+
+  Spoke Charles, "How fast the freezing ice is gathering on my brow!"
+  Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I'm growing warmer now."
+  So on they sped through the frosty air and the glittering cold
+      starlight
+  Until at last the village lights and the ball-room came in sight.
+
+  They reached the door and Charles sprang out and reached his hands
+      to her.
+  "Why sit you there like a monument that has no power to stir?"
+  He called her once, he called her twice, she answered not a word,
+  And then he called her once again but still she never stirred.
+
+  He took her hand in his; 'twas cold and hard as any stone.
+  He tore the mantle from her face while cold stars on it shone.
+  Then quickly to the lighted hall her lifeless form he bore;--
+  Young Charlottie's eyes were closed forever, her voice was heard no more.
+
+  And there he sat down by her side while bitter tears did flow,
+  And cried, "My own, my charming bride, you nevermore shall know."
+  He twined his arms around her neck and kissed her marble brow,
+  And his thoughts flew back to where she said, "I'm growing warmer now."
+
+  He took her back into the sleigh and quickly hurried home;
+  When he arrived at her father's door, oh, how her friends did mourn;
+  They mourned the loss of a daughter dear, while Charles wept over
+      the gloom,
+  Till at last he died with the bitter grief,--now they both lie in one
+      tomb.
+
+
+
+
+THE SKEW-BALL BLACK
+
+
+  It was down to Red River I came,
+  Prepared to play a damned tough game,--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  I crossed the river to the ranch where I intended to work,
+  With a big six-shooter and a derned good dirk,--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  They roped me out a skew-ball black
+  With a double set-fast on his back,--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  And when I was mounted on his back,
+  The boys all yelled, "Just give him slack,"--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  They rolled and tumbled and yelled, by God,
+  For he threw me a-whirling all over the sod,--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  I went to the boss and I told him I'd resign,
+  The fool tumbled over, and I thought he was dyin',--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  And it's to Arkansaw I'll go back,
+  To hell with Texas and the skew-ball black,--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+
+
+
+THE RAMBLING COWBOY
+
+
+  There was a rich old rancher who lived in the country by,
+  He had a lovely daughter on whom I cast my eye;
+  She was pretty, tall, and handsome, both neat and very fair,
+  There's no other girl in the country with her I could compare.
+
+  I asked her if she would be willing for me to cross the plains;
+  She said she would be truthful until I returned again;
+  She said she would be faithful until death did prove unkind,
+  So we kissed, shook hands, and parted, and I left my girl behind.
+
+  I left the State of Texas, for Arizona I was bound;
+  I landed in Tombstone City, I viewed the place all round.
+  Money and work were plentiful and the cowboys they were kind
+  But the only thought of my heart was the girl I left behind.
+
+  One day as I was riding across the public square
+  The mail-coach came in and I met the driver there;
+  He handed me a letter which gave me to understand
+  That the girl I left in Texas had married another man.
+
+  I turned myself all round and about not knowing what to do,
+  But I read on down some further and it proved the words were true.
+  Hard work I have laid over, it's gambling I have designed.
+  I'll ramble this wide world over for the girl I left behind.
+
+  Come all you reckless and rambling boys who have listened to this song,
+  If it hasn't done you any good, it hasn't done you any wrong;
+  But when you court a pretty girl, just marry her while you can,
+  For if you go across the plains she'll marry another man.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY AT CHURCH
+
+
+  Some time ago,--two weeks or more
+  If I remember well,--
+  I found myself in town and thought
+  I'd knock around a spell,
+  When all at once I heard the bell,--
+  I didn't know 'twas Sunday,--
+  For on the plains we scarcely know
+  A Sunday from a Monday,--
+
+  A-calling all the people
+  From the highways and the hedges
+  And all the reckless throng
+  That tread ruin's ragged edges,
+  To come and hear the pastor tell
+  Salvation's touching story,
+  And how the new road misses hell
+  And leads you straight to glory.
+
+  I started by the chapel door,
+  But something urged me in,
+  And told me not to spend God's day
+  In revelry and sin.
+  I don't go much on sentiment,
+  But tears came in my eyes.
+  It seemed just like my mother's voice
+  Was speaking from the skies.
+
+  I thought how often she had gone
+  With little Sis and me
+  To church, when I was but a lad
+  Way back in Tennessee.
+  It never once occurred to me
+  About not being dressed
+  In Sunday rig, but carelessly
+  I went in with the rest.
+
+  You should have seen the smiles and shrugs
+  As I went walking in,
+  As though they thought my leggins
+  Worse than any kind of sin;
+  Although the honest parson,
+  In his vestry garb arrayed
+  Was dressed the same as I was,--
+  In the trappings of his trade.
+
+  The good man prayed for all the world
+  And all its motley crew,
+  For pagan, Hindoo, sinners, Turk,
+  And unbelieving Jew,--
+  Though the congregation doubtless thought
+  That the cowboys as a race
+  Were a kind of moral outlaw
+  With no good claim to grace.
+
+  Is it very strange that cowboys are
+  A rough and reckless crew
+  When their garb forbids their doing right
+  As Christian people do?
+  That they frequent scenes of revelry
+  Where death is bought and sold,
+  Where at least they get a welcome
+  Though it's prompted by their gold?
+
+  Stranger, did it ever strike you,
+  When the winter days are gone
+  And the mortal grass is springing up
+  To meet the judgment sun,
+  And we 'tend mighty round-ups
+  Where, according to the Word,
+  The angel cowboy of the Lord
+  Will cut the human herd,--
+
+  That a heap of stock that's lowing now
+  Around the Master's pen
+  And feeding at his fodder stack
+  Will have the brand picked then?
+  And brands that when the hair was long
+  Looked like the letter C,
+  Will prove to be the devil's,
+  And the brand the letter D;
+
+  While many a long-horned coaster,--
+  I mean, just so to speak,--
+  That hasn't had the advantage
+  Of the range and gospel creek
+  Will get to crop the grasses
+  In the pasture of the Lord
+  If the letter C showed up
+  Beneath the devil's checker board.
+
+
+
+
+THE U. S. A. RECRUIT
+
+
+  Now list to my song, it will not take me long,
+  And in some things with me you'll agree;
+  A young man so green came in from Moline,
+  And enlisted a soldier to be.
+  He had lots of pluck, on himself he was stuck,
+  In his Government straights he looked "boss,"
+  And he chewed enough beans for a hoss.
+
+    He was a rookey, so flukey,
+    He was a jim dandy you all will agree,
+    He said without fear, "Before I'm a year
+    In the Army, great changes you'll see."
+    He was a stone thrower, a foam blower,
+    He was a Loo Loo you bet,
+    He stood on his head and these words gently said,
+    "I'll be second George Washington yet."
+
+  At his post he did land, they took him in hand,
+  The old bucks they all gathered 'round,
+  Saying "Give us your fist; where did you enlist?
+  You'll take on again I'll be bound;
+  I've a blanket to sell, it will fit you quite well,
+  I'll sell you the whole or a piece.
+  I've a dress coat to trade, or a helmet unmade,
+  It will do you for kitchen police."
+
+  Then the top said, "My Son, here is a gun,
+  Just heel ball that musket up bright.
+  In a few days or more you'll be rolling in gore,
+  A-chasing wild Goo Goos to flight.
+  There'll be fighting, you see, and blood flowing free,
+  We'll send you right on to the front;
+  And never you fear, if you're wounded, my dear,
+  You'll be pensioned eight dollars per month."
+
+  He was worried so bad, he blew in all he had;
+  He went on a drunk with goodwill.
+  And the top did report, "One private short."
+  When he showed up he went to the mill.
+  The proceedings we find were a ten dollar blind,
+  Ten dollars less to blow foam.
+  This was long years ago, and this rookey you know
+  Is now in the old soldiers' home.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWGIRL
+
+
+  My love is a rider and broncos he breaks,
+  But he's given up riding and all for my sake;
+  For he found him a horse and it suited him so
+  He vowed he'd ne'er ride any other bronco.
+
+  My love has a gun, and that gun he can use,
+  But he's quit his gun fighting as well as his booze;
+  And he's sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,
+  And there's no more cow punching, and that's what I hope.
+
+  My love has a gun that has gone to the bad,
+  Which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;
+  For the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low,
+  And it wobbles about like a bucking bronco.
+
+  The cook is an unfortunate son of a gun;
+  He has to be up e'er the rise of the sun;
+  His language is awful, his curses are deep,--
+  He is like cascarets, for he works while you sleep.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHANTY BOY
+
+
+  I am a jolly shanty boy,
+  As you will soon discover.
+  To all the dodges I am fly,
+  A hustling pine woods rover.
+  A peavy hook it is my pride,
+  An ax I well can handle;
+  To fell a tree or punch a bull
+  Get rattling Danny Randall.
+
+  Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.
+
+  I love a girl in Saginaw;
+  She lives with her mother;
+  I defy all Michigan
+  To find such another.
+  She's tall and fat, her hair is red,
+  Her face is plump and pretty,
+  She's my daisy, Sunday-best-day girl,--
+  And her front name stands for Kitty.
+
+  Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.
+
+  I took her to a dance one night,
+  A mossback gave the bidding;
+  Silver Jack bossed the shebang
+  And Big Dan played the fiddle.
+  We danced and drank, the livelong night.
+  With fights between the dancing--
+  Till Silver Jack cleaned out the ranch
+  And sent the mossbacks prancing.
+
+  Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.
+
+
+
+
+ROOT HOG OR DIE
+
+
+  When I was a young man I lived on the square,
+  I never had any pocket change and I hardly thought it fair;
+  So out on the crosses I went to rob and to steal,
+  And when I met a peddler oh, how happy I did feel.
+
+  One morning, one morning, one morning in May
+  I seen a man a-coming, a little bit far away;
+  I seen a man a-coming, come riding up to me
+  "Come here, come here, young fellow, I'm after you to-day."
+
+  He taken me to the new jail, he taken me to the new jail,
+  And I had to walk right in.
+  There all my friends went back on me
+  And also my kin.
+
+  I had an old rich uncle, who lived in the West,
+  He heard of my misfortune, it wouldn't let him rest;
+  He came to see me, he paid my bills and score,--
+  I have been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.
+
+  There's Minnie and Alice and Lucy likewise,
+  They heard of my misfortune brought tears to their eyes.
+  I've told 'em my condition, I've told it o'er and o'er;
+  So I've been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.
+
+  I will go to East Texas to marry me a wife,
+  And try to maintain her the balance of my life;
+  I'll try to maintain; I'll lay it up in store
+  I've been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.
+
+  Young man, you robber, you had better take it fair,
+  Leave off your marshal killing and live on the square;
+  Should you meet the marshal, just pass him by;
+  And travel on the muscular, for it's root hog or die.
+
+  When I drew my money I drew it all in cash
+  And off to see my Susan, you bet I cut a dash;
+  I spent my money freely and went it on a bum,
+  And I love the pretty women and am bound to have my fun.
+
+  I used to sport a white hat, a horse and buggy fine,
+  Courted a pretty girl and always called her mine;
+  But all my courtships proved to be in vain,
+  For they sent me down to Huntsville to wear the ball and chain.
+
+  Along came my true love, about twelve o'clock,
+  Saying, "Henry, O Henry, what sentence have you got?"
+  The jury found me guilty, the judge would allow no stay,
+  So they sent me down to Huntsville to wear my life away.
+
+
+
+Root Hog or Die (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  When I was a young man I lived up-on the square,
+  I nev-er had a-ny pock-et change and I
+  hard-ly thought it fair, But out up-on the highway I
+  went to rob and to steal, And when I met a
+  ped-dler, Oh, how hap-py I  did feel.
+
+
+
+
+SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE
+
+"A California Immigrant Song of the Fifties"
+
+
+  Oh, don't you remember sweet Betsy from Pike
+  Who crossed the big mountains with her lover Ike,
+  And two yoke of cattle, a large yellow dog,
+  A tall, shanghai rooster, and one spotted hog?
+          Saying, good-bye, Pike County,
+          Farewell for a while;
+          We'll come back again
+          When we've panned out our pile.
+
+  One evening quite early they camped on the Platte,
+  'Twas near by the road on a green shady flat;
+  Where Betsy, quite tired, lay down to repose,
+  While with wonder Ike gazed on his Pike County rose.
+
+  They soon reached the desert, where Betsy gave out,
+  And down in the sand she lay rolling about;
+  While Ike in great terror looked on in surprise,
+  Saying "Betsy, get up, you'll get sand in your eyes."
+          Saying, good-bye, Pike County,
+          Farewell for a while;
+          I'd go back to-night
+          If it was but a mile.
+
+  Sweet Betsy got up in a great deal of pain
+  And declared she'd go back to Pike County again;
+  Then Ike heaved a sigh and they fondly embraced,
+  And she traveled along with his arm around her waist.
+
+  The wagon tipped over with a terrible crash,
+  And out on the prairie rolled all sorts of trash;
+  A few little baby clothes done up with care
+  Looked rather suspicious,--though 'twas all on the square.
+
+  The shanghai ran off and the cattle all died,
+  The last piece of bacon that morning was fried;
+  Poor Ike got discouraged, and Betsy got mad,
+  The dog wagged his tail and looked wonderfully sad.
+
+  One morning they climbed up a very high hill,
+  And with wonder looked down into old Placerville;
+  Ike shouted and said, as he cast his eyes down,
+  "Sweet Betsy, my darling, we've got to Hangtown."
+
+  Long Ike and sweet Betsy attended a dance,
+  Where Ike wore a pair of his Pike County pants;
+  Sweet Betsy was covered with ribbons and rings.
+  Quoth Ike, "You're an angel, but where are your wings?"
+
+  A miner said, "Betsy, will you dance with me?"
+  "I will that, old hoss, if you don't make too free;
+  But don't dance me hard. Do you want to know why?
+  Dog on ye, I'm chock full of strong alkali."
+
+  Long Ike and sweet Betsy got married of course,
+  But Ike getting jealous obtained a divorce;
+  And Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout,
+  "Good-bye, you big lummax, I'm glad you backed out."
+        Saying, good-bye, dear Isaac,
+        Farewell for a while,
+        But come back in time
+        To replenish my pile.
+
+
+
+
+THE DISHEARTENED RANGER
+
+
+  Come listen to a ranger, you kind-hearted stranger,
+  This song, though a sad one, you're welcome to hear;
+  We've kept the Comanches away from your ranches,
+  And followed them far o'er the Texas frontier.
+
+  We're weary of scouting, of traveling, and routing
+  The blood-thirsty villains o'er prairie and wood;
+  No rest for the sinner, no breakfast or dinner,
+  But he lies in a supperless bed in the mud.
+
+  No corn nor potatoes, no bread nor tomatoes,
+  But jerked beef as dry as the sole of your shoe;
+  All day without drinking, all night without winking,
+  I'll tell you, kind stranger, this never will do.
+
+  Those great alligators, the State legislators,
+  Are puffing and blowing two-thirds of their time,
+  But windy orations about rangers and rations
+  Never put in our pockets one-tenth of a dime.
+
+  They do not regard us, they will not reward us,
+  Though hungry and haggard with holes in our coats;
+  But the election is coming and they will be drumming
+  And praising our valor to purchase our votes.
+
+  For glory and payment, for vittles and raiment,
+  No longer we'll fight on the Texas frontier.
+  So guard your own ranches, and mind the Comanches
+  Or surely they'll scalp you in less than a year.
+
+  Though sore it may grieve you, the rangers must leave you
+  Exposed to the arrows and knife of the foe;
+  So herd your own cattle and fight your own battle,
+  For home to the States I'm determined to go,--
+
+  Where churches have steeples and laws are more equal,
+  Where houses have people and ladies are kind;
+  Where work is regarded and worth is rewarded;
+  Where pumpkins are plenty and pockets are lined.
+
+  Your wives and your daughters we have guarded from slaughter,
+  Through conflicts and struggles I shudder to tell;
+  No more well defend them, to God we'll commend them.
+  To the frontier of Texas we bid a farewell.
+
+
+
+
+THE MELANCHOLY COWBOY
+
+
+  Come all you melancholy folks and listen unto me,
+  I will sing you about the cowboy whose heart's so light and free;
+  He roves all over the prairie and at night when he lays down
+  His heart's as gay as the flowers of May with his bed spread on the
+      ground.
+
+  They are a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them at least;
+  But as long as you do not cross their trail, you can live with them in
+      peace.
+  But if you do, they're sure to rule, the day you come to their land,
+  For they'll follow you up and shoot it out, they'll do it man to man.
+
+  You can go to a cowboy hungry, go to him wet or dry,
+  And ask him for a few dollars in change and he will not deny;
+  He will pull out his pocket-book and hand you out a note,--
+  Oh, they are the fellows to strike, boys, whenever you are broke.
+
+  You can go to their ranches and often stay for weeks,
+  And when you go to leave, boys, they'll never charge you a cent;
+  But when they go to town, boys, you bet their money is spent.
+  They walk right up, they take their drinks and they pay for every one.
+  They never ask your pardon, boys, for a thing that they have done.
+
+  They go to the ball-room, and swing the pretty girls around;
+  They ride their bucking broncos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats;
+  Their California saddles, their pants below their boots,
+  You can hear their spurs go jing-a-ling, or perhaps somebody shoots.
+
+  Come all you soft and tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun,
+  Come go among the cowboys and they'll show you how it's done;
+  But take the kind advice of me as I gave it to you before,
+  For if you don't, they'll order you off with an old Colt's forty-four.
+
+
+
+
+BOB STANFORD
+
+
+  Bob Stanford, he's a Texas boy,
+  He lives down on the flat;
+  His trade is running a well-drill,
+  But he's none the worse for that.
+
+  He is neither rich nor handsome,
+  But, unlike the city dude,
+  His manners they are pleasant
+  Instead of flip and rude.
+
+  His people live in Texas,
+  That is his native home,
+  But like many other Western lads
+  He drifted off from home.
+
+  He came out to New Mexico
+  A fortune for to make,
+  He punched the bottom out of the earth
+  And never made a stake.
+
+  So he came to Arizona
+  And again set up his drill
+  To punch a hole for water,
+  And he's punching at it still.
+
+  He says he is determined
+  To make the business stick
+  Or spend that derned old well machine
+  And all he can get on tick.
+
+  I hope he is successful
+  And I'll help him if I can,
+  For I admire pluck and ambition
+  In an honest working man.
+
+  So keep on going down,
+  Punch the bottom out, or try,
+  There is nothing in a hole in the ground
+  That continues being dry.
+
+
+
+
+CHARLIE RUTLAGE
+
+
+  Another good cow-puncher has gone to meet his fate,
+  I hope he'll find a resting place within the golden gate.
+  Another place is vacant on the ranch of the X I T,
+  'Twill be hard to find another that's liked as well as he.
+
+  The first that died was Kid White, a man both tough and brave,
+  While Charlie Rutlage makes the third to be sent to his grave,
+  Caused by a cow-horse falling while running after stock;
+  'Twas on the spring round-up,--a place where death men mock.
+
+  He went forward one morning on a circle through the hills,
+  He was gay and full of glee, and free from earthly ills;
+  But when it came to finish up the work on which he went,
+  Nothing came back from him; for his time on earth was spent.
+
+  'Twas as he rode the round-up, an X I T turned back to the
+      herd;
+  Poor Charlie shoved him in again, his cutting horse he spurred;
+  Another turned; at that moment his horse the creature spied
+  And turned and fell with him, and beneath, poor Charlie died.
+
+  His relations in Texas his face never more will see,
+  But I hope he will meet his loved ones beyond in eternity.
+  I hope he will meet his parents, will meet them face to face,
+  And that they will grasp him by the right hand at the shining throne
+      of grace.
+
+
+
+
+THE RANGE RIDERS
+
+
+  Come all you range riders and listen to me,
+  I will relate you a story of the saddest degree,
+  I will relate you a story of the deepest distress,--
+  I love my poor Lulu, boys, of all girls the best.
+
+  When you are out riding, boys, upon the highway,
+  Meet a fair damsel, a lady so gay,
+  With her red, rosy cheeks and her sparkling dark eyes,
+  Just think of my Lulu, boys, and your bosoms will rise.
+
+  While you live single, boys, you are just in your prime;
+  You have no wife to scold, you have nothing to bother your minds;
+  You can roam this world over and do just as you will,
+  Hug and kiss the pretty girls and be your own still.
+
+  But when you get married, boys, you are done with this life,
+  You have sold your sweet comfort for to gain you a wife;
+  Your wife she will scold you, and the children will cry,
+  It will make those fair faces look withered and dry.
+
+  You can scarcely step aside, boys, to speak to a friend
+  But your wife is at your elbow saying what do you mean.
+  With her nose turned upon you it will look like sad news,--
+  I advise you by experience that life to refuse.
+
+  Come fill up your bottles, boys, drink Bourbon around;
+  Here is luck to the single wherever they are found.
+  Here is luck to the single and I wish them success,
+  Likewise to the married ones, I wish them no less.
+
+  I have one more request to make, boys, before we part.
+  Never place your affection on a charming sweetheart.
+  She is dancing before you your affections to gain;
+  Just turn your back on them with scorn and disdain.
+
+
+
+
+HER WHITE BOSOM BARE
+
+
+  The sun had gone down
+  O'er the hills of the west,
+  And the last beams had faded
+  O'er the mossy hill's crest,
+  O'er the beauties of nature
+  And the charms of the fair,
+  And Amanda was bound
+  With her white bosom bare.
+
+  At the foot of the mountain
+  Amanda did sigh
+  At the hoot of an owl
+  Or the catamount's cry;
+  Or the howl of some wolf
+  In its low, granite cell,
+  Or the crash of some large
+  Forest tree as it fell.
+
+  Amanda was there
+  All friendless and forlorn
+  With her face bathed in blood
+  And her garments all torn.
+  The sunlight had faded
+  O'er the hills of the green,
+  And fierce was the look
+  Of the wild, savage scene.
+
+  For it was out in the forest
+  Where the wild game springs,
+  Where low in the branches
+  The rude hammock swings;
+  The campfire was kindled,
+  Well fanned by the breeze,
+  And the light of the campfire
+  Shone round on the trees.
+
+  The campfire was kindled,
+  Well fanned by the breeze,
+  And the light of the fire
+  Shone round on the trees;
+  And grim stood the circle
+  Of the warrior throng,
+  Impatient to join
+  In the war-dance and song.
+
+  The campfire was kindled,
+  Each warrior was there,
+  And Amanda was bound
+  With her white bosom bare.
+  She counted the vengeance
+  In the face of her foes
+  And sighed for the moment
+  When her sufferings might close.
+
+  Young Albon, he gazed
+  On the face of the fair
+  While her dark hazel eyes
+  Were uplifted in prayer;
+  And her dark waving tresses
+  In ringlets did flow
+  Which hid from the gazer
+  A bosom of snow.
+
+  Then young Albon, the chief
+  Of the warriors, drew near,
+  With an eye like an eagle
+  And a step like a deer.
+  "Forbear," cried he,
+  "Your torture forbear;
+  This maiden shall live.
+  By my wampum I swear.
+
+  "It is for this maiden's freedom
+  That I do crave;
+  Give a sigh for her suffering
+  Or a tear for her grave.
+  If there is a victim
+  To be burned at that tree,
+  Young Albon, your leader,
+  That victim shall be."
+
+  Then quick to the arms
+  Of Amanda he rushed;
+  The rebel was dead,
+  And the tumult was hushed;
+  And grim stood the circle
+  Of warriors around
+  While the cords of Amanda
+  Young Albon unbound.
+
+  So it was early next morning
+  The red, white, and blue
+  Went gliding o'er the waters
+  In a small birch canoe;
+  Just like the white swan
+  That glides o'er the tide,
+  Young Albon and Amanda
+  O'er the waters did ride.
+
+  O'er the blue, bubbling water,
+  Neath the evergreen trees,
+  Young Albon and Amanda
+  Did ride at their ease;
+  And great was the joy
+  When she stepped on the shore
+  To embrace her dear father
+  And mother once more.
+
+  Young Albon, he stood
+  And enjoyed their embrace,
+  With a sigh in his heart
+  And a tear on his face;
+  And all that he asked
+  Was kindness and food
+  From the parents of Amanda
+  To the chief of the woods.
+
+  Young Amanda is home now,
+  As you all know,
+  Enjoying the friends
+  Of her own native shore;
+  Nevermore will she roam
+  O'er the hills or the plains;
+  She praises the chief
+  That loosened her chains.
+
+
+
+
+JUAN MURRAY
+
+
+  My name is Juan Murray, and hard for my fate,
+  I was born and raised in Texas, that good old lone star state.
+  I have been to many a round-up, boys, have worked on the trail,
+  Have stood many a long old guard through the rain, yes, sleet, and hail;
+  I have rode the Texas broncos that pitched from morning till noon,
+  And have seen many a storm, boys, between sunrise, yes, and noon.
+
+  I am a jolly cowboy and have roamed all over the West,
+  And among the bronco riders I rank among the best.
+  But when I left old Midland, with voice right then I spoke,--
+  "I never will see you again until the day I croak."
+
+  But since I left old Texas so many sights I have saw
+  A-traveling from my native state way out to Mexico,--
+  I am looking all around me and cannot help but smile
+  To see my nearest neighbors all in the Mexican style.
+
+  I left my home in Texas to dodge the ball and chain.
+  In the State of Sonora I will forever remain.
+  Farewell to my mother, my friends that are so dear,
+  I would like to see you all again, my lonesome heart to cheer.
+
+  I have a word to speak, boys, only another to say,--
+  Don't never be a cow-thief, don't never ride a stray;
+  Be careful of your line, boys, and keep it on your tree,--
+  Just suit yourself about it, for it is nothing to me.
+
+  But if you start to rustling you will come to some sad fate,
+  You will have to go to prison and work for the state.
+  Don't think that I am lying and trying to tell a joke,
+  For the writer has experienced just every word he's spoke.
+
+  It is better to be honest and let other's stock alone
+  Than to leave your native country and seek a Mexican home.
+  For if you start to rustling you will surely come to see
+  The State of Sonora,--be an outcast just like me.
+
+
+
+
+GREER COUNTY
+
+
+  Tom Hight is my name, an old bachelor I am,
+  You'll find me out West in the country of fame,
+  You'll find me out West on an elegant plain,
+  And starving to death on my government claim.
+
+      Hurrah for Greer County!
+      The land of the free,
+      The land of the bed-bug,
+      Grass-hopper and flea;
+      I'll sing of its praises
+      And tell of its fame,
+      While starving to death
+      On my government claim.
+
+  My house is built of natural sod,
+  Its walls are erected according to hod;
+  Its roof has no pitch but is level and plain,
+  I always get wet if it happens to rain.
+
+  How happy am I on my government claim,
+  I've nothing to lose, and nothing to gain;
+  I've nothing to eat, I've nothing to wear,--
+  From nothing to nothing is the hardest fare.
+
+  How happy am I when I crawl into bed,--
+  A rattlesnake hisses a tune at my head,
+  A gay little centipede, all without fear,
+  Crawls over my pillow and into my ear.
+
+  Now all you claim holders, I hope you will stay
+  And chew your hard tack till you're toothless and gray;
+  But for myself, I'll no longer remain
+  To starve like a dog on my government claim.
+
+  My clothes are all ragged as my language is rough,
+  My bread is corn dodgers, both solid and tough;
+  But yet I am happy, and live at my ease
+  On sorghum molasses, bacon, and cheese.
+
+  Good-bye to Greer County where blizzards arise,
+  Where the sun never sinks and a flea never dies,
+  And the wind never ceases but always remains
+  Till it starves us all out on our government claims.
+
+  Farewell to Greer County, farewell to the West,
+  I'll travel back East to the girl I love best,
+  I'll travel back to Texas and marry me a wife,
+  And quit corn bread for the rest of my life.
+
+
+
+
+ROSIN THE BOW
+
+
+  I live for the good of my nation
+  And my sons are all growing low,
+  But I hope that my next generation
+  Will resemble Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  I have traveled this wide world all over,
+  And now to another I'll go,
+  For I know that good quarters are waiting
+  To welcome Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  The gay round of delights I have traveled,
+  Nor will I behind leave a woe,
+  For while my companions are jovial
+  They'll drink to Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  This life now is drawn to a closing,
+  All will at last be so,
+  Then we'll take a full bumper at parting
+  To the name of Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  When I am laid out on the counter,
+  And the people all anxious to know,
+  Just raise up the lid of the coffin
+  And look at Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  And when through the streets my friends bear me,
+  And the ladies are filled with deep woe,
+  They'll come to the doors and the windows
+  And sigh for Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  Then get some fine, jovial fellows,
+  And let them all staggering go;
+  Then dig a deep hole in the meadow
+  And in it toss Rosin the Bow.
+
+  Then get a couple of dornicks,
+  Place one at my head and my toe,
+  And do not forget to scratch on them,
+  "Here lies Old Rosin the Bow."
+
+  Then let those same jovial fellows
+  Surround my lone grave in a row,
+  While they drink from my favorite bottle
+  The health of Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+
+
+
+THE GREAT ROUND-UP
+
+
+  When I think of the last great round-up
+  On the eve of eternity's dawn,
+  I think of the past of the cowboys
+  Who have been with us here and are gone.
+  And I wonder if any will greet me
+  On the sands of the evergreen shore
+  With a hearty, "God bless you, old fellow,"
+  That I've met with so often before.
+
+  I think of the big-hearted fellows
+  Who will divide with you blanket and bread,
+  With a piece of stray beef well roasted,
+  And charge for it never a red.
+  I often look upward and wonder
+  If the green fields will seem half so fair,
+  If any the wrong trail have taken
+  And fail to "be in" over there.
+
+  For the trail that leads down to perdition
+  Is paved all the way with good deeds,
+  But in the great round-up of ages,
+  Dear boys, this won't answer your needs.
+  But the way to the green pastures, though narrow,
+  Leads straight to the home in the sky,
+  And Jesus will give you the passports
+  To the land of the sweet by and by.
+
+  For the Savior has taken the contract
+  To deliver all those who believe,
+  At the headquarters ranch of his Father,
+  In the great range where none can deceive.
+  The Inspector will stand at the gateway
+  And the herd, one by one, will go by,--
+  The round-up by the angels in judgment
+  Must pass 'neath his all-seeing eye.
+
+  No maverick or slick will be tallied
+  In the great book of life in his home,
+  For he knows all the brands and the earmarks
+  That down through the ages have come.
+  But, along with the tailings and sleepers,
+  The strays must turn from the gate;
+  No road brand to gain them admission,
+  But the awful sad cry "too late."
+
+  Yet I trust in the last great round-up
+  When the rider shall cut the big herd,
+  That the cowboys shall be represented
+  In the earmark and brand of the Lord,
+  To be shipped to the bright, mystic regions
+  Over there in green pastures to lie,
+  And led by the crystal still waters
+  In that home of the sweet by and by.
+
+
+
+
+THE JOLLY COWBOY
+
+
+  My lover, he is a cowboy, he's brave and kind and true,
+  He rides a Spanish pony, he throws a lasso, too;
+  And when he comes to see me our vows we do redeem,
+  He throws his arms around me and thus begins to sing:
+
+     "Ho, I'm a jolly cowboy, from Texas now I hail,
+      Give me my quirt and pony, I'm ready for the trail;
+      I love the rolling prairies, they're free from care and strife,
+      Behind a herd of longhorns I'll journey all my life.
+
+  "When early dawn is breaking and we are far away,
+  We fall into our saddles, we round-up all the day;
+  We rope, we brand, we ear-mark, I tell you we are smart,
+  And when the herd is ready, for Kansas then we start.
+
+  "Oh, I am a Texas cowboy, lighthearted, brave, and free,
+  To roam the wide, wide prairie, 'tis always joy to me.
+  My trusty little pony is my companion true,
+  O'er creeks and hills and rivers he's sure to pull me through.
+
+  "When threatening clouds do gather and herded lightnings flash,
+  And heavy rain drops splatter, and rolling thunders crash;
+  What keeps the herd from running, stampeding far and wide?
+  The cowboy's long, low whistle and singing by their side.
+
+  "When in Kansas City, our boss he pays us up,
+  We loaf around the city and take a parting cup;
+  We bid farewell to city life, from noisy crowds we come,
+  And back to dear old Texas, the cowboy's native home."
+
+  Oh, he is coming back to marry the only girl he loves,
+  He says I am his darling, I am his own true love;
+  Some day we two will marry and then no more he'll roam,
+  But settle down with Mary in a cozy little home.
+
+     "Ho, I'm a jolly cowboy, from Texas now I hail,
+      Give me my bond to Mary, I'll quit the Lone Star trail.
+      I love the rolling prairies, they're free from care and
+        strife,
+      But I'll quit the herd of longhorns for the sake of my
+        little wife."
+
+
+
+The Texas Cowboy (Mus. Not.)
+
+Mrs. Robert Thomson
+
+
+  I am a Tex-as Cowboy, Light-hearted, gay and free,
+  To roam the wide, wide prairie, Is always joy to me;
+  My trust-y lit-tle po-ny Is my com-pan-ion true;
+  O'er plain, thro' woods and river, He's sure to "pull me thro."
+
+  CHORUS
+
+  _Allegro_
+
+  I am a jol-ly cow-boy, From Tex-as now I hail,
+  Give me my "quirt" and po-ny, I'm read-y for the "trail;"
+  I love the roll-ing prairie, We're free from care and strife,
+  Be-hind a herd of "long-horns" I'll journey all my life.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONVICT
+
+
+  When slumbering In my convict cell my childhood days I see,
+  When I was mother's little child and knelt at mother's knee.
+  There my life was peace, I know, I knew no sorrow or pain.
+  Mother dear never did think, I know, I would wear a felon's chain.
+
+    Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,
+    Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?
+    Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,
+    Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?
+
+  When I had grown to manhood and evil paths I trod,
+  I learned to scorn my fellow-man and even curse my God;
+  And in the evil course I ran for a great length of time
+  Till at last I ran too long and was condemned for a felon's crime.
+
+  My prison life will soon be o'er, my life will soon be gone,--
+  May the angels waft it heavenward to a bright and happy home.
+  I'll be at rest, sweet, sweet rest, there is rest in the heavenly home;
+  I'll be at rest, sweet, sweet rest, there is rest in the heavenly home.
+
+    Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,
+    Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?
+    Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,
+    Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?
+
+
+
+
+JACK O' DIAMONDS
+
+
+  O Mollie, O Mollie, it is for your sake alone
+  That I leave my old parents, my house and my home,
+  That I leave my old parents, you caused me to roam,--
+  I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.
+
+    Jack o' diamonds, Jack o' diamonds,
+    I know you of old,
+    You've robbed my poor pockets
+    Of silver and gold.
+    Whiskey, you villain,
+    You've been my downfall,
+    You've kicked me, you've cuffed me,
+    But I love you for all.
+
+  My foot's in my stirrup, my bridle's in my hand,
+  I'm going to leave sweet Mollie, the fairest in the land.
+  Her parents don't like me, they say I'm too poor,
+  They say I'm unworthy to enter her door.
+
+  They say I drink whiskey; my money is my own,
+  And them that don't like me can leave me alone.
+  I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry,
+  And when I get thirsty I'll lay down and cry.
+
+    It's beefsteak when I'm hungry,
+    And whiskey when I'm dry,
+    Greenbacks when I'm hard up,
+    And heaven when I die.
+    Rye whiskey, rye whiskey,
+    Rye whiskey I cry,
+    If I don't get rye whiskey,
+    I surely will die.
+      O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before,
+      Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor.
+
+  I will build me a big castle on yonder mountain high,
+  Where my true love can see me when she comes riding by,
+  Where my true love can see me and help me to mourn,--
+  I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.
+
+  I'll get up in my saddle, my quirt I'll take in hand,
+  I'll think of you, Mollie, when in some far distant land,
+  I'll think of you, Mollie, you caused me to roam,--
+  I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.
+
+    If the ocean was whiskey,
+    And I was a duck,
+    I'd dive to the bottom
+    To get one sweet sup;
+    But the ocean ain't whiskey,
+    And I ain't a duck,
+    So I'll play Jack o' diamonds
+    And then we'll get drunk.
+      O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before,
+      Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor.
+
+  I've rambled and trambled this wide world around,
+  But it's for the rabble army, dear Mollie, I'm bound,
+  It is to the rabble army, dear Mollie, I roam,--
+  I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.
+
+  I have rambled and gambled all my money away,
+  But it's with the rabble army, O Mollie, I must stay,
+  It is with the rabble army, O Mollie I must roam,--
+  I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.
+
+    Jack o' diamonds, Jack o' diamonds,
+    I know you of old,
+    You've robbed my poor pockets
+    Of silver and gold.
+    Rye whiskey, rye whiskey,
+    Rye whiskey I cry,
+    If you don't give me rye whiskey
+    I'll lie down and die.
+      O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before,
+      Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor.
+
+
+
+Jack o' Diamonds (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  O Mol-lie, O Mol-lie, It's for your sake a-lone
+  That I leave my old pa-rents, my house and my home;
+  That I leave my old pa-rents, you caused me to roam--
+  I am a rab-ble sol-dier, and Dix-ie is my home.
+
+Repeat from first for Refrain
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY'S MEDITATION
+
+
+  At midnight when the cattle are sleeping
+  On my saddle I pillow my head,
+  And up at the heavens lie peeping
+  From out of my cold, grassy bed,--
+  Often and often I wondered
+  At night when lying alone
+  If every bright star up yonder
+  Is a big peopled world like our own.
+
+  Are they worlds with their ranges and ranches?
+  Do they ring with rough rider refrains?
+  Do the cowboys scrap there with Comanches
+  And other Red Men of the plains?
+  Are the hills covered over with cattle
+  In those mystic worlds far, far away?
+  Do the ranch-houses ring with the prattle
+  Of sweet little children at play?
+
+  At night in the bright stars up yonder
+  Do the cowboys lie down to their rest?
+  Do they gaze at this old world and wonder
+  If rough riders dash over its breast?
+  Do they list to the wolves in the canyons?
+  Do they watch the night owl in its flight,
+  With their horse their only companion
+  While guarding the herd through the night?
+
+  Sometimes when a bright star is twinkling
+  Like a diamond set in the sky,
+  I find myself lying and thinking,
+  It may be God's heaven is nigh.
+  I wonder if there I shall meet her,
+  My mother whom God took away;
+  If in the star-heavens I'll greet her
+  At the round-up that's on the last day.
+
+  In the east the great daylight is breaking
+  And into my saddle I spring;
+  The cattle from sleep are awakening,
+  The heaven-thoughts from me take wing,
+  The eyes of my bronco are flashing,
+  Impatient he pulls at the reins,
+  And off round the herd I go dashing,
+  A reckless cowboy of the plains.
+
+
+
+
+BILLY VENERO
+
+
+  Billy Venero heard them say,
+  In an Arizona town one day.
+  That a band of Apache Indians were upon the trail of death;
+  Heard them tell of murder done,
+  Three men killed at Rocky Run,
+  "They're in danger at the cow-ranch," said Venero, under breath.
+
+  Cow-Ranch, forty miles away,
+  Was a little place that lay
+  In a deep and shady valley of the mighty wilderness;
+  Half a score of homes were there,
+  And in one a maiden fair
+  Held the heart of Billy Venero, Billy Venero's little Bess.
+
+  So no wonder he grew pale
+  When he heard the cowboy's tale
+  Of the men that he'd seen murdered the day before at Rocky Run.
+  "Sure as there's a God above,
+  I will save the girl I love;
+  By my love for little Bessie I will see that something's done."
+
+  Not a moment he delayed
+  When his brave resolve was made.
+  "Why man," his comrades told him when they heard of his daring plan,
+  "You are riding straight to death."
+  But he answered, "Save your breath;
+  I may never reach the cow-ranch but I'll do the best I can."
+
+  As he crossed the alkali
+  All his thoughts flew on ahead
+  To the little band at cow-ranch thinking not of danger near;
+  With his quirt's unceasing whirl
+  And the jingle of his spurs
+  Little brown Chapo bore the cowboy o'er the far away frontier.
+
+  Lower and lower sank the sun;
+  He drew rein at Rocky Run;
+  "Here those men met death, my Chapo," and he stroked his glossy mane;
+  "So shall those we go to warn
+  Ere the coming of the morn
+  If we fail,--God help my Bessie," and he started on again.
+
+  Sharp and clear a rifle shot
+  Woke the echoes of the spot.
+  "I am wounded," cried Venero, as he swayed from side to side;
+  "While there's life there's always hope;
+  Slowly onward I will lope,--
+  If I fail to reach the cow-ranch, Bessie Lee shall know I tried.
+
+  "I will save her yet," he cried,
+  "Bessie Lee shall know I tried,"
+  And for her sake then he halted in the shadow of a hill;
+  From his chapareras he took
+  With weak hands a little book;
+  Tore a blank leaf from its pages saying, "This shall be my will."
+
+  From a limb a pen he broke,
+  And he dipped his pen of oak
+  In the warm blood that was spurting from a wound above his heart.
+  "Rouse," he wrote before too late;
+  "Apache warriors lie in wait.
+  Good-bye, Bess, God bless you darling," and he felt the cold tears start.
+
+  Then he made his message fast,
+  Love's first message and its last,
+  To the saddle horn he tied it and his lips were white with pain,
+  "Take this message, if not me,
+  Straight to little Bessie Lee;"
+  Then he tied himself to the saddle, and he gave his horse the rein.
+
+  Just at dusk a horse of brown
+  Wet with sweat came panting down
+  The little lane at the cow-ranch, stopped in front of Bessie's door;
+  But the cowboy was asleep,
+  And his slumbers were so deep,
+  Little Bess could never wake him though she tried for evermore.
+
+  You have heard the story told
+  By the young and by the old,
+  Away down yonder at the cow-ranch the night the Apaches came;
+  Of that sharp and bloody fight,
+  How the chief fell in the fight
+  And the panic-stricken warriors when they heard Venero's name.
+
+  And the heavens and earth between
+  Keep a little flower so green
+  That little Bess had planted ere they laid her by his side.
+
+
+
+
+DOGIE SONG
+
+
+  The cow-bosses are good-hearted chunks,
+  Some short, some heavy, more long;
+  But don't matter what he looks like,
+  They all sing the same old song.
+  On the plains, in the mountains, in the valleys,
+  In the south where the days are long,
+  The bosses are different fellows;
+  Still they sing the same old song.
+
+   "Sift along, boys, don't ride so slow;
+    Haven't got much time but a long round to go.
+    Quirt him in the shoulders and rake him down the hip;
+    I've cut you toppy mounts, boys, now pair off and rip.
+    Bunch the herd at the old meet,
+    Then beat 'em on the tail;
+    Whip 'em up and down the sides
+    And hit the shortest trail."
+
+
+
+
+THE BOOZER
+
+
+  I'm a howler from the prairies of the West.
+  If you want to die with terror, look at me.
+  I'm chain-lightning--if I ain't, may I be blessed.
+  I'm the snorter of the boundless prairie.
+
+      He's a killer and a hater!
+      He's the great annihilator!
+      He's a terror of the boundless prairie.
+
+  I'm the snoozer from the upper trail!
+  I'm the reveler in murder and in gore!
+  I can bust more Pullman coaches on the rail
+  Than anyone who's worked the job before.
+
+      He's a snorter and a snoozer.
+      He's the great trunk line abuser.
+      He's the man who puts the sleeper on the rail.
+
+  I'm the double-jawed hyena from the East.
+  I'm the blazing, bloody blizzard of the States.
+  I'm the celebrated slugger; I'm the Beast.
+  I can snatch a man bald-headed while he waits.
+
+      He's a double-jawed hyena!
+      He's the villain of the scena!
+      He can snatch a man bald-headed while he waits.
+
+
+
+
+DRINKING SONG
+
+
+  Drink that rot gut, drink that rot gut,
+  Drink that red eye, boys;
+  It don't make a damn wherever we land,
+  We hit her up for joy.
+
+  We've lived in the saddle and ridden trail,
+  Drink old Jordan, boys,
+  We'll go whooping and yelling, we'll all go a-helling;
+  Drink her to our joy.
+
+  Whoop-ee! drink that rot gut, drink that red nose,
+  Whenever you get to town;
+  Drink it straight and swig it mighty,
+  Till the world goes round and round!
+
+
+
+
+A FRAGMENT
+
+
+  I'd rather hear a rattler rattle,
+  I'd rather buck stampeding cattle,
+  I'd rather go to a greaser battle,
+  Than--
+  Than to--
+  Than to fight--
+  Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans.
+
+  I'd rather eat a pan of dope,
+  I'd rather ride without a rope,
+  I'd rather from this country lope,
+  Than--
+  Than to--
+  Than to fight--
+  Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans.
+
+
+
+
+A MAN NAMED HODS
+
+
+  Come, all you old cowpunchers, a story I will tell,
+  And if you'll all be quiet, I sure will sing it well;
+  And if you boys don't like it, you sure can go to hell.
+
+  Back in the day when I was young, I knew a man named Hods;
+  He wasn't fit fer nothin' 'cep turnin' up the clods.
+
+  But he came west in fifty-three, behind a pair of mules,
+  And 'twas hard to tell between the three which was the biggest fools.
+
+  Up on the plains old Hods he got and there his trouble began.
+  Oh, he sure did get in trouble,--and old Hodsie wasn't no man.
+
+  He met a bunch of Indian bucks led by Geronimo,
+  And what them Indians did to him, well, shorely I don't know.
+
+  But they lifted off old Hodsie's skelp and left him out to die,
+  And if it hadn't been for me, he'd been in the sweet by and by.
+
+  But I packed him back to Santa Fé and there I found his mules,
+  For them dad-blamed two critters had got the Indians fooled.
+
+  I don't know how they done it, but they shore did get away,
+  And them two mules is livin' up to this very day.
+
+  Old Hodsie's feet got toughened up, he got to be a sport,
+  He opened up a gamblin' house and a place of low resort;
+
+  He got the prettiest dancing girls that ever could be found,--
+  Them girls' feet was like rubber balls and they never staid on the
+      ground.
+
+  And then thar came Billy the Kid, he envied Hodsie's wealth,
+  He told old Hods to leave the town, 'twould be better for his health;
+  Old Hodsie took the hint and got, but he carried all his wealth.
+
+  And he went back to Noo York State with lots of dinero,
+  And now they say he's senator, but of that I shore don't know.
+
+
+
+
+A FRAGMENT
+
+
+  I am fur from my sweetheart
+  And she is fur from me,
+  And when I'll see my sweetheart
+  I can't tell when 'twill be.
+
+  But I love her just the same,
+  No matter where I roam;
+  And that there girl will wait fur me
+  Whenever I come home.
+
+  I've roamed the Texas prairies,
+  I've followed the cattle trail,
+  I've rid a pitching pony
+  Till the hair came off his tail.
+
+  I've been to cowboy dances,
+  I've kissed the Texas girls,
+  But they ain't none what can compare
+  With my own sweetheart's curls.
+
+
+
+
+THE LONE STAR TRAIL
+
+
+  I'm a rowdy cowboy just off the stormy plains,
+  My trade is girting saddles and pulling bridle reins.
+  Oh, I can tip the lasso, it is with graceful ease;
+  I rope a streak of lightning, and ride it where I please.
+  My bosses they all like me, they say I am hard to beat;
+  I give them the bold standoff, you bet I have got the cheek.
+  I always work for wages, my pay I get in gold;
+  I am bound to follow the longhorn steer until I am too old.
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+  I am a Texas cowboy and I do ride the range;
+  My trade is cinches and saddles and ropes and bridle reins;
+  With Stetson hat and jingling spurs and leather up to the knees,
+  Gray backs as big as chili beans and fighting like hell with fleas.
+  And if I had a little stake, I soon would married be,
+  But another week and I must go, the boss said so to-day.
+  My girl must cheer up courage and choose some other one,
+  For I am bound to follow the Lone Star Trail until my race is run.
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+  It almost breaks my heart for to have to go away,
+  And leave my own little darling, my sweetheart so far away.
+  But when I'm out on the Lone Star Trail often I'll think of thee,
+  Of my own dear girl, the darling one, the one I would like to see.
+  And when I get to a shipping point, I'll get on a little spree
+  To drive away the sorrow for the girl that once loved me.
+  And though red licker stirs us up we're bound to have our fun,
+  And I intend to follow the Lone Star Trail until my race is run.
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+  I went up the Lone Star Trail in eighteen eighty-three;
+  I fell in love with a pretty miss and she in love with me.
+  "When you get to Kansas write and let me know;
+  And if you get in trouble, your bail I'll come and go."
+  When I got up in Kansas, I had a pleasant dream;
+  I dreamed I was down on Trinity, down on that pleasant stream;
+  I dreampt my true love right beside me, she come to go my bail;
+  I woke up broken hearted with a yearling by the tail.
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+  In came my jailer about nine o'clock,
+  A bunch of keys was in his hand, my cell door to unlock,
+  Saying, "Cheer up, my prisoner, I heard some voice say
+  You're bound to hear your sentence some time to-day."
+  In came my mother about ten o'clock,
+  Saying, "O my loving Johnny, what sentence have you got?"
+  "The jury found me guilty and the judge a-standin' by
+  Has sent me down to Huntsville to lock me up and die."
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+  Down come the jailer, just about eleven o'clock,
+  With a bunch of keys all in his hand the cell doors to unlock,
+  Saying, "Cheer up, my prisoner, I heard the jury say
+  Just ten long years in Huntsville you're bound to go and stay."
+  Down come my sweetheart, ten dollars in her hand,
+  Saying, "Give this to my cowboy, 'tis all that I command;
+  O give this to my cowboy and think of olden times,
+  Think of the darling that he has left behind."
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+
+
+
+WAY DOWN IN MEXICO
+
+
+  O boys, we're goin' far to-night,
+  Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!
+  We'll take the greasers now in hand
+  And drive 'em in the Rio Grande,
+  Way down in Mexico.
+
+  We'll hang old Santa Anna soon,
+  Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!
+  And all the greaser soldiers, too,
+  To the chune of Yankee Doodle Doo,
+  Way down in Mexico.
+
+  We'll scatter 'em like flocks of sheep,
+  Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!
+  We'll mow 'em down with rifle ball
+  And plant our flag right on their wall,
+  Way down in Mexico.
+
+  Old Rough and Ready, he's a trump,
+  Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!
+  He'll wipe old Santa Anna out
+  And put the greasers all to rout,
+  Way down in Mexico.
+
+  Then we'll march back by and by,
+  Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!
+  And kiss the gals we left to home
+  And never more we'll go and roam,
+  Way down in Mexico.
+
+
+
+
+RATTLESNAKE--A RANCH HAYING SONG
+
+
+  A nice young ma-wa-wan
+  Lived on a hi-wi-will;
+  A nice young ma-wa-wan,
+  For I knew him we-we-well.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  This nice young ma-wa-wan
+  Went out to mo-wo-wow
+  To see if he-we-we
+  Could make a sho-wo-wow.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  He scarcely mo-wo-wowed
+  Half round the fie-we-wield
+  Till up jumped--come a rattle, come a sna-wa-wake,
+  And bit him on the he-we-weel.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  He laid right dow-we-wown
+  Upon the gro-wo-wound
+  And shut his ey-wy-wyes
+  And looked all aro-wo-wound.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  "O pappy da-wa-wad,
+  Go tell my ga-wa-wal
+  That I'm a-goin' ter di-wi-wie,
+  For I know I sha-wa-wall."
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  "O pappy da-wa-wad,
+  Go spread the ne-wu-wus;
+  And here come Sa-wa-wall
+  Without her sho-woo-woos."
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  "O John, O Joh-wa-wahn,
+  Why did you go-wo-wo
+  Way down in the mea-we-we-dow
+  So far to mo-wo-wow?"
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  "O Sal, O Sa-wa-wall,
+  Why don't you kno-wo-wow
+  When the grass gits ri-wi-wipe,
+  It must be mo-wo-woed?"
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  Come all young gir-wi-wirls
+  And shed a tea-we-wear
+  For this young ma-wa-wan
+  That died right he-we-were.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  Come all young me-we-wen
+  And warning ta-wa-wake,
+  And don't get bi-wi-wit
+  By a rattle sna-wa-wake.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+
+
+
+THE RAILROAD CORRAL
+
+
+  Oh we're up in the morning ere breaking of day,
+  The chuck wagon's busy, the flapjacks in play;
+  The herd is astir o'er hillside and vale,
+  With the night riders rounding them into the trail.
+    Oh, come take up your cinches, come shake out your reins;
+    Come wake your old broncho and break for the plains;
+    Come roust out your steers from the long chaparral,
+    For the outfit is off to the railroad corral.
+
+  The sun circles upward; the steers as they plod
+  Are pounding to powder the hot prairie sod;
+  And it seems as the dust makes you dizzy and sick
+  That we'll never reach noon and the cool, shady creek.
+    But tie up your kerchief and ply up your nag;
+    Come dry up your grumbles and try not to lag;
+    Come with your steers from the long chaparral,
+    For we're far on the road to the railroad corral.
+
+  The afternoon shadows are starting to lean,
+  When the chuck wagon sticks in the marshy ravine;
+  The herd scatters farther than vision can look,
+  For you can bet all true punchers will help out the cook.
+    Come shake out your rawhide and snake it up fair;
+    Come break your old broncho to take in his share;
+    Come from your steers in the long chaparral,
+    For 'tis all in the drive to the railroad corral.
+
+  But the longest of days must reach evening at last,
+  The hills all climbed, the creeks all past;
+  The tired herd droops in the yellowing light;
+  Let them loaf if they will, for the railroad's in sight
+    So flap up your holster and snap up your belt,
+    And strap up your saddle whose lap you have felt;
+    Good-bye to the steers from the long chaparral,
+    For there's a town that's a trunk by the railroad corral.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE "METIS" TRAPPER
+
+BY ROLETTE
+
+
+  Hurrah for the great white way!
+    Hurrah for the dog and sledge!
+  As we snow-shoe along,
+    We give them a song,
+  With a snap of the whip and an urgent "mush on,"--
+    Hurrah for the great white way! Hurrah!
+
+  Hurrah for the snow and the ice!
+    As we follow the trail,
+  We call to the dogs with whistle and song,
+    And reply to their talk
+  With only "mush on, mush on"!
+    Hurrah for the snow and the ice! Hurrah!
+
+  Hurrah for the gun and the trap,--
+    As we follow the lines
+  By the rays of the mystic light
+    That flames in the north with banners so bright,
+  As we list to its swish, swish, swish, through the air all night,
+    Hurrah for the gun and the trap! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
+
+  Hurrah for the fire and cold!
+    As we lie in the robes all night.
+  And list to the howl of the wolf;
+    For we emptied the pot of the tea so hot,
+  And a king on his throne might envy our lot,--
+    Hurrah for the fire and cold! Hurrah!
+
+  Hurrah for our black-haired girls,
+    Who brave the storms of the mountain heights
+  And follow us on the great white way;
+    For their eyes so bright light the way all right
+  And guide us to shelter and warmth each night.
+    Hurrah for our black-haired girls! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
+
+
+
+
+THE CAMP FIRE HAS GONE OUT
+
+
+  Through progress of the railroads our occupation's gone;
+  So we will put ideas into words, our words into a song.
+  First comes the cowboy, he is pointed for the west;
+  Of all the pioneers I claim the cowboys are the best;
+  You will miss him on the round-up, it's gone, his merry shout,--
+  The cowboy has left the country and the campfire has gone out.
+
+  There is the freighters, our companions, you've got to leave this land,
+  Can't drag your loads for nothing through the gumbo and the sand.
+  The railroads are bound to beat you when you do your level best;
+  So give it up to the grangers and strike out for the west.
+  Bid them all adieu and give the merry shout,--
+  The cowboy has left the country and the campfire has gone out.
+
+  When I think of those good old days, my eyes with tears do fill;
+  When I think of the tin can by the fire and the cayote on
+      the hill.
+  I'll tell you, boys, in those days old-timers stood a show,--
+  Our pockets full of money, not a sorrow did we know.
+  But things have changed now, we are poorly clothed and fed.
+  Our wagons are all broken and our ponies most all dead.
+  Soon we will leave this country, you'll hear the angels shout,
+  "Oh, here they come to Heaven, the campfire has gone out."
+
+
+
+
+NIGHT-HERDING SONG
+
+BY HARRY STEPHENS
+
+
+  Oh, slow up, dogies, quit your roving round,
+  You have wandered and tramped all over the ground;
+  Oh, graze along, dogies, and feed kinda slow,
+  And don't forever be on the go,--
+  Oh, move slow, dogies, move slow.
+
+  Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.
+
+  I have circle-herded, trail-herded, night-herded, and cross-herded, too,
+  But to keep you together, that's what I can't do;
+  My horse is leg weary and I'm awful tired,
+  But if I let you get away I'm sure to get fired,--
+  Bunch up, little dogies, bunch up.
+
+  Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.
+
+  O say, little dogies, when you goin' to lay down
+  And quit this forever siftin' around?
+  My limbs are weary, my seat is sore;
+  Oh, lay down, dogies, like you've laid before,--
+  Lay down, little dogies, lay down.
+
+  Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.
+
+  Oh, lay still, dogies, since you have laid down,
+  Stretch away out on the big open ground;
+  Snore loud, little dogies, and drown the wild sound
+  That will all go away when the day rolls round,--
+  Lay still, little dogies, lay still.
+
+  Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.
+  .   .   .   .   .   .
+
+
+
+
+TAIL PIECE
+
+
+  Oh, the cow-puncher loves the whistle of his rope,
+  As he races over the plains;
+  And the stage-driver loves the popper of his whip,
+  And the rattle of his concord chains;
+  And we'll all pray the Lord that we will be saved,
+  And we'll keep the golden rule;
+  But I'd rather be home with the girl I love
+  Than to monkey with this goddamn'd mule.
+  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
+
+
+
+
+THE HABIT[5]
+
+
+  I've beat my way wherever any winds have blown,
+  I've bummed along from Portland down to San Antone,
+  From Sandy Hook to Frisco, over gulch and hill;
+  For once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still.
+
+  I settles down quite frequent and I says, says I,
+  "I'll never wander further till I comes to die."
+  But the wind it sorta chuckles, "Why, o' course you will,"
+  And shure enough I does it, cause I can't keep still.
+
+  I've seed a lot o' places where I'd like to stay,
+  But I gets a feelin' restless and I'm on my way.
+  I was never meant for settin' on my own door sill,
+  And once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still.
+
+  I've been in rich men's houses and I've been in jail,
+  But when it's time for leavin', I jes hits the trail;
+  I'm a human bird of passage, and the song I trill,
+  Is, "Once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still."
+
+  The sun is sorta coaxin' and the road is clear
+  And the wind is singin' ballads that I got to hear.
+  It ain't no use to argue when you feel the thrill;
+  For once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still.
+
+[Footnote 5: A song current in Arizona, probably written by Berton
+Braley. Cowboys and miners often take verses that please them and fit
+them to music.]
+
+
+
+
+OLD PAINT[6]
+
+
+  REFRAIN:
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne,
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne,--
+
+  My foot in the stirrup, my pony won't stand;
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+
+  I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne, I'm off for Montan';
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+
+  I'm a ridin' Old Paint, I'm a-leadin' old Fan;
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+
+  With my feet in the stirrups, my bridle in my hand;
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+
+  Old Paint's a good pony, he paces when he can;
+  Goodbye, little Annie, I'm off for Cheyenne.
+
+  Oh, hitch up your horses and feed 'em some hay,
+  And seat yourself by me so long as you stay.
+
+  My horses ain't hungry, they'll not eat your hay;
+  My wagon is loaded and rolling away.
+
+  My foot in my stirrup, my reins in my hand;
+  Good-morning, young lady, my horses won't stand.
+
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+
+[Footnote 6: These verses are used in many parts of the West as a
+dance song. Sung to waltz music the song takes the place of "Home,
+Sweet Home" at the conclusion of a cowboy ball. The "fiddle" is
+silenced and the entire company sing as they dance.]
+
+
+
+
+DOWN SOUTH ON THE RIO GRANDE
+
+
+  From way down south on the Rio Grande,
+  Roll on steers for the Post Oak Sand,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+  You'd laugh fur to see that fellow a-straddle
+  Of a mustang mare on a raw-hide saddle,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+  Rich as a king, and he wouldn't be bigger
+  Fur a pitchin' hoss and a lame old nigger,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+  Ole Abe kep' gettin' bigger an' bigger,
+  'Til he bust hisself 'bout a lame old nigger,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+  Old Jeff swears he'll sew him together
+  With powder and shot instead of leather,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+  Kin cuss an' fight an' hold or free 'em,
+  But I know them mavericks when I see 'em,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+
+
+
+SILVER JACK[7]
+
+
+  I was on the drive in eighty
+  Working under Silver Jack,
+  Which the same is now in Jackson
+  And ain't soon expected back,
+  And there was a fellow 'mongst us
+  By the name of Robert Waite;
+  Kind of cute and smart and tonguey
+  Guess he was a graduate.
+
+  He could talk on any subject
+  From the Bible down to Hoyle,
+  And his words flowed out so easy,
+  Just as smooth and slick as oil,
+  He was what they call a skeptic,
+  And he loved to sit and weave
+  Hifalutin' words together
+  Tellin' what he didn't believe.
+
+  One day we all were sittin' round
+  Smokin' nigger head tobacco
+  And hearing Bob expound;
+  Hell, he said, was all a humbug,
+  And he made it plain as day
+  That the Bible was a fable;
+  And we lowed it looked that way.
+  Miracles and such like
+  Were too rank for him to stand,
+  And as for him they called the Savior
+  He was just a common man.
+
+  "You're a liar," someone shouted,
+  "And you've got to take it back."
+  Then everybody started,--
+  'Twas the words of Silver Jack.
+  And he cracked his fists together
+  And he stacked his duds and cried,
+  "'Twas in that thar religion
+  That my mother lived and died;
+  And though I haven't always
+  Used the Lord exactly right,
+  Yet when I hear a chump abuse him
+  He's got to eat his words or fight."
+
+  Now, this Bob he weren't no coward
+  And he answered bold and free:
+  "Stack your duds and cut your capers,
+  For there ain't no flies on me."
+  And they fit for forty minutes
+  And the crowd would whoop and cheer
+  When Jack spit up a tooth or two,
+  Or when Bobby lost an ear.
+
+  But at last Jack got him under
+  And he slugged him onct or twict,
+  And straightway Bob admitted
+  The divinity of Christ.
+  But Jack kept reasoning with him
+  Till the poor cuss gave a yell
+  And lowed he'd been mistaken
+  In his views concerning hell.
+
+  Then the fierce encounter ended
+  And they riz up from the ground
+  And someone brought a bottle out
+  And kindly passed it round.
+  And we drank to Bob's religion
+  In a cheerful sort o' way,
+  But the spread of infidelity
+  Was checked in camp that day.
+
+[Footnote 7: A lumber jack song adopted by the cowboys.]
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY'S CHRISTMAS BALL[8]
+
+
+  Way out in Western Texas, where the Clear Fork's waters flow,
+  Where the cattle are a-browzin' and the Spanish ponies grow;
+  Where the Northers come a-whistlin' from beyond the Neutral Strip;
+  And the prairie dogs are sneezin', as though they had the grip;
+  Where the coyotes come a-howlin' round the ranches after dark,
+  And the mockin' birds are singin' to the lovely medder lark;
+  Where the 'possum and the badger and the rattlesnakes abound,
+  And the monstrous stars are winkin' o'er a wilderness profound;
+  Where lonesome, tawny prairies melt into airy streams,
+  While the Double Mountains slumber in heavenly kinds of dreams;
+  Where the antelope is grazin' and the lonely plovers call,--
+  It was there I attended the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+  The town was Anson City, old Jones' county seat,
+  Where they raised Polled Angus cattle and waving whiskered wheat;
+  Where the air is soft and bammy and dry and full of health,
+  Where the prairies is explodin' with agricultural wealth;
+  Where they print the _Texas Western_, that Hec McCann supplies
+  With news and yarns and stories, of most amazing size;
+  Where Frank Smith "pulls the badger" on knowing tenderfeet,
+  And Democracy's triumphant and mighty hard to beat;
+  Where lives that good old hunter, John Milsap, from Lamar,
+  Who used to be the sheriff "back east in Paris, sah"!
+  'Twas there, I say, at Anson with the lovely Widder Wall,
+  That I went to that reception, the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+  The boys had left the ranches and come to town in piles;
+  The ladies, kinder scatterin', had gathered in for miles.
+  And yet the place was crowded, as I remember well,
+  'Twas gave on this occasion at the Morning Star Hotel.
+  The music was a fiddle and a lively tambourine,
+  And a viol came imported, by the stage from Abilene.
+  The room was togged out gorgeous--with mistletoe and shawls,
+  And the candles flickered festious, around the airy walls.
+  The wimmen folks looked lovely--the boys looked kinder treed,
+  Till the leader commenced yelling, "Whoa, fellers, let's stampede,"
+  And the music started sighing and a-wailing through the hall
+  As a kind of introduction to the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+  The leader was a feller that came from Swenson's ranch,--
+  They called him Windy Billy from Little Deadman's Branch.
+  His rig was kinder keerless,--big spurs and high heeled boots;
+  He had the reputation that comes when fellers shoots.
+  His voice was like the bugle upon the mountain height;
+  His feet were animated, and a mighty movin' sight,
+  When he commenced to holler, "Now fellers, shake your pen!
+  Lock horns ter all them heifers and rustle them like men;
+  Saloot yer lovely critters; neow swing and let 'em go;
+  Climb the grapevine round 'em; neow all hands do-ce-do!
+  You maverick, jine the round-up,--jes skip the waterfall,"
+  Huh! hit was getting active, the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+  The boys was tolerable skittish, the ladies powerful neat,
+  That old bass viol's music just got there with both feet!
+  That wailin', frisky fiddle, I never shall forget;
+  And Windy kept a-singin'--I think I hear him yet--
+  "Oh, X's, chase yer squirrels, and cut 'em to our side;
+  Spur Treadwell to the center, with Cross P Charley's bride,
+  Doc Hollis down the center, and twine the ladies' chain,
+  Van Andrews, pen the fillies in big T Diamond's train.
+  All pull your freight together, neow swallow fork and change;
+  Big Boston, lead the trail herd through little Pitchfork's range.
+  Purr round yer gentle pussies, neow rope and balance all!"
+  Huh! Hit were gettin' active--the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+  The dust riz fast and furious; we all jes galloped round,
+  Till the scenery got so giddy that T Bar Dick was downed.
+  We buckled to our partners and told 'em to hold on,
+  Then shook our hoofs like lightning until the early dawn.
+  Don't tell me 'bout cotillions, or germans. No sir-ee!
+  That whirl at Anson City jes takes the cake with me.
+  I'm sick of lazy shufflin's, of them I've had my fill,
+  Give me a frontier break-down backed up by Windy Bill.
+  McAllister ain't nowhere, when Windy leads the show;
+  I've seen 'em both in harness and so I ought ter know.
+  Oh, Bill, I shan't forget yer, and I oftentimes recall
+  That lively gaited sworray--the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+[Footnote 8: This poem, one of the best in Larry Chittenden's _Ranch
+Verses_, published by G.P. Putnam's Sons, New York, has been set to
+music by the cowboys and its phraseology slightly changed, as this
+copy will show, by oral transmission. I have heard it in New Mexico
+and it has been sent to me from various places,--always as a song.
+None of those who sent in the song knew that it was already in print.]
+
+
+
+
+PINTO
+
+
+  I am a vaquero by trade;
+  To handle my rope I'm not afraid.
+  I lass' an _otero_ by the two horns
+  Throw down the biggest that ever was born.
+  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!
+
+  My name to you I will not tell;
+  For what's the use, you know me so well.
+  The girls all love me, and cry
+  When I leave them to join the rodero.
+  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!
+
+  I am a vaquero, and here I reside;
+  Show me the broncho I cannot ride.
+  They say old Pinto with one split ear
+  Is the hardest jumping broncho on the rodero.
+  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!
+
+  There strayed to our camp an iron gray colt;
+  The boys were all fraid him so on him I bolt.
+  You bet I stayed with him till cheer after cheer,--
+  "He's the broncho twister that's on the rodero."
+  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!
+
+  My story is ended, old Pinto is dead;
+  I'm going down Laredo and paint the town red.
+  I'm going up to Laredo and set up the beer
+  To all the cowboys that's on the rodero.
+  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!
+
+
+
+
+THE GAL I LEFT BEHIND ME
+
+
+  I struck the trail in seventy-nine,
+  The herd strung out behind me;
+  As I jogged along my mind ran back
+  For the gal I left behind me.
+      That sweet little gal, that true little gal,
+      The gal I left behind me!
+
+  If ever I get off the trail
+  And the Indians they don't find me,
+  I'll make my way straight back again
+  To the gal I left behind me.
+      That sweet little gal, that true little gal,
+      The gal I left behind me!
+
+  The wind did blow, the rain did flow,
+  The hail did fall and blind me;
+  I thought of that gal, that sweet little gal,
+  That gal I'd left behind me!
+      That sweet little gal, that true little gal,
+      The gal I left behind me!
+
+  She wrote ahead to the place I said,
+  I was always glad to find it.
+  She says, "I am true, when you get through
+  Right back here you will find me."
+      That sweet little gal, that true little gal,
+      The gal I left behind me!
+
+  When we sold out I took the train,
+  I knew where I would find her;
+  When I got back we had a smack
+  And that was no gol-darned liar.
+      That sweet little gal, that true little gal,
+      The gal I left behind me!
+
+
+
+
+BILLY THE KID
+
+
+  Billy was a bad man
+  And carried a big gun,
+  He was always after Greasers
+  And kept 'em on the run.
+
+  He shot one every morning,
+  For to make his morning meal.
+  And let a white man sass him,
+  He was shore to feel his steel.
+
+  He kept folks in hot water,
+  And he stole from many a stage;
+  And when he was full of liquor
+  He was always in a rage.
+
+  But one day he met a man
+  Who was a whole lot badder.
+  And now he's dead,
+  And we ain't none the sadder.
+
+
+
+
+THE HELL-BOUND TRAIN
+
+
+  A Texas cowboy lay down on a bar-room floor.
+  Having drunk so much he could drink no more;
+  So he fell asleep with a troubled brain
+  To dream that he rode on a hell-bound train.
+
+  The engine with murderous blood was damp
+  And was brilliantly lit with a brimstone lamp;
+  An imp, for fuel, was shoveling bones,
+  While the furnace rang with a thousand groans.
+
+  The boiler was filled with lager beer
+  And the devil himself was the engineer;
+  The passengers were a most motley crew,--
+  Church member, atheist, Gentile, and Jew,
+
+  Rich men in broadcloth, beggars in rags,
+  Handsome young ladies, and withered old hags,
+  Yellow and black men, red, brown, and white.
+  All chained together,--O God, what a sight!
+
+  While the train rushed on at an awful pace,
+  The sulphurous fumes scorched their hands and face;
+  Wider and wider the country grew,
+  As faster and faster the engine flew.
+
+  Louder and louder the thunder crashed
+  And brighter and brighter the lightning flashed;
+  Hotter and hotter the air became
+  Till the clothes were burnt from each quivering frame.
+
+  And out of the distance there arose a yell,
+  "Ha, ha," said the devil, "we're nearing hell!"
+  Then oh, how the passengers all shrieked with pain
+  And begged the devil to stop the train.
+
+  But he capered about and danced for glee
+  And laughed and joked at their misery.
+  "My faithful friends, you have done the work
+  And the devil never can a payday shirk.
+
+  "You've bullied the weak, you've robbed the poor;
+  The starving brother you've turned from the door,
+  You've laid up gold where the canker rust,
+  And have given free vent to your beastly lust.
+
+  "You've justice scorned, and corruption sown,
+  And trampled the laws of nature down.
+  You have drunk, rioted, cheated, plundered, and lied,
+  And mocked at God in your hell-born pride.
+
+  "You have paid full fare so I'll carry you through;
+  For it's only right you should have your due.
+  Why, the laborer always expects his hire,
+  So I'll land you safe in the lake of fire.
+
+  "Where your flesh will waste in the flames that roar,
+  And my imps torment you forever more."
+  Then the cowboy awoke with an anguished cry,
+  His clothes wet with sweat and his hair standing high.
+
+  Then he prayed as he never had prayed till that hour
+  To be saved from his sin and the demon's power.
+  And his prayers and his vows were not in vain;
+  For he never rode the hell-bound train.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT
+
+
+  Come all of you, my brother scouts,
+  And listen to my song;
+  Come, let us sing together
+  Though the shadows fall so long.
+
+  Of all the old frontiersmen
+  That used to scour the plain
+  There are but very few of them
+  That with us yet remain.
+
+  Day after day they're dropping off,
+  They're going one by one;
+  Our clan is fast decreasing,
+  Our race is almost run.
+
+  There are many of our number
+  That never wore the blue,
+  But faithfully they did their part
+  As brave men, tried and true.
+
+  They never joined the army,
+  But had other work to do
+  In piloting the coming folks,
+  To help them safely through.
+
+  But brothers, we are failing,
+  Our race is almost run;
+  The days of elk and buffalo
+  And beaver traps are gone--
+
+  Oh, the days of elk and buffalo!
+  It fills my heart with pain
+  To know these days are past and gone
+  To never come again.
+
+  We fought the red-skin rascals
+  Over valley, hill, and plain;
+  We fought him in the mountain top,
+  We fought him down again.
+
+  These fighting days are over.
+  The Indian yell resounds
+  No more along the border;
+  Peace sends far sweeter sounds.
+
+  But we found great joy, old comrades,
+  To hear and make it die;
+  We won bright homes for gentle ones,
+  And now, our West, good-bye.
+
+
+
+
+THE DESERTED ADOBE
+
+
+  Round the 'dobe rank sands are thickly blowin',
+  Its ridges fill the deserted field;
+  Yet on this claim young lives once hope were sowing
+  For all the years might yield;
+  And in strong hands the echoing hoof pursuin'
+  A wooden share turned up the sod,
+  The toiler brave drank deep the fresh air's brewin'
+  And sang content to God.
+    The toiler brave drank deep the fresh air's brewin'
+    And sang content to God.
+
+  A woman fair and sweet has smilin' striven
+  Through long and lonesome hours;
+  A blue-eyed babe, a bit of earthly heaven,
+  Laughed at the sun's hot towers;
+  A bow of promise made this desert splendid,
+  This 'dobe was their pride.
+  But what began so well, alas, has ended--,
+  The promise died.
+    But what began so well alas soon ended--,
+    The promise died.
+
+  Their plans and dreams, their cheerful labor wasted
+  In dry and mis-spent years;
+  The spring was sweet, the summer bitter tasted,
+  The autumn salt with tears.
+  Now "gyp" and sand do hide their one-time yearnin';
+  'Twas theirs; 'tis past.
+  God's ways are strange, we take so long in learnin',
+  To fail at last.
+    God's ways are strange, we take so long in learnin',
+    To fail at last.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY AT WORK
+
+
+  You may call the cowboy horned and think him hard to tame,
+  You may heap vile epithets upon his head;
+  But to know him is to like him, notwithstanding his hard name,
+  For he will divide with you his beef and bread.
+
+  If you see him on his pony as he scampers o'er the plain,
+  You would think him wild and woolly, to be sure;
+  But his heart is warm and tender when he sees a friend in need,
+  Though his education is but to endure.
+
+  When the storm breaks in its fury and the lightning's vivid flash
+  Makes you thank the Lord for shelter and for bed,
+  Then it is he mounts his pony and away you see him dash,
+  No protection but the hat upon his head.
+
+  Such is life upon a cow ranch, and the half was never told;
+  But you never find a kinder-hearted set
+  Than the cattleman at home, be he either young or old,
+  He's a "daisy from away back," don't forget.
+
+  When you fail to find a pony or a cow that's gone a-stray,
+  Be that cow or pony wild or be it tame,
+  The cowboy, like the drummer,--and the bed-bug, too, they say,--
+  Brings him to you, for he gets there just the same.
+
+
+
+
+HERE'S TO THE RANGER!
+
+
+  He leaves unplowed his furrow,
+  He leaves his books unread
+  For a life of tented freedom
+  By lure of danger led.
+  He's first in the hour of peril,
+  He's gayest in the dance,
+  Like the guardsman of old England
+  Or the beau sabreur of France.
+
+  He stands our faithful bulwark
+  Against our savage foe;
+  Through lonely woodland places
+  Our children come and go;
+  Our flocks and herds untended
+  O'er hill and valley roam,
+  The Ranger in the saddle
+  Means peace for us at home.
+
+  Behold our smiling farmsteads
+  Where waves the golden grain!
+  Beneath yon tree, earth's bosom
+  Was dark with crimson stain.
+  That bluff the death-shot echoed
+  Of husband, father, slain!
+  God grant such sight of horror
+  We never see again!
+
+  The gay and hardy Ranger,
+  His blanket on the ground,
+  Lies by the blazing camp-fire
+  While song and tale goes round;
+  And if one voice is silent,
+  One fails to hear the jest,
+  They know his thoughts are absent
+  With her who loves him best.
+
+  Our state, her sons confess it,
+  That queenly, star-crowned brow,
+  Has darkened with the shadow
+  Of lawlessness ere now;
+  And men of evil passions
+  On her reproach have laid,
+  But that the ready Ranger
+  Rode promptly to her aid.
+
+  He may not win the laurel
+  Nor trumpet tongue of fame;
+  But beauty smiles upon him,
+  And ranchmen bless his name.
+  Then here's to the Texas Ranger,
+  Past, present and to come!
+  Our safety from the savage,
+  The guardian of our home.
+
+
+
+
+MUSTER OUT THE RANGER
+
+
+  Yes, muster them out, the valiant band
+  That guards our western home.
+  What matter to you in your eastern land
+  If the raiders here should come?
+  No danger that you shall awake at night
+  To the howls of a savage band;
+  So muster them out, though the morning light
+  Find havoc on every hand.
+
+  Some dear one is sick and the horses all gone,
+  So we can't for a doctor send;
+  The outlaws were in in the light of the morn
+  And no Rangers here to defend.
+  For they've mustered them out, the brave true band,
+  Untiring by night and day.
+  The fearless scouts of this border land
+  Made the taxes high, they say.
+
+  Have fewer men in the capitol walls,
+  Fewer tongues in the war of words,
+  But add to the Rangers, the living wall
+  That keeps back the bandit hordes.
+  Have fewer dinners, less turtle soup,
+  If the taxes are too high.
+  There are many other and better ways
+  To lower them if they try.
+
+  Don't waste so much of your money
+  Printing speeches people don't read.
+  If you'd only take off what's used for that
+  'Twould lower the tax indeed.
+  Don't use so much sugar and lemons;
+  Cold water is just as good
+  For a constant drink in the summer time
+  And better for the blood.
+
+  But leave us the Rangers to guard us still,
+  Nor think that they cost too dear;
+  For their faithful watch over vale and hill
+  Gives our loved ones naught to fear.
+
+
+
+
+A COW CAMP ON THE RANGE
+
+
+  Oh, the prairie dogs are screaming,
+  And the birds are on the wing,
+  See the heel fly chase the heifer, boys!
+  'Tis the first class sign of spring.
+  The elm wood is budding,
+  The earth is turning green.
+  See the pretty things of nature
+  That make life a pleasant dream!
+
+  I'm just living through the winter
+  To enjoy the coming change,
+  For there is no place so homelike
+  As a cow camp on the range.
+  The boss is smiling radiant,
+  Radiant as the setting sun;
+  For he knows he's stealing glories,
+  For he ain't a-cussin' none.
+
+  The cook is at the chuck-box
+  Whistling "Heifers in the Green,"
+  Making baking powder biscuits, boys,
+  While the pot is biling beans.
+  The boys untie their bedding
+  And unroll it on the run,
+  For they are in a monstrous hurry
+  For the supper's almost done.
+
+  "Here's your bloody wolf bait,"
+  Cried the cook's familiar voice
+  As he climbed the wagon wheel
+  To watch the cowboys all rejoice.
+  Then all thoughts were turned from reverence
+  To a plate of beef and beans,
+  As we graze on beef and biscuits
+  Like yearlings on the range.
+
+  To the dickens with your city
+  Where they herd the brainless brats,
+  On a range so badly crowded
+  There ain't room to cuss the cat.
+  This life is not so sumptuous,
+  I'm not longing for a change,
+  For there is no place so homelike
+  As a cow camp on the range.
+
+
+
+
+FRECKLES. A FRAGMENT
+
+
+  He was little an' peaked an' thin, an' narry a no account horse,--
+  Least that's the way you'd describe him in case that the beast had
+      been lost;
+  But, for single and double cussedness an' for double fired sin,
+  The horse never came out o' Texas that was half-way knee-high to him!
+
+  The first time that ever I saw him was nineteen years ago last spring;
+  'Twas the year we had grasshoppers, that come an' et up everything,
+  That a feller rode up here one evenin' an' wanted to pen over night
+  A small bunch of horses, he said; an' I told him I guessed 'twas all
+      right.
+
+  Well, the feller was busted, the horses was thin, an' the grass round
+      here kind of good,
+  An' he said if I'd let him hold here a few days he'd settle with me
+      when he could.
+  So I told him all right, turn them loose down the draw, that
+      the latch string was always untied,
+  He was welcome to stop a few days if he wished and rest from his weary
+      ride.
+
+  Well, the cuss stayed around for two or three weeks, till at last he
+      was ready to go;
+  And that cuss out yonder bein' too poor to move, he gimme,--the cuss
+      had no dough.
+  Well, at first the darn brute was as wild as a deer, an' would snort
+      when he came to the branch,
+  An' it took two cow punchers, on good horses, too, to handle him here
+      at the ranch.
+
+  Well, the winter came on an' the range it got hard, an' my mustang
+      commenced to get thin,
+  So I fed him some an' rode him around, an' found out old Freckles was
+      game.
+  For that was what the other cuss called him,--just Freckles, no more
+      or no less,--
+  His color,--couldn't describe it,--something like a paint shop in
+      distress.
+
+  Them was Indian times, young feller, that I am telling about;
+  An' oft's the time I've seen the red man fight an' put the boys to rout.
+  A good horse in them days, young feller, would save your life,--
+  One that in any race could hold the pace when the red-skin bands were
+      rife.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+WHOSE OLD COW?
+
+
+  'Twas the end of round-up, the last day of June,
+  Or maybe July, I don't remember,
+  Or it might have been August, 'twas some time ago,
+  Or perhaps 'twas the first of September.
+
+  Anyhow, 'twas the round-up we had at Mayou
+  On the Lightning Rod's range, near Cayo;
+  There were some twenty wagons, more or less, camped about
+  On the temporal in the cañon.
+
+  First night we'd no cattle, so we only stood guard
+  On the horses, somewhere near two hundred head;
+  So we side-lined and hoppled, we belled and we staked,
+  Loosed our hot-rolls and fell into bed.
+
+  Next morning 'bout day break we started our work,
+  Our horses, like 'possums, felt fine.
+  Each one "tendin' knittin'," none tryin' to shirk!
+  So the round-up got on in good time.
+
+  Well, we worked for a week till the country was clean
+  And the bosses said, "Now, boys, we'll stay here.
+  We'll carve and we'll trim 'em and start out a herd
+  Up the east trail from old Abilene."
+
+  Next morning all on herd, and but two with the cut,
+  And the boss on Piute, carving fine,
+  Till he rode down his horse and had to pull out,
+  And a new man went in to clean up.
+
+  Well, after each outfit had worked on the band
+  There was only three head of them left;
+  When Nig Add from L F D outfit rode in,--
+  A dictionary on earmarks and brands.
+
+  He cut the two head out, told where they belonged;
+  But when the last cow stood there alone
+  Add's eyes bulged so he didn't know just what to say,
+  'Ceptin', "Boss, dere's something here monstrous wrong!
+
+  "White folks smarter'n Add, and maybe I'se wrong;
+  But here's six months' wages dat I'll give
+  If anyone'll tell me when I reads dis mark
+  To who dis longhorned cow belong!
+
+  "Overslope in right ear an' de underbill,
+  Lef' ear swaller fork an' de undercrop,
+  Hole punched in center, an' de jinglebob
+  Under half crop, an' de slash an' split.
+
+  "She's got O Block an' Lightnin' Rod,
+  Nine Forty-Six an' A Bar Eleven,
+  T Terrapin an' Ninety-Seven,
+  Rafter Cross an' de Double Prod.
+
+  "Half circle A an' Diamond D,
+  Four Cross L and Three P Z,
+  B W I bar, X V V,
+  Bar N cross an' A L C.
+
+  "So, if none o' you punchers claims dis cow,
+  Mr. Stock 'Sociation needn't git 'larmed;
+  For one more brand more or less won't do no harm,
+  So old Nigger Add'l just brand her now."
+
+
+
+
+OLD TIME COWBOY
+
+
+  Come all you melancholy folks wherever you may be,
+  I'll sing you about the cowboy whose life is light and free.
+  He roams about the prairie, and, at night when he lies down,
+  His heart is as gay as the flowers in May in his bed upon the ground.
+
+  They're a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them, at least;
+  But if you do not hunt a quarrel you can live with them in peace;
+  For if you do, you're sure to rue the day you joined their band.
+  They will follow you up and shoot it out with you just man to man.
+
+  Did you ever go to a cowboy whenever hungry and dry,
+  Asking for a dollar, and have him you deny?
+  He'll just pull out his pocket book and hand you a note,--
+  They are the fellows to help you whenever you are broke.
+
+  Go to their ranches and stay a while, they never ask a cent;
+  And when they go to town, their money is freely spent.
+  They walk straight up and take a drink, paying for every one,
+  And they never ask your pardon for anything they've done.
+
+  When they go to their dances, some dance while others pat
+  They ride their bucking bronchos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats;
+  With their California saddles, and their pants stuck in their boots,
+  You can hear their spurs a-jingling, and perhaps some of them shoots.
+
+  Come all soft-hearted tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun;
+  Go live among the cowboys, they'll show you how it's done.
+  They'll treat you like a prince, my boys, about them there's nothing
+      mean;
+  But don't try to give them too much advice, for all of them ain't green.
+
+
+
+
+BUCKING BRONCHO
+
+
+  My love is a rider, wild bronchos he breaks,
+  Though he's promised to quit it, just for my sake.
+  He ties up one foot, the saddle puts on,
+  With a swing and a jump he is mounted and gone.
+
+  The first time I met him, 'twas early one spring,
+  Riding a broncho, a high-headed thing.
+  He tipped me a wink as he gaily did go;
+  For he wished me to look at his bucking broncho.
+
+  The next time I saw him 'twas late in the fall,
+  Swinging the girls at Tomlinson's ball.
+  He laughed and he talked as we danced to and fro,
+  Promised never to ride on another broncho.
+
+  He made me some presents, among them a ring;
+  The return that I made him was a far better thing;
+  'Twas a young maiden's heart, I'd have you all know;
+  He's won it by riding his bucking broncho.
+
+  My love has a gun, and that gun he can use,
+  But he's quit his gun fighting as well as his booze;
+  And he's sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,
+  And there's no more cow punching, and that's what I hope.
+
+  My love has a gun that has gone to the bad,
+  Which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;
+  For the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low,
+  And it wobbles about like a bucking broncho.
+
+  Now all you young maidens, where'er you reside,
+  Beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide;
+  He'll court you and pet you and leave you and go
+  In the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho.
+
+
+
+
+THE PECOS QUEEN
+
+
+  Where the Pecos River winds and turns in its journey to the sea,
+  From its white walls of sand and rock striving ever to be free,
+  Near the highest railroad bridge that all these modern times have seen,
+  Dwells fair young Patty Morehead, the Pecos River queen.
+
+  She is known by every cowboy on the Pecos River wide,
+  They know full well that she can shoot, that she can rope and ride.
+  She goes to every round-up, every cow work without fail,
+  Looking out for her cattle, branded "walking hog on rail."
+
+  She made her start in cattle, yes, made it with her rope;
+  Can tie down every maverick before it can strike a lope.
+  She can rope and tie and brand it as quick as any man;
+  She's voted by all cowboys an A-1 top cow hand.
+
+  Across the Comstock railroad bridge, the highest in the West,
+  Patty rode her horse one day, a lover's heart to test;
+  For he told her he would gladly risk all dangers for her sake--
+  But the puncher wouldn't follow, so she's still without a mate.
+
+
+
+
+CHOPO
+
+
+  Through rocky arroyas so dark and so deep,
+  Down the sides of the mountains so slippery and steep,--
+  You've good judgment, sure-footed, wherever you go,
+  You're a safety conveyance, my little Chopo.
+
+    Refrain:--
+    Chopo, my pony, Chopo, my pride,
+    Chopo, my amigo, Chopo I will ride.
+    From Mexico's borders 'cross Texas' Llano
+    To the salt Pecos River, I ride you, Chopo.
+
+  Whether single or double or in the lead of the team,
+  Over highways or byways or crossing a stream,--
+  You're always in fix and willing to go,
+  Whenever you're called on, my chico Chopo.
+
+  You're a good roping horse, you were never jerked down,
+  When tied to a steer, you will circle him round;
+  Let him once cross the string and over he'll go,--
+  You sabe the business, my cow-horse, Chopo.
+
+  One day on the Llano a hailstorm began,
+  The herds were stampeded, the horses all ran,
+  The lightning it glittered, a cyclone did blow,
+  But you faced the sweet music, my little Chopo.
+
+
+
+
+TOP HAND
+
+
+  While you're all so frisky I'll sing a little song,--
+  Think a little horn of whiskey will help the thing along?
+  It's all about the Top Hand, when he busted flat
+  Bummin' round the town, in his Mexican hat.
+  He's laid up all winter, and his pocket book is flat,
+  His clothes are all tatters, but he don't mind that.
+
+  See him in town with a crowd that he knows,
+  Rollin' cigarettes and smokin' through his nose.
+  First thing he tells you, he owns a certain brand,--
+  Leads you to think he is a daisy hand;
+  Next thing he tells you 'bout his trip up the trail,
+  All the way to Kansas, to finish out his tale.
+
+  Put him on a hoss, he's a handy hand to work;
+  Put him in the brandin'-pen, he's dead sure to shirk.
+  With his natural leaf tobacco in the pockets of his vest
+  He'll tell you his California pants are the best.
+  He's handled lots of cattle, hasn't any fears,
+  Can draw his sixty dollars for the balance of his years.
+
+  Put him on herd, he's a-cussin' all day;
+  Anything he tries, it's sure to get away.
+  When you have a round-up, he tells it all about
+  He's goin' to do the cuttin' an' you can't keep him out.
+  If anything goes wrong, he lays it on the screws,
+  Says the lazy devils were tryin' to take a snooze.
+
+  When he meets a greener he ain't afraid to rig,
+  Stands him on a chuck box and makes him dance a jig,--
+  Waves a loaded cutter, makes him sing and shout,--
+  He's a regular Ben Thompson when the boss ain't about.
+  When the boss ain't about he leaves his leggins in camp,
+  He swears a man who wears them is worse than a tramp.
+
+  Says he's not carin' for the wages he earns,
+  For Dad's rich in Texas,--got wagon loads to burn;
+  But when he goes to town, he's sure to take it in,
+  He's always been dreaded wherever he's been.
+  He rides a fancy horse, he's a favorite man,
+  Can get more credit than a common waddie can.
+
+  When you ship the cattle he's bound to go along
+  To keep the boss from drinking and see that nothing's wrong.
+  Wherever he goes, catch on to his name,
+  He likes to be called with a handle to his name.
+  He's always primping with a pocket looking-glass,
+  From the top to the bottom he's a bold Jackass.
+
+
+
+
+CALIFORNIA TRAIL
+
+
+  List all you California boys
+  And open wide your ears,
+  For now we start across the plains
+  With a herd of mules and steers.
+  Now, bear in mind before you start,
+  That you'll eat jerked beef, not ham,
+  And antelope steak, Oh cuss the stuff!
+  It often proves a sham.
+
+  You cannot find a stick of wood
+  On all this prairie wide;
+  Whene'er you eat you've got to stand
+  Or sit on some old bull hide.
+  It's fun to cook with buffalo chips
+  Or mesquite, green as corn,--
+  If I'd once known what I know now
+  I'd have gone around Cape Horn.
+
+  The women have the hardest time
+  Who emigrate by land;
+  For when they cook out in the wind
+  They're sure to burn their hand.
+  Then they scold their husbands round,
+  Get mad and spill the tea,--
+  I'd have thanked my stars if they'd not come out
+  Upon this bleak prairie.
+
+  Most every night we put out guards
+  To keep the Indians off.
+  When night comes round some heads will ache,
+  And some begin to cough.
+  To be deprived of help at night,
+  You know is mighty hard,
+  But every night there's someone sick
+  To keep from standing guard.
+
+  Then they're always talking of what they've got,
+  And what they're going to do;
+  Some will say they're content,
+  For I've got as much as you.
+  Others will say, "I'll buy or sell,
+  I'm damned if I care which."
+  Others will say, "Boys, buy him out,
+  For he doesn't own a stitch."
+
+  Old raw-hide shoes are hell on corns
+  While tramping through the sands,
+  And driving jackass by the tail,--
+  Damn the overland!
+  I would as leaf be on a raft at sea
+  And there at once be lost.
+  John, let's leave the poor old mule,
+  We'll never get him across!
+
+
+
+
+BRONC PEELER'S SONG
+
+
+  I've been upon the prairie,
+  I've been upon the plain,
+  I've never rid a steam-boat,
+  Nor a double-cinched-up train.
+  But I've driv my eight-up to wagon
+  That were locked three in a row,
+  And that through blindin' sand storms,
+  And all kinds of wind and snow.
+
+    Cho:--
+    Goodbye, Liza, poor gal,
+    Goodbye, Liza Jane,
+    Goodbye, Liza, poor gal,
+    She died on the plain.
+
+  There never was a place I've been
+  Had any kind of wood.
+  We burn the roots of bar-grass
+  And think it's very good.
+  I've never tasted home bread,
+  Nor cakes, nor muss like that;
+  But I know fried dough and beef
+  Pulled from red-hot tallow fat.
+
+  I hate to see the wire fence
+  A-closin' up the range;
+  And all this fillin' in the trail
+  With people that is strange.
+  We fellers don't know how to plow,
+  Nor reap the golden grain;
+  But to round up steers and brand the cows
+  To us was allus plain.
+
+  So when this blasted country
+  Is all closed in with wire,
+  And all the top, as trot grass,
+  Is burnin' in Sol's fire,
+  I hope the settlers will be glad
+  When rain hits the land.
+  And all us cowdogs are in hell
+  With a "set"[9] joined hand in hand.
+
+[Footnote 9: "set" means settler.]
+
+
+
+
+A DEER HUNT
+
+
+  One pleasant summer day it came a storm of snow;
+  I picked my old gun and a-hunting I did go.
+
+  I came across a herd of deer and I trailed them through the snow,
+  I trailed them to the mountains where straight up they did go.
+
+  I trailed them o'er the mountains, I trailed them to the brim,
+  And I trailed them to the waters where they jumped in to swim.
+
+  I cocked both my pistols and under water went,--
+  To kill the fattest of them deer, that was my whole intent.
+
+  While I was under water five hundred feet or more
+  I fired both my pistols; like cannons did they roar.
+
+  I picked up my venison and out of water came,--
+  To kill the balance of them deer, I thought it would be fun.
+
+  So I bent my gun in circles and fired round a hill.
+  And, out of three or four deer, ten thousand I did kill.
+
+  Then I picked up my venison and on my back I tied
+  And as the sun came passing by I hopped up there to ride.
+
+  The sun she carried me o'er the globe, so merrily I did roam
+  That in four and twenty hours I landed safe at home.
+
+  And the money I received for my venison and skin,
+  I taken it all to the barn door and it would not all go in.
+
+  And if you doubt the truth of this I tell you how to know:
+  Just take my trail and go my rounds, as I did, long ago.
+
+
+
+
+WINDY BILL
+
+
+  Windy Bill was a Texas man,--
+  Well, he could rope, you bet.
+  He swore the steer he couldn't tie,--
+  Well, he hadn't found him yet.
+  But the boys they knew of an old black steer,
+  A sort of an old outlaw
+  That ran down in the malpais
+  At the foot of a rocky draw.
+
+  This old black steer had stood his ground
+  With punchers from everywhere;
+  So they bet old Bill at two to one
+  That he couldn't quite get there.
+  Then Bill brought out his old gray hoss,
+  His withers and back were raw,
+  And prepared to tackle the big black brute
+  That ran down in the draw.
+
+  With his brazen bit and his Sam Stack tree
+  His chaps and taps to boot,
+  And his old maguey tied hard and fast,
+  Bill swore he'd get the brute.
+  Now, first Bill sort of sauntered round
+  Old Blackie began to paw,
+  Then threw his tail straight in the air
+  And went driftin' down the draw.
+
+  The old gray plug flew after him,
+  For he'd been eatin' corn;
+  And Bill, he piled his old maguey
+  Right round old Blackie's horns.
+  The old gray hoss he stopped right still;
+  The cinches broke like straw,
+  And the old maguey and the Sam Stack tree
+  Went driftin' down the draw.
+
+  Bill, he lit in a flint rock pile,
+  His face and hands were scratched.
+  He said he thought he could rope a snake
+  But he guessed he'd met his match.
+  He paid his bets like a little man
+  Without a bit of jaw,
+  And lowed old Blackie was the boss
+  Of anything in the draw.
+
+  There's a moral to my story, boys,
+  And that you all must see.
+  Whenever you go to tie a snake,[10]
+  Don't tie it to your tree;
+  But take your dolly welters[11]
+  'Cordin' to California law,
+  And you'll never see your old rim-fire[12]
+  Go drifting down the draw.
+
+[Footnote 10: snake, bad steer.]
+
+[Footnote 11: Dolly welter, rope tied all around the saddle.]
+
+[Footnote 12: rim-fire saddle, without flank girth.]
+
+
+
+
+WILD ROVERS
+
+
+  Come all you wild rovers
+  And listen to me
+  While I retail to you
+  My sad history.
+  I'm a man of experience
+  Your favors to gain,
+  Oh, love has been the ruin
+  Of many a poor man.
+
+  When you are single
+  And living at your ease
+  You can roam this world over
+  And do as you please;
+  You can roam this world over
+  And go where you will
+  And slyly kiss a pretty girl
+  And be your own still.
+
+  But when you are married
+  And living with your wife,
+  You've lost all the joys
+  And comforts of life.
+  Your wife she will scold you,
+  Your children will cry,
+  And that will make papa
+  Look withered and dry.
+
+  You can't step aside, boys,
+  To speak to a friend
+  Without your wife at your elbow
+  Saying, "What does this mean?"
+  Your wife, she will scold
+  And there is sad news.
+  Dear boys, take warning;
+  'Tis a life to refuse.
+
+  If you chance to be riding
+  Along the highway
+  And meet a fair maiden,
+  A lady so gay,
+  With red, rosy cheeks
+  And sparkling blue eyes,--
+  Oh, heavens! what a tumult
+  In your bosom will rise!
+
+  One more request, boys,
+  Before we must part:
+  Don't place your affections
+  On a charming sweetheart;
+  She'll dance before you
+  Your favors to gain.
+  Oh, turn your back on them
+  With scorn and disdain!
+
+  Come close to the bar, boys,
+  We'll drink all around.
+  We'll drink to the pure,
+  If any be found;
+  We'll drink to the single,
+  For I wish them success;
+  Likewise to the married,
+  For I wish them no less.
+
+
+
+
+LIFE IN A HALF-BREED SHACK
+
+
+  'Tis life in a half-breed shack,
+  The rain comes pouring down;
+  "Drip" drops the mud through the roof,
+  And the wind comes through the wall.
+  A tenderfoot cursed his luck
+  And feebly cried out "yah!"
+
+    Refrain:
+    Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma!
+    Yah! Yah! this bloomin' country's a fraud!
+    Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma!
+
+  He tries to kindle a fire
+  When it's forty-five below;
+  He aims to chop at a log
+  And amputates his toe;
+  He hobbles back to the shack
+  And feebly cries out "yah"!
+
+  He gets on a bucking cayuse
+  And thinks to flourish around,
+  But the buzzard-head takes to bucking
+  And lays him flat out on the ground.
+  As he picks himself up with a curse,
+  He feebly cries out "yah"!
+
+  He buys all the town lots he can get
+  In the wrong end of Calgary,
+  And he waits and he waits for the boom
+  Until he's dead broke like me.
+  He couldn't get any tick
+  So he feebly cries out "yah"!
+
+  He couldn't do any work
+  And he wouldn't know how if he could;
+  So the police run him for a vag
+  And set him to bucking wood.
+  As he sits in the guard room cell,
+  He feebly cries out "yah"!
+
+  Come all ye tenderfeet
+  And listen to what I say,
+  If you can't get a government job
+  You had better remain where you be.
+  Then you won't curse your luck
+  And cry out feebly "yah"!
+
+
+
+
+THE ROAD TO COOK'S PEAK
+
+
+  If you'll listen a while I'll sing you a song,
+  And as it is short it won't take me long.
+  There are some things of which I will speak
+  Concerning the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  Concerning the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+  It was in the morning at eight-forty-five,
+  I was hooking up all ready to drive
+  Out where the miners for minerals seek,
+  With two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  With two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+  With my two little mules I jog along
+  And try to cheer them with ditty and song;
+  O'er the wide prairie where coyotes sneak,
+  While driving the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  While driving the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+  Sometimes I have to haul heavy freight,
+  Then it is I get home very late.
+  In rain or shine, six days in the week,
+  'Tis the same little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  'Tis the same little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+  And when with the driving of stage I am through
+  I will to my two little mules bid adieu.
+  And hope that those creatures, so gentle and meek,
+  Will have a good friend on the road to Cook's Peak.
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  Will have a good friend on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+  Now all kind friends that travel about,
+  Come take a trip on the Wallis stage route.
+  With a plenty of grit, they never get weak,--
+  Those two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  Those two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+
+
+
+ARAPHOE, OR BUCKSKIN JOE
+
+
+  'Twas a calm and peaceful evening in a camp called Araphoe,
+  And the whiskey was a running with a soft and gentle flow,
+  The music was a-ringing in a dance hall cross the way,
+  And the dancers was a-swinging just as close as they could lay.
+
+  People gathered round the tables, a-betting with their wealth,
+  And near by stood a stranger who had come there for his health.
+  He was a peaceful little stranger though he seemed to be unstrung;
+  For just before he'd left his home he'd separated with one lung.
+
+  Nearby at a table sat a man named Hankey Dean,
+  A tougher man says Hankey, buckskin chaps had never seen.
+  But Hankey was a gambler and he was plum sure to lose;
+  For he had just departed with a sun-dried stack of blues.
+
+  He rose from the table, on the floor his last chip flung,
+  And cast his fiery glimmers on the man with just one lung.
+  "No wonder I've been losing every bet I made tonight
+  When a sucker and a tenderfoot was between me and the light.
+
+  Look here, little stranger, do you know who I am?"
+  "Yes, and I don't care a copper colored damn."
+  The dealers stopped their dealing and the players held their breath;
+  For words like those to Hankey were a sudden flirt with death.
+
+  "Listen, gentle stranger, I'll read my pedigree:
+  I'm known on handling tenderfeet and worser men than thee;
+  The lions on the mountains, I've drove them to their lairs;
+  The wild-cats are my playmates, and I've wrestled grizzly bears;
+
+  "Why, the centipedes can't mar my tough old hide,
+  And rattle snakes have bit me and crawled off and died.
+  I'm as wild as the horse that roams the range;
+  The moss grows on my teeth and wild blood flows through my veins.
+
+  "I'm wild and woolly and full of fleas
+  And never curried below the knees.
+  Now, little stranger, if you'll give me your address,--
+  How would you like to go, by fast mail or express?"
+
+  The little stranger who was leaning on the door
+  Picked up a hand of playing cards that were scattered on the floor.
+  Picking out the five of spades, he pinned it to the door
+  And then stepped back some twenty paces or more.
+
+  He pulled out his life-preserver, and with a "one, two, three, four,"
+  Blotted out a spot with every shot;
+  For he had traveled with a circus and was a fancy pistol shot.
+  "I have one more left, kind sir, if you wish to call the play."
+
+  Then Hanke stepped up to the stranger and made a neat apology,
+  "Why, the lions in the mountains,--that was nothing but a joke.
+  Never mind about the extra, you are a bad shooting man,
+  And I'm a meek little child and as harmless as a lamb."
+
+
+
+
+ROUNDED UP IN GLORY
+
+
+  I have been thinking to-day,
+  As my thoughts began to stray,
+  Of your memory to me worth more than gold.
+  As you ride across the plain,
+  'Mid the sunshine and the rain,--
+  You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye.
+
+      Chorus:
+      You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye,
+      You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye,
+      When the milling time is o'er
+      And you will stampede no more,
+      When he rounds you up within the Master's fold.
+
+  As you ride across the plain
+  With the cowboys that have fame,
+  And the storms and the lightning flash by.
+  We shall meet to part no more
+  Upon the golden shore
+  When he rounds us up in glory bye and bye.
+
+  May we lift our voices high
+  To that sweet bye and bye,
+  And be known by the brand of the Lord;
+  For his property we are,
+  And he will know us from afar
+  When he rounds us up in glory bye and bye.
+
+
+
+
+THE DRUNKARD'S HELL
+
+
+  It was on a cold and stormy night
+  I saw and heard an awful sight;
+  The lightning flashed and thunder rolled
+  Around my poor benighted soul.
+
+  I thought I heard a mournful sound
+  Among the groans still lower down,
+  That awful sight no tongue can tell
+  Is this,--the place called Drunkard's Hell.
+
+  I thought I saw the gulf below
+  Where all the dying drunkards go.
+  I raised my hand and sad to tell
+  It was the place called Drunkard's Hell.
+
+  I traveled on and got there at last
+  And started to take a social glass;
+  But every time I started,--well,
+  I thought about the Drunkard's Hell.
+
+  I dashed it down to leave that place
+  And started to seek redeeming grace.
+  I felt like Paul, at once I'd pray
+  Till all my sins were washed away.
+
+  I then went home to change my life
+  And see my long neglected wife.
+  I found her weeping o'er the bed
+  Because her infant babe was dead.
+
+  I told her not to mourn and weep
+  Because her babe had gone to sleep;
+  Its happy soul had fled away
+  To dwell with Christ till endless day.
+
+  I taken her by her pale white hand,
+  She was so weak she could not stand;
+  I laid her down and breathed a prayer
+  That God might bless and save her there.
+
+  I then went to the Temperance hall
+  And taken a pledge among them all.
+  They taken me in with a willing hand
+  And taken me in as a temperance man.
+
+  So seven long years have passed away
+  Since first I bowed my knees to pray;
+  So now I live a sober life
+  With a happy home and a loving wife.
+
+
+
+
+RAMBLING BOY
+
+
+  I am a wild and roving lad,
+  A wild and rambling lad I'll be;
+  For I do love a little girl
+  And she does love me.
+
+  "O Willie, O Willie, I love you so,
+  I love you more than I do know;
+  And if my tongue could tell you so
+  I'd give the world to let you know."
+
+  When Julia's old father came this to know,--
+  That Julia and Willie were loving so,--
+  He ripped and swore among them all,
+  And swore he'd use a cannon ball.
+
+  She wrote Willie a letter with her right hand
+  And sent it to him in the western land.
+  "Oh, read these lines, sweet William dear.
+  For this is the last of me you will hear."
+
+  He read those lines while he wept and cried,
+  "Ten thousand times I wish I had died",
+  He read those lines while he wept and said,
+  "Ten thousand times I wish I were dead."
+
+  When her old father came home that night
+  He called for Julia, his heart's delight,
+  He ran up stairs and her door he broke
+  And found her hanging by her own bed rope.
+
+  And with his knife he cut her down,
+  And in her bosom this note he found
+  Saying, "Dig my grave both deep and wide
+  And bury sweet Willie by my side."
+
+  They dug her grave both deep and wide
+  And buried sweet Willie by her side;
+  And on her grave set a turtle dove
+  To show the world they died for love.
+
+
+
+
+BRIGHAM YOUNG. I.
+
+
+  I'll sing you a song that has often been sung
+  About an old Mormon they called Brigham Young.
+  Of wives he had many who were strong in the lungs,
+  Which Brigham found out by the length of their tongues.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+  Oh, sad was the life of a Mormon to lead,
+  Yet Brigham adhered all his life to his creed.
+  He said 'twas such fun, and true, without doubt,
+  To see the young wives knock the old ones about.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+  One day as old Brigham sat down to his dinner
+  He saw a young wife who was not getting thinner;
+  When the elders cried out, one after the other,
+  By the holy, she wants to go home to her mother.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+  Old Brigham replied, which can't be denied,
+  He couldn't afford to lose such a bride.
+  Then do not be jealous but banish your fears;
+  For the tree is well known by the fruit that it bears.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+  That I love one and all you very well know,
+  Then do not provoke me or my anger will show.
+  What must be our fate if found here in a row,
+  If Uncle Sam comes with his row-de-dow-dow.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+  Then cease all your quarrels and do not despair,
+  To meet Uncle Sam I will quickly prepare.
+  Hark! I hear Yankee Doodle played over the hills!
+  Ah! here's the enemy with their powder and pills.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+
+
+
+BRIGHAM YOUNG. II.
+
+
+  Now Brigham Young is a Mormon bold,
+  And a leader of the roaring rams,
+  And shepherd of a lot of fine tub sheep
+  And a lot of pretty little lambs.
+  Oh, he lives with his five and forty wives,
+  In the city of the Great Salt Lake,
+  Where they breed and swarm like hens on a farm
+  And cackle like ducks to a drake.
+
+      Chorus:--
+    Oh Brigham, Brigham Young,
+    It's a miracle how you survive,
+    With your roaring rams and your pretty little lambs
+    And your five and forty wives.
+
+  Number forty-five is about sixteen,
+  Number one is sixty and three;
+  And they make such a riot, how he keeps them quiet
+  Is a downright mystery to me.
+  For they clatter and they chaw and they jaw, jaw, jaw,
+  And each has a different desire;
+  It would aid the renown of the best shop in town
+  To supply them with half they desire.
+
+  Now, Brigham Young was a stout man once,
+  And now he is thin and old;
+  And I am sorry to state he is bald on the pate,
+  Which once had a covering of gold.
+  For his oldest wives won't have white wool,
+  And his young ones won't have red,
+  So, with tearing it out, and taking turn about,
+  They have torn all the hair off his head.
+
+  Now, the oldest wives sing songs all day,
+  And the young ones all sing songs;
+  And amongst such a crowd he has it pretty loud,--
+  They're as noisy as Chinese gongs.
+  And when they advance for a Mormon dance
+  He is filled with the direst alarms;
+  For they are sure to end the night in a tabernacle fight
+  To see who has the fairest charms.
+
+  Now, if any man here envies Brigham Young
+  Let him go to the Great Salt Lake;
+  And if he has the leisure to enjoy his pleasure,
+  He'll find it a great mistake.
+  One wife at a time, so says my rhyme,
+  Is enough,--there's no denial;--
+  So, before you strive to be lord of forty-five,
+  Take two for a month on trial.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD GRAY MULE
+
+
+  I am an old man some sixty years old
+  And that you can plain-li see,
+  But when I was a young man ten years old
+  They made a stable boy of me.
+
+  I have seen the fastest horses
+  That made the fastest time,
+  But I never saw one in all my life
+  Like that old gray mule of mine.
+
+  On a Sunday morn I dress myself,
+  A-goin' out to ride;
+  Now, my old mule is as gray as a bird,
+  Then he is full of his pride.
+
+  He never runs away with you,
+  Never cuts up any shine;
+  For the only friend I have on earth
+  Is this old gray mule of mine.
+
+  Now my old gray mule is dead and gone,
+  Gone to join the heavenly band,
+  With silver shoes upon his feet
+  To dance on the golden strand.
+
+
+
+
+THE FOOLS OF FORTY-NINE
+
+
+  When gold was found in forty-eight the people thought 'twas gas,
+  And some were fools enough to think the lumps were only brass.
+  But soon they all were satisfied and started off to mine;
+  They bought their ships, came round the Horn, in the days of forty-nine.
+
+    Refrain:
+    Then they thought of what they'd been told
+    When they started after gold,--
+    That they never in the world would make a pile.
+
+  The people all were crazy then, they didn't know what to do.
+  They sold their farms for just enough to pay their passage through.
+  They bid their friends a long farewell, said, "Dear wife, don't you cry,
+  I'll send you home the yellow lumps a piano for to buy."
+
+  The poor, the old, and the rotten scows were advertised to sail
+  From New Orleans with passengers, but they must pump and bail.
+  The ships were crowded more than full, and some hung on behind,
+  And others dived off from the wharf and swam till they were blind.
+
+  With rusty pork and stinking beef and rotten, wormy bread!
+  The captains, too, that never were up as high as the main mast head!
+  The steerage passengers would rave and swear that they'd paid their
+      passage
+  And wanted something more to eat beside bologna sausage.
+
+  They then began to cross the plain with oxen, hollowing "haw."
+  And steamers then began to run as far as Panama.
+  And there for months the people staid, that started after gold,
+  And some returned disgusted with the lies that had been told.
+
+  The people died on every route, they sickened and died like sheep;
+  And those at sea before they died were launched into the deep;
+  And those that died while crossing the plains fared not so well
+      as that,
+  For a hole was dug and they thrown in along the miserable Platte.
+
+  The ships at last began to arrive and the people began to inquire.
+  They say that flour is a dollar a pound, do you think it will be any
+      higher?
+  And to carry their blankets and sleep outdoors, it seemed so very droll!
+  Both tired and mad, without a cent, they damned the lousy hole.
+
+
+
+
+A RIPPING TRIP[13]
+
+
+  You go aboard a leaky boat
+  And sail for San Francisco,
+  You've got to pump to keep her afloat,
+  You've got that, by jingo!
+  The engine soon begins to squeak,
+  But nary a thing to oil her;
+  Impossible to stop the leak,--
+  Rip, goes the boiler.
+
+  The captain on the promenade
+  Looking very savage;
+  Steward and the cabin maid
+  Fightin' 'bout the cabbage;
+  All about the cabin floor
+  Passengers lie sea-sick;
+  Steamer bound to go ashore,--
+  Rip, goes the physic.
+
+  Pork and beans they can't afford,
+  The second cabin passengers;
+  The cook has tumbled overboard
+  With fifty pounds of sassengers;
+  The engineer, a little tight,
+  Bragging on the Mail Line,
+  Finally gets into a fight,--
+  Rip, goes the engine.
+
+[Footnote 13: To tune of _Pop Goes the Weasel_.]
+
+
+
+
+THE HAPPY MINER
+
+
+  I'm a happy miner,
+  I love to sing and dance.
+  I wonder what my love would say
+  If she could see my pants
+  With canvas patches on my knees
+  And one upon the stern?
+  I'll wear them when I'm digging here
+  And home when I return.
+
+    Refrain:
+    So I get in a jovial way,
+    I spend my money free.
+    And I've got plenty!
+    Will you drink lager beer with me?
+
+  She writes about her poodle dog;
+  But never thinks to say,
+  "Oh, do come home, my honey dear,
+  I'm pining all away."
+  I'll write her half a letter,
+  Then give the ink a tip.
+  If that don't bring her to her milk
+  I'll coolly let her rip.
+
+  They wish to know if I can cook
+  And what I have to eat,
+  And tell me should I take a cold
+  Be sure and soak my feet.
+  But when they talk of cooking
+  I'm mighty hard to beat,
+  I've made ten thousand loaves of bread
+  The devil couldn't eat.
+
+  I like a lazy partner
+  So I can take my ease,
+  Lay down and talk of golden home,
+  As happy as you please;
+  Without a thing to eat or drink,
+  Away from care and grief,--
+  I'm fat and sassy, ragged, too,
+  And tough as Spanish beef.
+
+  No matter whether rich or poor,
+  I'm happy as a clam.
+  I wish my friends at home could look
+  And see me as I am.
+  With woolen shirt and rubber boots,
+  In mud up to my knees,
+  And lice as large as chili beans
+  Fighting with the fleas.
+
+  I'll mine for half an ounce a day,
+  Perhaps a little less;
+  But when it comes to China pay
+  I cannot stand the press.
+  Like thousands there, I'll make a pile,
+  If I make one at all,
+  About the time the allied forces
+  Take Sepasterpol.
+
+
+
+
+THE CALIFORNIA STAGE COMPANY
+
+
+  There's no respect for youth or age
+  On board the California stage,
+  But pull and haul about the seats
+  As bed-bugs do about the sheets.
+
+    Refrain:
+    They started as a thieving line
+    In eighteen hundred and forty-nine;
+    All opposition they defy,
+    So the people must root hog or die.
+
+  You're crowded in with Chinamen,
+  As fattening hogs are in a pen;
+  And what will more a man provoke
+  Is musty plug tobacco smoke.
+
+  The ladies are compelled to sit
+  With dresses in tobacco spit;
+  The gentlemen don't seem to care,
+  But talk on politics and swear.
+
+  The dust is deep in summer time,
+  The mountains very hard to climb,
+  And drivers often stop and yell,
+  "Get out, all hands, and push up hill."
+
+  The drivers, when they feel inclined,
+  Will have you walking on behind,
+  And on your shoulders lug a pole
+  To help them out some muddy hole.
+
+  They promise when your fare you pay,
+  "You'll have to walk but half the way";
+  Then add aside, with cunning laugh,
+  "You'll have to push the other half."
+
+
+
+
+NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM
+
+
+  My country, 'tis of thee,
+  Land where things used to be
+  So cheap, we croak.
+  Land of the mavericks,
+  Land of the puncher's tricks,
+  Thy culture-inroad pricks
+  The hide of this peeler-bloke.
+
+  Some of the punchers swear
+  That what they eat and wear
+  Takes all their calves.
+  Others vow that they
+  Eat only once a day
+  Jerked beef and prairie hay
+  Washed down with tallow salves.
+
+  These salty-dogs[14] but crave
+  To pull them out the grave
+  Just one Kiowa spur.
+  They know they still will dine
+  On flesh and beef the time;
+  But give us, Lord divine,
+  One "hen-fruit stir."[15]
+
+  Our father's land, with thee,
+  Best trails of liberty,
+  We chose to stop.
+  We don't exactly like
+  So soon to henceward hike,
+  But hell, we'll take the pike
+  If this don't stop.
+
+[Footnote 14: Cowboy Dude.]
+
+[Footnote 15: Pancake.]
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cowboy Songs, by Various
+
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+<html>
+
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cowboy Songs And Other Frontier Ballads. Collected by John A. Lomax, M.A.</title>
+
+
+<style type="text/css">
+<!--
+
+body {font-size: 1em; text-align: justify; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 5%;}
+
+h1  {font-size: 130%; text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;}
+h2  {font-size: 120%; text-align: center; margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 2em;}
+h3  {font-size: 120%; text-align: center; margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 2em;}
+h4  {text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;}
+h5  {font-size: 110%; text-align: center; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 2em;}
+
+table {margin: auto;}
+
+hr.small {margin-left: 10%; width: 10%;}
+
+ul {list-style-type: none;}
+
+.tit-song  {font-size: 120%; margin-left: 10%; margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 2em;}
+
+.p4 {margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1em;}
+
+.pagenum  {visibility: hidden; position: absolute; right:0;
+           font-size: 10px; text-align: right;
+           color: #C0C0C0; background-color: inherit;}
+
+.smcap  {font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 95%;}
+
+.figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;}
+
+.left30 {margin-left: 30%;}
+.left40 {margin-left: 40%;}
+.left60 {margin-left: 60%;}
+
+.add1em {margin-left: 1em;}
+.add2em {margin-left: 2em;}
+.add3em {margin-left: 3em;}
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+
+.center {text-align: center;}
+
+-->
+</style>
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+</head>
+
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cowboy Songs, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Cowboy Songs
+       and Other Frontier Ballads
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: May 4, 2007 [EBook #21300]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COWBOY SONGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net. Music transcribed by Linda Cantoni,
+Joyce Wilson, Espe (Nada Prodanovic), and the PG Finale
+Project Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<p>[Transcriber's notes:<br>
+-Page vii: The word following "view of what Owen" was unclear,
+and may not be the "Writes" which has been chosen.<br><br>
+
+We've made every effort to match the original, except for the following
+formatting changes and corrections:<br>
+
+1. The music system layout in these pieces is sometimes odd
+(e.g. bars broken off in the middle), so the system layout has been
+normalized where necessary.<br>
+
+2. Text in small-caps could not be reproduced -- all-caps has been used instead.<br>
+
+3. Obvious musical errors in the original have been corrected, as follows:<br>
+
+<span class="add2em">Days of Forty-Nine:</span> bar 9, beat 3, piano left hand -
+corrected quarter note to dotted quarter note; bar 11, beat 1, piano left hand -
+corrected bottom note from F to G.<br>
+
+<span class="add2em">Whoopee Ti Yi Yo:</span> bar 6, beat 4, piano right hand -
+corrected next-to-last chord from A-B-D (which sounds very wrong) to F-G-D
+(to match chord in bar 9, beat 4); in lyrics, corrected "Its" to "It's" in bar 15.<br>
+
+<span class="add2em">Little Joe, The Wrangler:</span> repeat barline moved to correct place at end.<br>
+
+<span class="add2em">Prisoner for Life:</span> third to last bar, piano left hand,
+bottom note corrected from C to B.<br>
+
+<span class="add2em">The Dying Ranger:</span> in bar 4, voice part, corrected dotted
+quarter to dotted eighth.<br>
+
+<span class="add2em">Fuller and Warren:</span> in bar 14, piano right hand, the D-sharp
+in the last chord was corrected to D-natural.]</p>
+
+
+<h1>COWBOY SONGS <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagei" name="pagei"></a>(p. i)</span>
+
+AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS</h1>
+
+
+<p class="left40">What keeps the herd from running, <span class="pagenum"><a id="pageii" name="pageii"></a>(p. ii)</span><br>
+Stampeding far and wide?<br>
+The cowboy's long, low whistle,<br>
+And singing by their side.</p>
+
+
+<h1>COWBOY SONGS <span class="pagenum"><a id="pageiii" name="pageiii"></a>(p. iii)</span>
+
+AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS</h1>
+
+
+<p class="center p4">COLLECTED BY</p>
+
+<h2>JOHN A. LOMAX, M.A.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS<br>
+SHELDON FELLOW FOR THE INVESTIGATION OF AMERICAN BALLADS,<br>
+HARVARD UNIVERSITY</p>
+
+<p class="center">WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY<br>
+BARRETT WENDELL</p>
+
+
+<p class="center p4"><i>New York</i><br>
+THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br>
+1929</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1910, 1916, <span class="pagenum"><a id="pageiv" name="pageiv"></a>(p. iv)</span><br>
+<span class="smcap">By</span> STURGIS &amp; WALTON COMPANY.</p>
+
+<hr class="small">
+
+<p class="center">Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1910. Reprinted
+April, 1911; January, 1915.</p>
+
+<p class="center">New Edition with additions, March, 1916; April, 1917; December,
+1918; July, 1919.</p>
+
+<p class="center">Reissued January, 1927. Reprinted February, 1929.</p>
+
+
+<p class="center p4">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.<br>
+BY BERWICK &amp; SMITH CO.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+<p class="center p4"><i>To</i> <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagev" name="pagev"></a>(p. v)</span><br>
+
+MR. THEODORE ROOSEVELT<br>
+
+WHO WHILE PRESIDENT WAS NOT TOO BUSY TO<br>
+TURN ASIDE&mdash;CHEERFULLY AND EFFECTIVELY&mdash;AND<br>
+AID WORKERS IN THE FIELD OF AMERICAN<br>
+BALLADRY, THIS VOLUME IS GRATEFULLY<br>
+DEDICATED</p>
+
+
+
+
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="pagevii" name="pagevii"></a>(p. vii)</span>
+
+<p class="left60 p4">Cheyenne<br>
+Aug 28th 1910</p>
+
+<p>Dear Mr. Lomax,</p>
+
+<p>You have done a work emphatically worth doing and one which should
+appeal to the people of all our country, but particularly to the
+people of the west and southwest. Your subject is not only exceedingly
+interesting to the student of literature, but also to the student of
+the general history of the west. There is something very curious in
+the reproduction here on this new continent of essentially the
+conditions of ballad-growth which obtained in mediæval England;
+including, by the way, sympathy for the outlaw, Jesse James taking the
+place of Robin Hood. Under modern conditions however, the native
+ballad is speedily killed by competition with the music hall songs;
+the cowboys becoming ashamed to sing the crude homespun ballads in
+view of what Owen Writes calls the "ill-smelling saloon cleverness"
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="pageviii" name="pageviii"></a>(p. viii)</span> of the far less interesting compositions of the music-hall
+singers. It is therefore a work of real importance to preserve
+permanently this unwritten ballad literature of the back country and
+the frontier.</p>
+
+<p>With all good wishes, I am</p>
+
+<p><span class="add2em">very truly yours</span><br>
+<span class="left60">Theodore Roosevelt</span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="pageix" name="pageix"></a>(p. ix)</span>
+
+
+<ul class="left30">
+<li><a href="#page390"><span class="smcap">Araphoe, or Buckskin Joe</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page211"><span class="smcap">Arizona Boys and Girls, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page100"><span class="smcap">Bill Peters, the Stage Driver</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page344"><span class="smcap">Billy the Kid</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page299"><span class="smcap">Billy Venero</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page265"><span class="smcap">Bob Stanford</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page194"><span class="smcap">Bonnie Black Bess</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page304"><span class="smcap">Boozer, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page147"><span class="smcap">Boston Burglar, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page399"><span class="smcap">Brigham Young</span>, I</a></li>
+<li><a href="#page401"><span class="smcap">Brigham Young</span>, II</a></li>
+<li><a href="#page377"><span class="smcap">Bronc Peeler's Song</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page367"><span class="smcap">Bucking Broncho</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page034"><span class="smcap">Buena Vista Battlefield</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page185"><span class="smcap">Buffalo Hunters</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page158"><span class="smcap">Buffalo Skinners, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page069"><span class="smcap">Bull Whacker, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page224"><span class="smcap">By Markentura's Flowery Marge</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page139"><span class="smcap">California Joe</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page411"><span class="smcap">California Stage Company</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page375"><span class="smcap">California Trail</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page322"><span class="smcap">Camp Fire Has Gone Out, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page267"><span class="smcap">Charlie Rutlage</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page371"><span class="smcap">Chopo</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page106"><span class="smcap">Cole Younger</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page290"><span class="smcap">Convict, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page358"><span class="smcap">Cow Camp on the Range, A</span></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="pagex" name="pagex"></a>(p. x)</span></li>
+<li><a href="#page096"><span class="smcap">Cowboy, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page246"><span class="smcap">Cowboy at Church, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page352"><span class="smcap">Cowboy at Work, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page335"><span class="smcap">Cowboy's Christmas Ball, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page018"><span class="smcap">Cowboy's Dream, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page074"><span class="smcap">Cowboy's Lament, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page020"><span class="smcap">Cowboy's Life, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page297"><span class="smcap">Cowboy's Meditation, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page251"><span class="smcap">Cowgirl, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page024"><span class="smcap">Cowman's Prayer, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page121"><span class="smcap">Crooked Trail to Holbrook, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page051"><span class="smcap">Dan Taylor</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page009"><span class="smcap">Days of Forty-Nine, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page379"><span class="smcap">Deer Hunt, A</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page350"><span class="smcap">Deserted Adobe, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page261"><span class="smcap">Disheartened Ranger, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page303"><span class="smcap">Dogie Song</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page331"><span class="smcap">Down South on the Rio Grande</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page177"><span class="smcap">Dreary Black Hills, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page233"><span class="smcap">Dreary, Dreary Life, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page305"><span class="smcap">Drinking Song</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page395"><span class="smcap">Drunkard's Hell, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page003"><span class="smcap">Dying Cowboy, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page214"><span class="smcap">Dying Ranger, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page219"><span class="smcap">Fair Fannie Moore</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page404"><span class="smcap">Fools of Forty-Nine, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page174"><span class="smcap">Foreman Monroe</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page360"><span class="smcap">Freckles, A Fragment</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page126"><span class="smcap">Fuller and Warren</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page306"><span class="smcap">Fragment, A</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page309"><span class="smcap">Fragment, A</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page207"><span class="smcap">Freighting from Wilcox to Globe</span></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexi" name="pagexi"></a>(p. xi)</span></li>
+<li><a href="#page342"><span class="smcap">Gal I Left Behind Me, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page190"><span class="smcap">Gol-Darned Wheel, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page282"><span class="smcap">Great Round-Up, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page278"><span class="smcap">Greer County</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page327"><span class="smcap">Habit, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page409"><span class="smcap">Happy Miner, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page103"><span class="smcap">Hard Times</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page172"><span class="smcap">Harry Bale</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page222"><span class="smcap">Hell in Texas</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page345"><span class="smcap">Hell-Bound Train, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page354"><span class="smcap">Here's to the Ranger</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page271"><span class="smcap">Her White Bosom Bare</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page039"><span class="smcap">Home on the Range, A</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page136"><span class="smcap">Horse Wrangler, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page094"><span class="smcap">I'm a Good Old Rebel</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page064"><span class="smcap">Jack Donahoo</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page292"><span class="smcap">Jack o' Diamonds</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page112"><span class="smcap">Jerry, Go Ile that Car</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page027"><span class="smcap">Jesse James</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page237"><span class="smcap">Jim Farrow</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page015"><span class="smcap">Joe Bowers</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page114"><span class="smcap">John Garner's Trail Herd</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page284"><span class="smcap">Jolly Cowboy, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page276"><span class="smcap">Juan Murray</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page022"><span class="smcap">Kansas Line, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page083"><span class="smcap">Lackey Bill</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page197"><span class="smcap">Last Longhorn, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page386"><span class="smcap">Life in a Half-Breed Shack</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page167"><span class="smcap">Little Joe, the Wrangler</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page187"><span class="smcap">Little Old Sod Shanty, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page119"><span class="smcap">Lone Buffalo Hunter, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page310"><span class="smcap">Lone Star Trail, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page077"><span class="smcap">Love in Disguise</span></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexii" name="pagexii"></a>(p. xii)</span></li>
+<li><a href="#page164"><span class="smcap">McCaffie's Confession</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page307"><span class="smcap">Man Named Hods, A</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page263"><span class="smcap">Melancholy Cowboy, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page072"><span class="smcap">Metis Song of the Buffalo Hunters</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page025"><span class="smcap">Miner's Song, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page108"><span class="smcap">Mississippi Girls</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page182"><span class="smcap">Mormon Song</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page047"><span class="smcap">Mormon Bishop's Lament, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page079"><span class="smcap">Mustang Gray</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page356"><span class="smcap">Muster Out the Ranger</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page413"><span class="smcap">New National Anthem</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page324"><span class="smcap">Night-Herding Song</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page058"><span class="smcap">Old Chisholm Trail, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page403"><span class="smcap">Old Gray Mule, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page110"><span class="smcap">Old Man Under the Hill, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page329"><span class="smcap">Old Paint</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page117"><span class="smcap">Old Scout's Lament, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page348"><span class="smcap">Old Scout's Lament, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page365"><span class="smcap">Old Time Cowboy</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page124"><span class="smcap">Only a Cowboy</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page369"><span class="smcap">Pecos Queen, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page340"><span class="smcap">Pinto</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page032"><span class="smcap">Poor Lonesome Cowboy</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page200"><span class="smcap">Prisoner for Life, A</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page318"><span class="smcap">Railroad Corral, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page397"><span class="smcap">Rambling Bay</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page244"><span class="smcap">Rambling Cowboy, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page269"><span class="smcap">Range Riders, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page315"><span class="smcap">Rattlesnake&mdash;A Ranch Haying Song</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page407"><span class="smcap">Ripping Trip, A</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page388"><span class="smcap">Road to Cook's Peak</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page254"><span class="smcap">Root Hog or Die</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page280"><span class="smcap">Rosin the Bow</span></a>
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexiii" name="pagexiii"></a>(p. xiii)</span></li>
+<li><a href="#page393"><span class="smcap">Rounded Up in Glory</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page149"><span class="smcap">Sam Bass</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page252"><span class="smcap">Shanty Boy, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page332"><span class="smcap">Silver Jack</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page056"><span class="smcap">Sioux Indians</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page243"><span class="smcap">Skew-Ball Black, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page320"><span class="smcap">Song of the "Metis" Trapper, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page226"><span class="smcap">State of Arkansaw, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page258"><span class="smcap">Sweet Betsy from Pike</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page326"><span class="smcap">Tail Piece</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page229"><span class="smcap">Texas Cowboy, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page373"><span class="smcap">Top Hand</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page044"><span class="smcap">Texas Rangers</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page132"><span class="smcap">Trail to Mexico, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page247"><span class="smcap">U.S.A. Recruit, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page066"><span class="smcap">Utah Carroll</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page204"><span class="smcap">Wars of Germany, The</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page314"><span class="smcap">Way Down in Mexico</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page037"><span class="smcap">Westward Ho</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page053"><span class="smcap">When the Work is Done This Fall</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page087"><span class="smcap">Whoopee-Ti-Yi-Yo, Git along Little Dogies</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page362"><span class="smcap">Whose Old Cow</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page383"><span class="smcap">Wild Rovers</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page381"><span class="smcap">Windy Bill</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page092"><span class="smcap">U-S-U Range</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page239"><span class="smcap">Young Charlottie</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page081"><span class="smcap">Young Companions</span></a></li>
+<li><a href="#page154"><span class="smcap">Zebra Dun, The</span></a></li>
+</ul>
+
+
+
+<h2>INTRODUCTION <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexiv" name="pagexiv"></a>(p. xiv)</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>It is now four or five years since my attention was called to the
+collection of native American ballads from the Southwest, already
+begun by Professor Lomax. At that time, he seemed hardly to appreciate
+their full value and importance. To my colleague, Professor G.L.
+Kittredge, probably the most eminent authority on folk-song in
+America, this value and importance appeared as indubitable as it
+appeared to me. We heartily joined in encouraging the work, as a real
+contribution both to literature and to learning. The present volume is
+the first published result of these efforts.</p>
+
+<p>The value and importance of the work seems to me double. One phase of
+it is perhaps too highly special ever to be popular. Whoever has begun
+the inexhaustibly fascinating study of popular song and literature&mdash;of
+the nameless poetry which vigorously lives through the centuries&mdash;must
+be perplexed by the necessarily conjectural opinions concerning its
+origin and development held by various and disputing scholars. When
+songs were made in times and terms which for centuries have been not
+living facts but facts of remote history or tradition, it is
+impossible to be sure quite how they begun, and by quite what means
+they sifted through the centuries into the <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexv" name="pagexv"></a>(p. xv)</span> forms at last
+securely theirs, in the final rigidity of print. In this collection of
+American ballads, almost if not quite uniquely, it is possible to
+trace the precise manner in which songs and cycles of song&mdash;obviously
+analogous to those surviving from older and antique times&mdash;have come
+into being. The facts which are still available concerning the ballads
+of our own Southwest are such as should go far to prove, or to
+disprove, many of the theories advanced concerning the laws of
+literature as evinced in the ballads of the old world.</p>
+
+<p>Such learned matter as this, however, is not so surely within my
+province, who have made no technical study of literary origins, as is
+the other consideration which made me feel, from my first knowledge of
+these ballads, that they are beyond dispute valuable and important. In
+the ballads of the old world, it is not historical or philological
+considerations which most readers care for. It is the wonderful,
+robust vividness of their artless yet supremely true utterance; it is
+the natural vigor of their surgent, unsophisticated human rhythm. It
+is the sense, derived one can hardly explain how, that here is
+expression straight from the heart of humanity; that here is something
+like the sturdy root from which the finer, though not always more
+lovely, flowers of polite literature have sprung. At times when we
+yearn for polite grace, ballads may seem rude; at times when polite
+grace seems tedious, sophisticated, corrupt, or mendacious, their very
+rudeness refreshes us <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexvi" name="pagexvi"></a>(p. xvi)</span> with a new sense of brimming life. To
+compare the songs collected by Professor Lomax with the immortalities
+of olden time is doubtless like comparing the literature of America
+with that of all Europe together. Neither he nor any of us would
+pretend these verses to be of supreme power and beauty. None the less,
+they seem to me, and to many who have had a glimpse of them,
+sufficiently powerful, and near enough beauty, to give us some such
+wholesome and enduring pleasure as comes from work of this kind proved
+and acknowledged to be masterly.</p>
+
+<p>What I mean may best be implied, perhaps, by a brief statement of
+fact. Four or five years ago, Professor Lomax, at my request, read
+some of these ballads to one of my classes at Harvard, then engaged in
+studying the literary history of America. From that hour to the
+present, the men who heard these verses, during the cheerless progress
+of a course of study, have constantly spoken of them and written of
+them, as of something sure to linger happily in memory. As such I
+commend them to all who care for the native poetry of America.</p>
+
+<p><span class="left60 smcap">Barrett Wendell</span>.<br>
+Nahant, Massachusetts,<br>
+July 11, 1910.</p>
+
+
+<h2>COLLECTOR'S NOTE <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexvii" name="pagexvii"></a>(p. xvii)</span></h2>
+
+
+<p>Out in the wild, far-away places of the big and still unpeopled
+west,&mdash;in the cañons along the Rocky Mountains, among the mining camps
+of Nevada and Montana, and on the remote cattle ranches of Texas, New
+Mexico, and Arizona,&mdash;yet survives the Anglo-Saxon ballad spirit that
+was active in secluded districts in England and Scotland even after
+the coming of Tennyson and Browning. This spirit is manifested both in
+the preservation of the English ballad and in the creation of local
+songs. Illiterate people, and people cut off from newspapers and
+books, isolated and lonely,&mdash;thrown back on primal resources for
+entertainment and for the expression of emotion,&mdash;utter themselves
+through somewhat the same character of songs as did their forefathers
+of perhaps a thousand years ago. In some such way have been made and
+preserved the cowboy songs and other frontier ballads contained in
+this volume. The songs represent the operation of instinct and
+tradition. They are chiefly interesting to the present generation,
+however, because of the light they throw on the conditions of pioneer
+life, and more particularly because of the information they contain
+concerning that unique and romantic figure in modern civilization, the
+American cowboy.</p>
+
+<p>The <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexviii" name="pagexviii"></a>(p. xviii)</span> profession of cow-punching, not yet a lost art in a
+group of big western states, reached its greatest prominence during
+the first two decades succeeding the Civil War. In Texas, for example,
+immense tracts of open range, covered with luxuriant grass, encouraged
+the raising of cattle. One person in many instances owned thousands.
+To care for the cattle during the winter season, to round them up in
+the spring and mark and brand the yearlings, and later to drive from
+Texas to Fort Dodge, Kansas, those ready for market, required large
+forces of men. The drive from Texas to Kansas came to be known as
+"going up the trail," for the cattle really made permanent, deep-cut
+trails across the otherwise trackless hills and plains of the long
+way. It also became the custom to take large herds of young steers
+from Texas as far north as Montana, where grass at certain seasons
+grew more luxuriant than in the south. Texas was the best breeding
+ground, while the climate and grass of Montana developed young cattle
+for the market.</p>
+
+<p>A trip up the trail made a distinct break in the monotonous life of
+the big ranches, often situated hundreds of miles from where the
+conventions of society were observed. The ranch community consisted
+usually of the boss, the straw-boss, the cowboys proper, the horse
+wrangler, and the cook&mdash;often a negro. These men lived on terms of
+practical equality. Except in the case of the boss, there was little
+difference in the amounts paid each for his services. <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexix" name="pagexix"></a>(p. xix)</span>
+Society, then, was here reduced to its lowest terms. The work of the
+men, their daily experiences, their thoughts, their interests, were
+all in common. Such a community had necessarily to turn to itself for
+entertainment. Songs sprang up naturally, some of them tender and
+familiar lays of childhood, others original compositions, all genuine,
+however crude and unpolished. Whatever the most gifted man could
+produce must bear the criticism of the entire camp, and agree with the
+ideas of a group of men. In this sense, therefore, any song that came
+from such a group would be the joint product of a number of them,
+telling perhaps the story of some stampede they had all fought to
+turn, some crime in which they had all shared equally, some comrade's
+tragic death which they had all witnessed. The song-making did not
+cease as the men went up the trail. Indeed the songs were here
+utilized for very practical ends. Not only were sharp, rhythmic
+yells&mdash;sometimes beaten into verse&mdash;employed to stir up lagging
+cattle, but also during the long watches the night-guards, as they
+rode round and round the herd, improvised cattle lullabies which
+quieted the animals and soothed them to sleep. Some of the best of the
+so-called "dogie songs" seem to have been created for the purpose of
+preventing cattle stampedes,&mdash;such songs coming straight from the
+heart of the cowboy, speaking familiarly to his herd in the stillness
+of the night.</p>
+
+<p>The long drives up the trail occupied months, and called <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexx" name="pagexx"></a>(p. xx)</span> for
+sleepless vigilance and tireless activity both day and night. When at
+last a shipping point was reached, the cattle marketed or loaded on
+the cars, the cowboys were paid off. It is not surprising that the
+consequent relaxation led to reckless deeds. The music, the dancing,
+the click of the roulette ball in the saloons, invited; the lure of
+crimson lights was irresistible. Drunken orgies, reactions from months
+of toil, deprivation, and loneliness on the ranch and on the trail,
+brought to death many a temporarily crazed buckaroo. To match this
+dare-deviltry, a saloon man in one frontier town, as a sign for his
+business, with psychological ingenuity painted across the broad front
+of his building in big black letters this challenge to God, man, and
+the devil: <i>The Road to Ruin</i>. Down this road, with swift and eager
+footsteps, has trod many a pioneer viking of the West. Quick to resent
+an insult real or fancied, inflamed by unaccustomed drink, the ready
+pistol always at his side, the tricks of the professional gambler to
+provoke his sense of fair play, and finally his own wild recklessness
+to urge him on,&mdash;all these combined forces sometimes brought him into
+tragic conflict with another spirit equally heedless and daring. Not
+nearly so often, however, as one might suppose, did he die with his
+boots on. Many of the most wealthy and respected citizens now living
+in the border states served as cowboys before settling down to quiet
+domesticity.</p>
+
+<p>A cow-camp in the seventies generally contained several <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexxi" name="pagexxi"></a>(p. xxi)</span>
+types of men. It was not unusual to find a negro who, because of his
+ability to handle wild horses or because of his skill with a lasso,
+had been promoted from the chuck-wagon to a place in the ranks of the
+cowboys. Another familiar figure was the adventurous younger son of
+some British family, through whom perhaps became current the English
+ballads found in the West. Furthermore, so considerable was the number
+of men who had fled from the States because of grave imprudence or
+crime, it was bad form to inquire too closely about a person's real
+name or where he came from. Most cowboys, however, were bold young
+spirits who emigrated to the West for the same reason that their
+ancestors had come across the seas. They loved roving; they loved
+freedom; they were pioneers by instinct; an impulse set their faces
+from the East, put the tang for roaming in their veins, and sent them
+ever, ever westward.</p>
+
+<p>That the cowboy was brave has come to be axiomatic. If his life of
+isolation made him taciturn, it at the same time created a spirit of
+hospitality, primitive and hearty as that found in the mead-halls of
+Beowulf. He faced the wind and the rain, the snow of winter, the
+fearful dust-storms of alkali desert wastes, with the same
+uncomplaining quiet. Not all his work was on the ranch and the trail.
+To the cowboy, more than to the goldseekers, more than to Uncle Sam's
+soldiers, is due the conquest of the West. Along his winding cattle
+trails the Forty-Niners <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexxii" name="pagexxii"></a>(p. xxii)</span> found their way to California. The
+cowboy has fought back the Indians ever since ranching became a
+business and as long as Indians remained to be fought. He played his
+part in winning the great slice of territory that the United States
+took away from Mexico. He has always been on the skirmish line of
+civilization. Restless, fearless, chivalric, elemental, he lived hard,
+shot quick and true, and died with his face to his foe. Still much
+misunderstood, he is often slandered, nearly always caricatured, both
+by the press and by the stage. Perhaps these songs, coming direct from
+the cowboy's experience, giving vent to his careless and his tender
+emotions, will afford future generations a truer conception of what he
+really was than is now possessed by those who know him only through
+highly colored romances.</p>
+
+<p>The big ranches of the West are now being cut up into small farms. The
+nester has come, and come to stay. Gone is the buffalo, the Indian
+warwhoop, the free grass of the open plain;&mdash;even the stinging lizard,
+the horned frog, the centipede, the prairie dog, the rattlesnake, are
+fast disappearing. Save in some of the secluded valleys of southern
+New Mexico, the old-time round-up is no more; the trails to Kansas and
+to Montana have become grass-grown or lost in fields of waving grain;
+the maverick steer, the regal longhorn, has been supplanted by his
+unpoetic but more beefy and profitable Polled Angus, Durham, and
+Hereford cousins from across the seas. The <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexxiii" name="pagexxiii"></a>(p. xxiii)</span> changing and
+romantic West of the early days lives mainly in story and in song. The
+last figure to vanish is the cowboy, the animating spirit of the
+vanishing era. He sits his horse easily as he rides through a wide
+valley, enclosed by mountains, clad in the hazy purple of coming
+night,&mdash;with his face turned steadily down the long, long road, "the
+road that the sun goes down." Dauntless, reckless, without the
+unearthly purity of Sir Galahad though as gentle to a pure woman as
+King Arthur, he is truly a knight of the twentieth century. A vagrant
+puff of wind shakes a corner of the crimson handkerchief knotted
+loosely at his throat; the thud of his pony's feet mingling with the
+jingle of his spurs is borne back; and as the careless, gracious,
+lovable figure disappears over the divide, the breeze brings to the
+ears, faint and far yet cheery still, the refrain of a cowboy song:</p>
+
+<p>
+Whoopee ti yi, git along, little dogies;<br>
+<span class="add1em">It's my misfortune and none of your own.</span><br>
+Whoopee ti yi, git along, little dogies;<br>
+<span class="add1em">For you know Wyoming will be your new home.</span></p>
+
+
+<p>As for the songs of this collection, I have violated the ethics of
+ballad-gatherers, in a few instances, by selecting and putting
+together what seemed to be the best lines from different versions, all
+telling the same story. Frankly, the volume is meant to be popular.
+The songs have been arranged in some such haphazard way <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexxiv" name="pagexxiv"></a>(p. xxiv)</span>
+as they were collected,&mdash;jotted down on a table in the rear of
+saloons, scrawled on an envelope while squatting about a campfire,
+caught behind the scenes of a broncho-busting outfit. Later, it is
+hoped that enough interest will be aroused to justify printing all the
+variants of these songs, accompanied by the music and such explanatory
+notes as may be useful; the negro folk-songs, the songs of the lumber
+jacks, the songs of the mountaineers, and the songs of the sea,
+already partially collected, being included in the final publication.
+The songs of this collection, never before in print, as a rule have
+been taken down from oral recitation. In only a few instances have I
+been able to discover the authorship of any song. They seem to have
+sprung up as quietly and mysteriously as does the grass on the plains.
+All have been popular with the range riders, several being current all
+the way from Texas to Montana, and quite as long as the old Chisholm
+Trail stretching between these states. Some of the songs the cowboy
+certainly composed; all of them he sang. Obviously, a number of the
+most characteristic cannot be printed for general circulation. To
+paraphrase slightly what Sidney Lanier said of Walt Whitman's poetry,
+they are raw collops slashed from the rump of Nature, and never mind
+the gristle. Likewise some of the strong adjectives and nouns have
+been softened,&mdash;Jonahed, as George Meredith would have said. There is,
+however, a <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexxv" name="pagexxv"></a>(p. xxv)</span> Homeric quality about the cowboy's profanity and
+vulgarity that pleases rather than repulses. The broad sky under which
+he slept, the limitless plains over which he rode, the big, open, free
+life he lived near to Nature's breast, taught him simplicity, calm,
+directness. He spoke out plainly the impulses of his heart. But as yet
+so-called polite society is not quite willing to hear.</p>
+
+<p>It is entirely impossible to acknowledge the assistance I have
+received from many persons. To Professors Barrett Wendell and G.L.
+Kittredge, of Harvard, I must gratefully acknowledge constant and
+generous encouragement. Messrs. Jeff Hanna, of Meridian, Texas; John
+B. Jones, a student of the Agricultural and Mechanical College of
+Texas; H. Knight, Sterling City, Texas; John Lang Sinclair, San
+Antonio; A.H. Belo &amp; Co., Dallas; Tom Hight, of Mangum, Oklahoma; R.
+Bedichek, of Deming, N.M.; Benjamin Wyche, Librarian of the Carnegie
+Library, San Antonio; Mrs. M.B. Wight, of Ft. Thomas, Arizona; Dr.
+L.W. Payne, Jr., and Dr. Morgan Callaway, Jr., of the University of
+Texas; and my brother, R.C. Lomax, Austin;&mdash;have rendered me
+especially helpful service in furnishing material, for which I also
+render grateful thanks.</p>
+
+<p>Among the negroes, rivermen, miners, soldiers, seamen, lumbermen,
+railroad men, and ranchmen of the United States and Canada there are
+many indigenous folk-songs not included in this volume. Of some
+<span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexxvi" name="pagexxvi"></a>(p. xxvi)</span>
+of them I have traces, and I shall surely run them down. I beg
+the co-operation of all who are interested in this vital, however
+humble, expression of American literature.</p>
+
+<p><span class="left60">J.A.L.</span><br>
+Deming, New Mexico,<br>
+August 8, 1910.</p>
+
+
+<h1>COWBOY SONGS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page001" name="page001"></a>(p. 001)</span>
+
+AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS</h1>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE DYING COWBOY<a id="footnotetag1" name="footnotetag1"></a><a href="#footnote1">[1]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a id="page003" name="page003"></a>(p. 003)</span></p>
+
+<p>"O bury me not on the lone prairie,"<br>
+These words came low and mournfully<br>
+From the pallid lips of a youth who lay<br>
+On his dying bed at the close of day.</p>
+
+<p>He had wailed in pain till o'er his brow<br>
+Death's shadows fast were gathering now;<br>
+He thought of his home and his loved ones nigh<br>
+As the cowboys gathered to see him die.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"O bury me not on the lone prairie<br>
+  Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,<br>
+  In a narrow grave just six by three,<br>
+  O bury me not on the lone prairie.</p>
+
+<p>"In fancy I listen to the well known words<br>
+Of the free, wild winds and the song of the birds;<br>
+I think of home and the cottage in the bower<br>
+And the scenes I loved in my childhood's hour.</p>
+
+<p>"It matters not, I've oft been told,<br>
+Where the body lies when the heart grows cold;<br>
+Yet grant, Oh grant this wish to me,<br>
+O bury me not on the lone prairie.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"O <span class="pagenum"><a id="page004" name="page004"></a>(p. 004)</span> then bury me not on the lone prairie,<br>
+  In a narrow grave six foot by three,<br>
+  Where the buffalo paws o'er a prairie sea,<br>
+  O bury me not on the lone prairie.</p>
+
+<p>"I've always wished to be laid when I died<br>
+In the little churchyard on the green hillside;<br>
+By my father's grave, there let mine be,<br>
+And bury me not on the lone prairie.</p>
+
+<p>"Let my death slumber be where my mother's prayer<br>
+And a sister's tear will mingle there,<br>
+Where my friends can come and weep o'er me;<br>
+O bury me not on the lone prairie.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"O bury me not on the lone prairie<br>
+  In a narrow grave just six by three,<br>
+  Where the buzzard waits and the wind blows free;<br>
+  Then bury me not on the lone prairie.</p>
+
+<p>"There is another whose tears may be shed<br>
+For one who lies on a prairie bed;<br>
+It pained me then and it pains me now;&mdash;<br>
+She has curled these locks, she has kissed this brow.</p>
+
+<p>"These locks she has curled, shall the rattlesnake kiss?<br>
+This brow she has kissed, shall the cold grave press?<br>
+For <span class="pagenum"><a id="page005" name="page005"></a>(p. 005)</span> the sake of the loved ones that will weep for me<br>
+O bury me not on the lone prairie.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"O bury me not on the lone prairie<br>
+  Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,<br>
+  Where the buzzard beats and the wind goes free,<br>
+  O bury me not on the lone prairie.</p>
+
+<p>"O bury me not," and his voice failed there,<br>
+But we took no heed of his dying prayer;<br>
+In a narrow grave just six by three<br>
+We buried him there on the lone prairie.</p>
+
+<p>Where the dew-drops glow and the butterflies rest,<br>
+And the flowers bloom o'er the prairie's crest;<br>
+Where the wild cayote and winds sport free<br>
+On a wet saddle blanket lay a cowboy-ee.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"O bury me not on the lone prairie<br>
+  Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,<br>
+  Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the crow flies free<br>
+  O bury me not on the lone prairie."</p>
+
+<p>O we buried him there on the lone prairie<br>
+Where the wild rose blooms and the wind blows free,<br>
+O his pale young face nevermore to see,&mdash;<br>
+For we buried him there on the lone prairie.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, we buried him there on the lone prairie<br>
+Where the owl all night hoots mournfully,<br>
+And the <span class="pagenum"><a id="page006" name="page006"></a>(p. 006)</span> blizzard beats and the winds blow free<br>
+O'er his lowly grave on the lone prairie.</p>
+
+<p>And the cowboys now as they roam the plain,&mdash;<br>
+For they marked the spot where his bones were lain,&mdash;<br>
+Fling a handful of roses o'er his grave,<br>
+With a prayer to Him who his soul will save.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"O bury me not on the lone prairie<br>
+  Where the wolves can howl and growl o'er me;<br>
+  Fling a handful of roses o'er my grave<br>
+  With a prayer to Him who my soul will save."</p>
+
+<h4>The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page007" name="page007"></a>(p. 007)</span> Dying Cowboy</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/dyingcowboy.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/dyingcowboy.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/dyingcowboy.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/dyingcowboy_full.png">
+<img src="images/dyingcowboy_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Dying cowboy"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page009" name="page009"></a>(p. 009)</span> DAYS OF FORTY-NINE</p>
+
+
+<p>We are gazing now on old Tom Moore,<br>
+A relic of bygone days;<br>
+'Tis a bummer, too, they call me now,<br>
+But what cares I for praise?<br>
+It's oft, says I, for the days gone by,<br>
+It's oft do I repine<br>
+For the days of old when we dug out the gold<br>
+In those days of Forty-Nine.</p>
+
+<p>My comrades they all loved me well,<br>
+The jolly, saucy crew;<br>
+A few hard cases, I will admit,<br>
+Though they were brave and true.<br>
+Whatever the pinch, they ne'er would flinch;<br>
+They never would fret nor whine,<br>
+Like good old bricks they stood the kicks<br>
+In the days of Forty-Nine.</p>
+
+<p>There's old "Aunt Jess," that hard old cuss,<br>
+Who never would repent;<br>
+He never missed a single meal,<br>
+Nor never paid a cent.<br>
+But old "Aunt Jess," like all the rest,<br>
+At death he did resign,<br>
+And in his bloom went up the flume<br>
+In the days of Forty-Nine.</p>
+
+<p>There <span class="pagenum"><a id="page010" name="page010"></a>(p. 010)</span> is Ragshag Jim, the roaring man,<br>
+Who could out-roar a buffalo, you bet,<br>
+He roared all day and he roared all night,<br>
+And I guess he is roaring yet.<br>
+One night Jim fell in a prospect hole,&mdash;<br>
+It was a roaring bad design,&mdash;<br>
+And in that hole Jim roared out his soul<br>
+In the days of Forty-Nine.</p>
+
+<p>There is Wylie Bill, the funny man,<br>
+Who was full of funny tricks,<br>
+And when he was in a poker game<br>
+He was always hard as bricks.<br>
+He would ante you a stud, he would play you a draw,<br>
+He'd go you a hatful blind,&mdash;<br>
+In a struggle with death Bill lost his breath<br>
+In the days of Forty-Nine.</p>
+
+<p>There was New York Jake, the butcher boy,<br>
+Who was fond of getting tight.<br>
+And every time he got on a spree<br>
+He was spoiling for a fight.<br>
+One night Jake rampaged against a knife<br>
+In the hands of old Bob Sine,<br>
+And over Jake they held a wake<br>
+In the days of Forty-Nine.</p>
+
+<p>There was Monte Pete, I'll ne'er forget<br>
+The luck he always had,<br>
+He would deal for you both day and night<br>
+Or <span class="pagenum"><a id="page011" name="page011"></a>(p. 011)</span> as long as he had a scad.<br>
+It was a pistol shot that lay Pete out,<br>
+It was his last resign,<br>
+And it caught Pete dead sure in the door<br>
+In the days of Forty-Nine.</p>
+
+<p>Of all the comrades that I've had<br>
+There's none that's left to boast,<br>
+And I am left alone in my misery<br>
+Like some poor wandering ghost.<br>
+And as I pass from town to town,<br>
+They call me the rambling sign,<br>
+Since the days of old and the days of gold<br>
+And the days of Forty-Nine.</p>
+
+
+<h4>Days <span class="pagenum"><a id="page012" name="page012"></a>(p. 012)</span> of Forty-Nine</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/daysof49.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/daysof49.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/daysof49.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/daysof49_full.png">
+<img src="images/daysof49_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Days of 49"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">JOE BOWERS</p> <span class="pagenum"><a id="page015" name="page015"></a>(p. 015)</span>
+
+<p>My name is Joe Bowers,<br>
+I've got a brother Ike,<br>
+I came here from Missouri,<br>
+Yes, all the way from Pike.<br>
+I'll tell you why I left there<br>
+And how I came to roam,<br>
+And leave my poor old mammy,<br>
+So far away from home.</p>
+
+<p>I used to love a gal there,<br>
+Her name was Sallie Black,<br>
+I asked her for to marry me,<br>
+She said it was a whack.<br>
+She says to me, "Joe Bowers,<br>
+Before you hitch for life,<br>
+You ought to have a little home<br>
+To keep your little wife."</p>
+
+<p>Says I, "My dearest Sallie,<br>
+O Sallie, for your sake,<br>
+I'll go to California<br>
+And try to raise a stake."<br>
+Says she to me, "Joe Bowers,<br>
+You are the chap to win,<br>
+Give me a kiss to seal the bargain,"&mdash;<br>
+And I throwed a dozen in.</p>
+
+<p>I'll never forget my feelings <span class="pagenum"><a id="page016" name="page016"></a>(p. 016)</span><br>
+When I bid adieu to all.<br>
+Sal, she cotched me round the neck<br>
+And I began to bawl.<br>
+When I begun they all commenced,<br>
+You never heard the like,<br>
+How they all took on and cried<br>
+The day I left old Pike.</p>
+
+<p>When I got to this here country<br>
+I hadn't nary a red,<br>
+I had such wolfish feelings<br>
+I wished myself most dead.<br>
+At last I went to mining,<br>
+Put in my biggest licks,<br>
+Came down upon the boulders<br>
+Just like a thousand bricks.</p>
+
+<p>I worked both late and early<br>
+In rain and sun and snow,<br>
+But I was working for my Sallie<br>
+So 'twas all the same to Joe.<br>
+I made a very lucky strike<br>
+As the gold itself did tell,<br>
+For I was working for my Sallie,<br>
+The girl I loved so well.</p>
+
+<p>But one day I got a letter<br>
+From my dear, kind brother Ike;<br>
+It came from old Missouri,<br>
+Yes, all the way from Pike.<br>
+It told me the goldarndest news <span class="pagenum"><a id="page017" name="page017"></a>(p. 017)</span><br>
+That ever you did hear,<br>
+My heart it is a-bustin'<br>
+So please excuse this tear.</p>
+
+<p>I'll tell you what it was, boys,<br>
+You'll bust your sides I know;<br>
+For when I read that letter<br>
+You ought to seen poor Joe.<br>
+My knees gave 'way beneath me,<br>
+And I pulled out half my hair;<br>
+And if you ever tell this now,<br>
+You bet you'll hear me swear.</p>
+
+<p>It said my Sallie was fickle,<br>
+Her love for me had fled,<br>
+That she had married a butcher,<br>
+Whose hair was awful red;<br>
+It told me more than that,<br>
+It's enough to make me swear,&mdash;<br>
+It said that Sallie had a baby<br>
+And the baby had red hair.</p>
+
+<p>Now I've told you all that I can tell<br>
+About this sad affair,<br>
+'Bout Sallie marrying the butcher<br>
+And the baby had red hair.<br>
+But whether it was a boy or girl<br>
+The letter never said,<br>
+It only said its cussed hair<br>
+Was inclined to be red.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE COWBOY'S DREAM<a id="footnotetag2" name="footnotetag2"></a><a href="#footnote2">[2]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a id="page018" name="page018"></a>(p. 018)</span></p>
+
+<p>Last night as I lay on the prairie,<br>
+And looked at the stars in the sky,<br>
+I wondered if ever a cowboy<br>
+Would drift to that sweet by and by.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">Roll on, roll on;<br>
+  Roll on, little dogies, roll on, roll on,<br>
+  Roll on, roll on;<br>
+  Roll on, little dogies, roll on.</p>
+
+<p>The road to that bright, happy region<br>
+Is a dim, narrow trail, so they say;<br>
+But the broad one that leads to perdition<br>
+Is posted and blazed all the way.</p>
+
+<p>They say there will be a great round-up,<br>
+And cowboys, like dogies, will stand,<br>
+To be marked by the Riders of Judgment<br>
+Who are posted and know every brand.</p>
+
+<p>I know there's many a stray cowboy<br>
+Who'll be lost at the great, final sale,<br>
+When he might have gone in the green pastures<br>
+Had he known of the dim, narrow trail.</p>
+
+<p>I wonder if ever a cowboy <span class="pagenum"><a id="page019" name="page019"></a>(p. 019)</span><br>
+Stood ready for that Judgment Day,<br>
+And could say to the Boss of the Riders,<br>
+"I'm ready, come drive me away."</p>
+
+<p>For they, like the cows that are locoed,<br>
+Stampede at the sight of a hand,<br>
+Are dragged with a rope to the round-up,<br>
+Or get marked with some crooked man's brand.</p>
+
+<p>And I'm scared that I'll be a stray yearling,&mdash;<br>
+A maverick, unbranded on high,&mdash;<br>
+And get cut in the bunch with the "rusties"<br>
+When the Boss of the Riders goes by.</p>
+
+<p>For they tell of another big owner<br>
+Whose ne'er overstocked, so they say,<br>
+But who always makes room for the sinner<br>
+Who drifts from the straight, narrow way.</p>
+
+<p>They say he will never forget you,<br>
+That he knows every action and look;<br>
+So, for safety, you'd better get branded,<br>
+Have your name in the great Tally Book.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE COWBOY'S LIFE<a id="footnotetag3" name="footnotetag3"></a><a href="#footnote3">[3]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a id="page020" name="page020"></a>(p. 020)</span></p>
+
+<p>The bawl of a steer,<br>
+To a cowboy's ear,<br>
+Is music of sweetest strain;<br>
+And the yelping notes<br>
+Of the gray cayotes<br>
+To him are a glad refrain.</p>
+
+<p>And his jolly songs<br>
+Speed him along,<br>
+As he thinks of the little gal<br>
+With golden hair<br>
+Who is waiting there<br>
+At the bars of the home corral.</p>
+
+<p>For a kingly crown<br>
+In the noisy town<br>
+His saddle he wouldn't change;<br>
+No life so free<br>
+As the life we see<br>
+Way out on the Yaso range.</p>
+
+<p>His eyes are bright<br>
+And his heart as light<br>
+As the smoke of his cigarette;<br>
+There's never a care<br>
+For his soul to bear, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page021" name="page021"></a>(p. 021)</span><br>
+No trouble to make him fret.</p>
+
+<p>The rapid beat<br>
+Of his broncho's feet<br>
+On the sod as he speeds along,<br>
+Keeps living time<br>
+To the ringing rhyme<br>
+Of his rollicking cowboy song.</p>
+
+<p>Hike it, cowboys,<br>
+For the range away<br>
+On the back of a bronc of steel,<br>
+With a careless flirt<br>
+Of the raw-hide quirt<br>
+And a dig of a roweled heel!</p>
+
+<p>The winds may blow<br>
+And the thunder growl<br>
+Or the breezes may safely moan;&mdash;<br>
+A cowboy's life<br>
+Is a royal life,<br>
+His saddle his kingly throne.</p>
+
+<p>Saddle up, boys,<br>
+For the work is play<br>
+When love's in the cowboy's eyes,&mdash;<br>
+When his heart is light<br>
+As the clouds of white<br>
+That swim in the summer skies.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE KANSAS LINE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page022" name="page022"></a>(p. 022)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you jolly cowmen, don't you want to go<br>
+Way up on the Kansas line?<br>
+Where you whoop up the cattle from morning till night<br>
+All out in the midnight rain.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">The cowboy's life is a dreadful life,<br>
+  He's driven through heat and cold;<br>
+  I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes,<br>
+  A-ridin' through heat and cold.</p>
+
+<p>I've been where the lightnin', the lightnin' tangled in my eyes,<br>
+The cattle I could scarcely hold;<br>
+Think I heard my boss man say:<br>
+"I want all brave-hearted men who ain't afraid to die<br>
+To whoop up the cattle from morning till night,<br>
+Way up on the Kansas line."</p>
+
+<p>Speaking of your farms and your shanty charms,<br>
+Speaking of your silver and gold,&mdash;<br>
+Take a cowman's advice, go and marry you a true and lovely little wife,<br>
+Never to roam, always stay at home;<br>
+That's a cowman's, a cowman's advice, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page023" name="page023"></a>(p. 023)</span><br>
+Way up on the Kansas line.</p>
+
+<p>Think I heard the noisy cook say,<br>
+"Wake up, boys, it's near the break of day,"&mdash;<br>
+Way up on the Kansas line,<br>
+And slowly we will rise with the sleepy feeling eyes,<br>
+Way up on the Kansas line.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,<br>
+  All out in the midnight rain;<br>
+  I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes,<br>
+  Way up on the Kansas line.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE COWMAN'S PRAYER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page024" name="page024"></a>(p. 024)</span></p>
+
+<p>Now, O Lord, please lend me thine ear,<br>
+The prayer of a cattleman to hear,<br>
+No doubt the prayers may seem strange,<br>
+But I want you to bless our cattle range.</p>
+
+<p>Bless the round-ups year by year,<br>
+And don't forget the growing steer;<br>
+Water the lands with brooks and rills<br>
+For my cattle that roam on a thousand hills.</p>
+
+<p>Prairie fires, won't you please stop?<br>
+Let thunder roll and water drop.<br>
+It frightens me to see the smoke;<br>
+Unless it's stopped, I'll go dead broke.</p>
+
+<p>As you, O Lord, my herd behold,<br>
+It represents a sack of gold;<br>
+I think at least five cents a pound<br>
+Will be the price of beef the year around.</p>
+
+<p>One thing more and then I'm through,&mdash;<br>
+Instead of one calf, give my cows two.<br>
+I may pray different from other men<br>
+But I've had my say, and now, Amen.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE MINER'S SONG<a id="footnotetag4" name="footnotetag4"></a><a href="#footnote4">[4]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a id="page025" name="page025"></a>(p. 025)</span></p>
+
+<p>In a rusty, worn-out cabin sat a broken-hearted leaser,<br>
+His singlejack was resting on his knee.<br>
+His old "buggy" in the corner told the same old plaintive tale,<br>
+His ore had left in all his poverty.<br>
+He lifted his old singlejack, gazed on its battered face,<br>
+And said: "Old boy, I know we're not to blame;<br>
+Our gold has us forsaken, some other path it's taken,<br>
+But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same,<br>
+  Although it's gone into some other's claim.<br>
+  My dear old boy don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it,<br>
+  And we'll drill and shoot and find it just the same.</p>
+
+<p>"For forty years I've hammered steel and tried to make a strike,<br>
+I've burned twice the powder Custer ever saw.<br>
+I've made just coin enough to keep poorer than a snake.<br>
+My jack's ate all my books on mining law.<br>
+I've <span class="pagenum"><a id="page026" name="page026"></a>(p. 026)</span> worn gunny-sacks for overalls, and 'California socks,'<br>
+I've burned candles that would reach from here to Maine,<br>
+I've lived on powder, smoke, and bacon, that's no lie, boy, I'm not fakin',<br>
+But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.</p>
+
+<p>"Last night as I lay sleeping in the midst of all my dream<br>
+My assay ran six ounces clear in gold,<br>
+And the silver it ran clean sixteen ounces to the seam,<br>
+And the poor old miner's joy could scarce be told.<br>
+I lay there, boy, I could not sleep, I had a feverish brow,<br>
+Got up, went back, and put in six holes more.<br>
+And then, boy, I was chokin' just to see the ground I'd broken;<br>
+But alas! alas! the miner's dream was o'er.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same,<br>
+  Although it's gone into some other's claim.<br>
+  My dear old boy, don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it,<br>
+  And I still believe I'll strike it just the same."</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">JESSE JAMES <span class="pagenum"><a id="page027" name="page027"></a>(p. 027)</span></p>
+
+<p>Jesse James was a lad that killed a-many a man;<br>
+He robbed the Danville train.<br>
+But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard<br>
+Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.</p>
+
+<p class="add2em">Poor Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life,<br>
+    Three children, they were brave.<br>
+    But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard<br>
+    Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.</p>
+
+<p>It was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward,<br>
+I wonder how he does feel,<br>
+For he ate of Jesse's bread and he slept in Jesse's bed,<br>
+Then laid poor Jesse in his grave.</p>
+
+<p>Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor,<br>
+He never would see a man suffer pain;<br>
+And with his brother Frank he robbed the Chicago bank,<br>
+And stopped the Glendale train.</p>
+
+<p>It was his brother Frank that robbed the Gallatin bank,<br>
+And carried the money from the town;<br>
+It was in this very place that they had a little race,<br>
+For they shot Captain Sheets to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>They <span class="pagenum"><a id="page028" name="page028"></a>(p. 028)</span> went to the crossing not very far from there,<br>
+And there they did the same;<br>
+With the agent on his knees, he delivered up the keys<br>
+To the outlaws, Frank and Jesse James.</p>
+
+<p>It was on Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright,<br>
+They robbed the Glendale train;<br>
+The people they did say, for many miles away,<br>
+It was robbed by Frank and Jesse James.</p>
+
+<p>It was on Saturday night, Jesse was at home<br>
+Talking with his family brave,<br>
+Robert Ford came along like a thief in the night<br>
+And laid poor Jesse in his grave.</p>
+
+<p>The people held their breath when they heard of Jesse's death,<br>
+And wondered how he ever came to die.<br>
+It was one of the gang called little Robert Ford,<br>
+He shot poor Jesse on the sly.</p>
+
+<p>Jesse went to his rest with his hand on his breast;<br>
+The devil will be upon his knee.<br>
+He was born one day in the county of Clay<br>
+And came from a solitary race.</p>
+
+<p>This song was made by Billy Gashade,<br>
+As soon as the news did arrive;<br>
+He said there was no man with the law in his hand<br>
+Who could take Jesse James when alive.</p>
+
+<h4>Jesse James <span class="pagenum"><a id="page029" name="page029"></a>(p. 029)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/jessejames.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/jessejames.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/jessejames.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/jessejames_full.png">
+<img src="images/jessejames_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Jesse James"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">POOR LONESOME COWBOY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page032" name="page032"></a>(p. 032)</span></p>
+
+<p>I ain't got no father,<br>
+I ain't got no father,<br>
+I ain't got no father,<br>
+To buy the clothes I wear.</p>
+
+<p class="add2em">I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,<br>
+    I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,<br>
+    I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy<br>
+    And a long ways from home.</p>
+
+<p>I ain't got no mother,<br>
+I ain't got no mother,<br>
+I ain't got no mother<br>
+To mend the clothes I wear.</p>
+
+<p>I ain't got no sister,<br>
+I ain't got no sister,<br>
+I ain't got no sister<br>
+To go and play with me.</p>
+
+<p>I ain't got no brother,<br>
+I ain't got no brother,<br>
+I ain't got no brother<br>
+To drive the steers with me.</p>
+
+<p>I ain't got no sweetheart, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page033" name="page033"></a>(p. 033)</span><br>
+I ain't got no sweetheart,<br>
+I ain't got no sweetheart<br>
+To sit and talk with me.</p>
+
+<p class="add2em">I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,<br>
+    I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,<br>
+    I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy<br>
+    And a long ways from home.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">BUENA VISTA BATTLEFIELD <span class="pagenum"><a id="page034" name="page034"></a>(p. 034)</span></p>
+
+<p>On Buena Vista battlefield<br>
+A dying soldier lay,<br>
+His thoughts were on his mountain home<br>
+Some thousand miles away.<br>
+He called his comrade to his side,<br>
+For much he had to say,<br>
+In briefest words to those who were<br>
+Some thousand miles away.</p>
+
+<p>"My father, comrade, you will tell<br>
+About this bloody fray;<br>
+My country's flag, you'll say to him,<br>
+Was safe with me to-day.<br>
+I make a pillow of it now<br>
+On which to lay my head,<br>
+A winding sheet you'll make of it<br>
+When I am with the dead.</p>
+
+<p>"I know 'twill grieve his inmost soul<br>
+To think I never more<br>
+Will sit with him beneath the oak<br>
+That shades the cottage door;<br>
+But tell that time-worn patriot,<br>
+That, mindful of his fame,<br>
+Upon this bloody battlefield<br>
+I sullied not his name.</p>
+
+<p>"My <span class="pagenum"><a id="page035" name="page035"></a>(p. 035)</span> mother's form is with me now,<br>
+Her will is in my ear,<br>
+And drop by drop as flows my blood<br>
+So flows from her the tear.<br>
+And oh, when you shall tell to her<br>
+The tidings of this day,<br>
+Speak softly, comrade, softly speak<br>
+What you may have to say.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak not to her in blighting words<br>
+The blighting news you bear,<br>
+The cords of life might snap too soon,<br>
+So, comrade, have a care.<br>
+I am her only, cherished child,<br>
+But tell her that I died<br>
+Rejoicing that she taught me young<br>
+To take my country's side.</p>
+
+<p>"But, comrade, there's one more,<br>
+She's gentle as a fawn;<br>
+She lives upon the sloping hill<br>
+That overlooks the lawn,<br>
+The lawn where I shall never more<br>
+Go forth with her in merry mood<br>
+To gather wild-wood flowers.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell her when death was on my brow<br>
+And life receding fast,<br>
+Her looks, her form was with me then,<br>
+Were with me to the last.<br>
+On <span class="pagenum"><a id="page036" name="page036"></a>(p. 036)</span> Buena Vista's bloody field<br>
+Tell her I dying lay,<br>
+And that I knew she thought of me<br>
+Some thousand miles away."</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">WESTWARD HO <span class="pagenum"><a id="page037" name="page037"></a>(p. 037)</span></p>
+
+<p>I love not Colorado<br>
+Where the faro table grows,<br>
+And down the desperado<br>
+The rippling Bourbon flows;</p>
+
+<p>Nor seek I fair Montana<br>
+Of bowie-lunging fame;<br>
+The pistol ring of fair Wyoming<br>
+I leave to nobler game.</p>
+
+<p>Sweet poker-haunted Kansas<br>
+In vain allures the eye;<br>
+The Nevada rough has charms enough<br>
+Yet its blandishments I fly.</p>
+
+<p>Shall Arizona woo me<br>
+Where the meek Apache bides?<br>
+Or New Mexico where natives grow<br>
+With arrow-proof insides?</p>
+
+<p>Nay, 'tis where the grizzlies wander<br>
+And the lonely diggers roam,<br>
+And the grim Chinese from the squatter flees<br>
+That I'll make my humble home.</p>
+
+<p>I'll chase the wild tarantula<br>
+And the fierce cayote I'll dare,<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page038" name="page038"></a>(p. 038)</span> the locust grim, I'll battle him<br>
+In his native wildwood lair.</p>
+
+<p>Or I'll seek the gulch deserted<br>
+And dream of the wild Red man,<br>
+And I'll build a cot on a corner lot<br>
+And get rich as soon as I can.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">A HOME ON THE RANGE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page039" name="page039"></a>(p. 039)</span></p>
+
+<p>Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam,<br>
+Where the deer and the antelope play,<br>
+Where seldom is heard a discouraging word<br>
+And the skies are not cloudy all day.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">Home, home on the range,<br>
+  Where the deer and the antelope play;<br>
+  Where seldom is heard a discouraging word<br>
+  And the skies are not cloudy all day.</p>
+
+<p>Where the air is so pure, the zephyrs so free,<br>
+The breezes so balmy and light,<br>
+That I would not exchange my home on the range<br>
+For all of the cities so bright.</p>
+
+<p>The red man was pressed from this part of the West,<br>
+He's likely no more to return<br>
+To the banks of Red River where seldom if ever<br>
+Their flickering camp-fires burn.</p>
+
+<p>How often at night when the heavens are bright<br>
+With the light from the glittering stars,<br>
+Have I stood here amazed and asked as I gazed<br>
+If their glory exceeds that of ours.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page040" name="page040"></a>(p. 040)</span> I love these wild flowers in this dear land of ours,<br>
+The curlew I love to hear scream,<br>
+And I love the white rocks and the antelope flocks<br>
+That graze on the mountain-tops green.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, give me a land where the bright diamond sand<br>
+Flows leisurely down the stream;<br>
+Where the graceful white swan goes gliding along<br>
+Like a maid in a heavenly dream.</p>
+
+<p>Then I would not exchange my home on the range,<br>
+Where the deer and the antelope play;<br>
+Where seldom is heard a discouraging word<br>
+And the skies are not cloudy all day.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">Home, home on the range,<br>
+  Where the deer and the antelope play;<br>
+  Where seldom is heard a discouraging word<br>
+  And the skies are not cloudy all day.</p>
+
+<h4>Home on the Range <span class="pagenum"><a id="page041" name="page041"></a>(p. 041)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/homeontherange.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/homeontherange.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/homeontherange.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/homeontherange_full.png">
+<img src="images/homeontherange_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Home on the range"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">TEXAS RANGERS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page044" name="page044"></a>(p. 044)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come, all you Texas rangers, wherever you may be,<br>
+I'll tell you of some troubles that happened unto me.<br>
+My name is nothing extra, so it I will not tell,&mdash;<br>
+And here's to all you rangers, I am sure I wish you well.</p>
+
+<p>It was at the age of sixteen that I joined the jolly band,<br>
+We marched from San Antonio down to the Rio Grande.<br>
+Our captain he informed us, perhaps he thought it right,<br>
+"Before we reach the station, boys, you'll surely have to fight."</p>
+
+<p>And when the bugle sounded our captain gave command,<br>
+"To arms, to arms," he shouted, "and by your horses stand."<br>
+I saw the smoke ascending, it seemed to reach the sky;<br>
+The first thought that struck me, my time had come to die.</p>
+
+<p>I saw the Indians coming, I heard them give the yell;<br>
+My feelings at that moment, no tongue can ever tell.<br>
+I <span class="pagenum"><a id="page045" name="page045"></a>(p. 045)</span> saw the glittering lances, their arrows round me flew,<br>
+And all my strength it left me and all my courage too.</p>
+
+<p>We fought full nine hours before the strife was o'er,<br>
+The like of dead and wounded I never saw before.<br>
+And when the sun was rising and the Indians they had fled,<br>
+We loaded up our rifles and counted up our dead.</p>
+
+<p>And all of us were wounded, our noble captain slain,<br>
+And the sun was shining sadly across the bloody plain.<br>
+Sixteen as brave rangers as ever roamed the West<br>
+Were buried by their comrades with arrows in their breast.</p>
+
+<p>'Twas then I thought of mother, who to me in tears did say,<br>
+"To you they are all strangers, with me you had better stay."<br>
+I thought that she was childish, the best she did not know;<br>
+My mind was fixed on ranging and I was bound to go.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps you have a mother, likewise a sister too,<br>
+And maybe you have a sweetheart to weep and mourn for you;<br>
+If <span class="pagenum"><a id="page046" name="page046"></a>(p. 046)</span> that be your situation, although you'd like to roam,<br>
+I'd advise you by experience, you had better stay at home.</p>
+
+<p>I have seen the fruits of rambling, I know its hardships well;<br>
+I have crossed the Rocky Mountains, rode down the streets of hell;<br>
+I have been in the great Southwest where the wild Apaches roam,<br>
+And I tell you from experience you had better stay at home.</p>
+
+<p>And now my song is ended; I guess I have sung enough;<br>
+The life of a ranger I am sure is very tough.<br>
+And here's to all you ladies, I am sure I wish you well,<br>
+I am bound to go a-ranging, so ladies, fare you well.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE MORMON BISHOP'S LAMENT <span class="pagenum"><a id="page047" name="page047"></a>(p. 047)</span></p>
+
+<p>I am a Mormon bishop and I will tell you what I know.<br>
+I joined the confraternity some forty years ago.<br>
+I then had youth upon my brow and eloquence my tongue,<br>
+But I had the sad misfortune then to meet with Brigham Young.</p>
+
+<p>He said, "Young man, come join our band and bid hard work farewell,<br>
+You are too smart to waste your time in toil by hill and dell;<br>
+There is a ripening harvest and our hooks shall find the fool<br>
+And in the distant nations we shall train them in our school."</p>
+
+<p>I listened to his preaching and I learned all the role,<br>
+And the truth of Mormon doctrines burned deep within my soul.<br>
+I married sixteen women and I spread my new belief,<br>
+I was sent to preach the gospel to the pauper and the thief.</p>
+
+<p>'Twas in the glorious days when Brigham was our only Lord and King,<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page048" name="page048"></a>(p. 048)</span> his wild cry of defiance from the Wasatch tops did ring,<br>
+'Twas when that bold Bill Hickman and that Porter Rockwell led,<br>
+And in the blood atonements the pits received the dead.</p>
+
+<p>They took in Dr. Robertson and left him in his gore,<br>
+And the Aiken brothers sleep in peace on Nephi's distant shore.<br>
+We marched to Mountain Meadows and on that glorious field<br>
+With rifle and with hatchet we made man and woman yield.</p>
+
+<p>'Twas there we were victorious with our legions fierce and brave.<br>
+We left the butchered victims on the ground without a grave.<br>
+We slew the load of emigrants on Sublet's lonely road<br>
+And plundered many a trader of his then most precious load.</p>
+
+<p>Alas for all the powers that were in the by-gone time.<br>
+What we did as deeds of glory are condemned as bloody crime.<br>
+No <span class="pagenum"><a id="page049" name="page049"></a>(p. 049)</span> more the blood atonements keep the doubting one in fear,<br>
+While the faithful were rewarded with a wedding once a year.</p>
+
+<p>As the nation's chieftain president says our days of rule are o'er<br>
+And his marshals with their warrants are on watch at every door,<br>
+Old John he now goes skulking on the by-roads of our land,<br>
+Or unknown he keeps in hiding with the faithful of our band.</p>
+
+<p>Old Brigham now is stretched beneath the cold and silent clay,<br>
+And the chieftains now are fallen that were mighty in their day;<br>
+Of the six and twenty women that I wedded long ago<br>
+There are two now left to cheer me in these awful hours of woe.<br>
+The rest are scattered where the Gentile's flag's unfurled<br>
+And two score of my daughters are now numbered with the world.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, my poor old bones are aching and my head is turning gray;<br>
+Oh, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page050" name="page050"></a>(p. 050)</span> the scenes were black and awful that I've witnessed in my day.<br>
+Let my spirit seek the mansion where old Brigham's gone to dwell,<br>
+For there's no place for Mormons but the lowest pits of hell.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">DAN TAYLOR <span class="pagenum"><a id="page051" name="page051"></a>(p. 051)</span></p>
+
+<p>Dan Taylor is a rollicking cuss,<br>
+A frisky son of a gun,<br>
+He loves to court the maidens<br>
+And he savies how it's done.</p>
+
+<p>He used to be a cowboy<br>
+And they say he wasn't slow,<br>
+He could ride the bucking bronco<br>
+And swing the long lasso.</p>
+
+<p>He could catch a maverick by the head<br>
+Or heel him on the fly,<br>
+He could pick up his front ones<br>
+Whenever he chose to try.</p>
+
+<p>He used to ride most anything;<br>
+Now he seldom will.<br>
+He says they cut some caper in the air<br>
+Of which he's got his fill.</p>
+
+<p>He is done and quit the business,<br>
+Settled down to quiet life,<br>
+And he's hunting for some maiden<br>
+Who will be his little wife,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>One <span class="pagenum"><a id="page052" name="page052"></a>(p. 052)</span> who will wash and patch his britches<br>
+And feed the setting hen,<br>
+Milk old Blue and Brindy,<br>
+And tend to baby Ben.</p>
+
+<p>Then he'll build a cozy cottage<br>
+And furnish it complete,<br>
+He'll decorate the walls inside<br>
+With pictures new and sweet.</p>
+
+<p>He will leave off riding broncos<br>
+And be a different man;<br>
+He will do his best to please his wife<br>
+In every way he can.</p>
+
+<p>Then together in double harness<br>
+They will trot along down the line,<br>
+Until death shall call them over<br>
+To a bright and sunny clime.</p>
+
+<p>May your joys be then completed<br>
+And your sorrows have amend,<br>
+Is the fondest wish of the writer,&mdash;<br>
+Your true and faithful friend.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">WHEN WORK IS DONE THIS FALL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page053" name="page053"></a>(p. 053)</span></p>
+
+<p>A group of jolly cowboys, discussing plans at ease,<br>
+Says one, "I'll tell you something, boys, if you will listen, please.<br>
+I am an old cow-puncher and here I'm dressed in rags,<br>
+And I used to be a tough one and take on great big jags.</p>
+
+<p>"But I've got a home, boys, a good one, you all know,<br>
+Although I have not seen it since long, long ago.<br>
+I'm going back to Dixie once more to see them all;<br>
+Yes, I'm going to see my mother when the work's all done this fall.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"After the round-ups are over and after the shipping is done,<br>
+I am going right straight home, boys, ere all my money is gone.<br>
+I have changed my ways, boys, no more will I fall;<br>
+And I am going home, boys, when work is done this fall.</p>
+
+<p>"When I left home, boys, my mother for me cried,<br>
+Begged me not to go, boys, for me she would have died;<br>
+My <span class="pagenum"><a id="page054" name="page054"></a>(p. 054)</span> mother's heart is breaking, breaking for me, that's all,<br>
+And with God's help I'll see her when the work's all done this fall."</p>
+
+<p>That very night this cowboy went out to stand his guard;<br>
+The night was dark and cloudy and storming very hard;<br>
+The cattle they got frightened and rushed in wild stampede,<br>
+The cowboy tried to head them, riding at full speed.</p>
+
+<p>While riding in the darkness so loudly did he shout,<br>
+Trying his best to head them and turn the herd about,<br>
+His saddle horse did stumble and on him did fall,<br>
+The poor boy won't see his mother when the work's all done this fall.</p>
+
+<p>His body was so mangled the boys all thought him dead,<br>
+They picked him up so gently and laid him on a bed;<br>
+He opened wide his blue eyes and looking all around<br>
+He motioned to his comrades to sit near him on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>"Boys, send mother my wages, the wages I have earned,<br>
+For I'm afraid, boys, my last steer I have turned.<br>
+I'm <span class="pagenum"><a id="page055" name="page055"></a>(p. 055)</span> going to a new range, I hear my Master's call,<br>
+And I'll not see my mother when the work's all done this fall.</p>
+
+<p>"Fred, you take my saddle; George, you take my bed;<br>
+Bill, you take my pistol after I am dead,<br>
+And think of me kindly when you look upon them all,<br>
+For I'll not see my mother when work is done this fall."</p>
+
+<p>Poor Charlie was buried at sunrise, no tombstone at his head,<br>
+Nothing but a little board and this is what it said,<br>
+"Charlie died at daybreak, he died from a fall,<br>
+And he'll not see his mother when the work's all done this fall."</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">SIOUX INDIANS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page056" name="page056"></a>(p. 056)</span></p>
+
+<p>I'll sing you a song, though it may be a sad one,<br>
+Of trials and troubles and where they first begun;<br>
+I left my dear kindred, my friends, and my home,<br>
+Across the wild deserts and mountains to roam.</p>
+
+<p>I crossed the Missouri and joined a large train<br>
+Which bore us over mountain and valley and plain;<br>
+And often of evenings out hunting we'd go<br>
+To shoot the fleet antelope and wild buffalo.</p>
+
+<p>We heard of Sioux Indians all out on the plains<br>
+A-killing poor drivers and burning their trains,&mdash;<br>
+A-killing poor drivers with arrows and bow,<br>
+When captured by Indians no mercy they show.</p>
+
+<p>We traveled three weeks till we came to the Platte<br>
+And pitched out our tents at the end of the flat,<br>
+We spread down our blankets on the green grassy ground,<br>
+While our horses and mules were grazing around.</p>
+
+<p>While taking refreshment we heard a low yell,<br>
+The whoop of Sioux Indians coming up from the dell;<br>
+We sprang to our rifles with a flash in each eye,<br>
+"Boys," says our brave leader, "we'll fight till we die."</p>
+
+<p>They <span class="pagenum"><a id="page057" name="page057"></a>(p. 057)</span> made a bold dash and came near to our train<br>
+And the arrows fell around us like hail and like rain,<br>
+But with our long rifles we fed them cold lead<br>
+Till many a brave warrior around us lay dead.</p>
+
+<p>We shot their bold chief at the head of his band.<br>
+He died like a warrior with a gun in his hand.<br>
+When they saw their bold chief lying dead in his gore,<br>
+They whooped and they yelled and we saw them no more.</p>
+
+<p>With our small band,&mdash;there were just twenty-four,&mdash;<br>
+And the Sioux Indians there were five hundred or more,&mdash;<br>
+We fought them with courage; we spoke not a word,<br>
+Till the end of the battle was all that was heard.</p>
+
+<p>We hitched up our horses and we started our train;<br>
+Three more bloody battles this trip on the plain;<br>
+And in our last battle three of our brave boys fell,<br>
+And we left them to rest in a green, shady dell.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE OLD CHISHOLM TRAIL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page058" name="page058"></a>(p. 058)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come along, boys, and listen to my tale,<br>
+I'll tell you of my troubles on the old Chisholm trail.</p>
+
+<p class="add2em">Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya,<br>
+    Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya.</p>
+
+<p>I started up the trail October twenty-third,<br>
+I started up the trail with the 2-U herd.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, a ten dollar hoss and a forty dollar saddle,&mdash;<br>
+And I'm goin' to punchin' Texas cattle.</p>
+
+<p>I woke up one morning on the old Chisholm trail,<br>
+Rope in my hand and a cow by the tail.</p>
+
+<p>I'm up in the mornin' afore daylight<br>
+And afore I sleep the moon shines bright.</p>
+
+<p>Old Ben Bolt was a blamed good boss,<br>
+But he'd go to see the girls on a sore-backed hoss.</p>
+
+<p>Old Ben Bolt was a fine old man<br>
+And you'd know there was whiskey wherever he'd land.</p>
+
+<p>My <span class="pagenum"><a id="page059" name="page059"></a>(p. 059)</span> hoss throwed me off at the creek called Mud,<br>
+My hoss throwed me off round the 2-U herd.</p>
+
+<p>Last time I saw him he was going cross the level<br>
+A-kicking up his heels and a-running like the devil.</p>
+
+<p>It's cloudy in the West, a-looking like rain,<br>
+And my damned old slicker's in the wagon again.</p>
+
+<p>Crippled my hoss, I don't know how,<br>
+Ropin' at the horns of a 2-U cow.</p>
+
+<p>We hit Caldwell and we hit her on the fly,<br>
+We bedded down the cattle on the hill close by.</p>
+
+<p>No chaps, no slicker, and it's pouring down rain,<br>
+And I swear, by god, I'll never night-herd again.</p>
+
+<p>Feet in the stirrups and seat in the saddle,<br>
+I hung and rattled with them long-horn cattle.</p>
+
+<p>Last night I was on guard and the leader broke the ranks,<br>
+I hit my horse down the shoulders and I spurred him in the flanks.</p>
+
+<p>The wind commenced to blow, and the rain began to fall,<br>
+Hit looked, by grab, like we was goin' to loss 'em all.</p>
+
+<p>I <span class="pagenum"><a id="page060" name="page060"></a>(p. 060)</span> jumped in the saddle and grabbed holt the horn,<br>
+Best blamed cow-puncher ever was born.</p>
+
+<p>I popped my foot in the stirrup and gave a little yell,<br>
+The tail cattle broke and the leaders went to hell.</p>
+
+<p>I don't give a damn if they never do stop;<br>
+I'll ride as long as an eight-day clock.</p>
+
+<p>Foot in the stirrup and hand on the horn,<br>
+Best damned cowboy ever was born.</p>
+
+<p>I herded and I hollered and I done very well,<br>
+Till the boss said, "Boys, just let 'em go to hell."</p>
+
+<p>Stray in the herd and the boss said kill it,<br>
+So I shot him in the rump with the handle of the skillet.</p>
+
+<p>We rounded 'em up and put 'em on the cars,<br>
+And that was the last of the old Two Bars.</p>
+
+<p>Oh it's bacon and beans most every day,&mdash;<br>
+I'd as soon be a-eatin' prairie hay.</p>
+
+<p>I'm on my best horse and I'm goin' at a run,<br>
+I'm the quickest shootin' cowboy that ever pulled a gun.</p>
+
+<p>I went to the wagon to get my roll,<br>
+To come back to Texas, dad-burn my soul.</p>
+
+<p>I <span class="pagenum"><a id="page061" name="page061"></a>(p. 061)</span> went to the boss to draw my roll,<br>
+He had it figgered out I was nine dollars in the hole.</p>
+
+<p>I'll sell my outfit just as soon as I can,<br>
+I won't punch cattle for no damned man.</p>
+
+<p>Goin' back to town to draw my money,<br>
+Goin' back home to see my honey.</p>
+
+<p>With my knees in the saddle and my seat in the sky,<br>
+I'll quit punching cows in the sweet by and by.</p>
+
+<p class="add2em">Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya,<br>
+    Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya.</p>
+
+
+<h4>The Old Chisholm Trail <span class="pagenum"><a id="page062" name="page062"></a>(p. 062)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/oldchisholmtrail.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/oldchisholmtrail.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/oldchisholmtrail.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/oldchisholmtrail_full.png">
+<img src="images/oldchisholmtrail_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Old Chisholm Trail"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">JACK DONAHOO <span class="pagenum"><a id="page064" name="page064"></a>(p. 064)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come, all you bold, undaunted men,<br>
+You outlaws of the day,<br>
+It's time to beware of the ball and chain<br>
+And also slavery.<br>
+Attention pay to what I say,<br>
+And verily if you do,<br>
+I will relate you the actual fate<br>
+Of bold Jack Donahoo.</p>
+
+<p>He had scarcely landed, as I tell you,<br>
+Upon Australia's shore,<br>
+Than he became a real highwayman,<br>
+As he had been before.<br>
+There was Underwood and Mackerman,<br>
+And Wade and Westley too,<br>
+These were the four associates<br>
+Of bold Jack Donahoo.</p>
+
+<p>Jack Donahoo, who was so brave,<br>
+Rode out that afternoon,<br>
+Knowing not that the pain of death<br>
+Would overtake him soon.<br>
+So quickly then the horse police<br>
+From Sidney came to view;<br>
+"Begone from here, you cowardly dogs,"<br>
+Says bold Jack Donahoo.</p>
+
+<p>The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page065" name="page065"></a>(p. 065)</span> captain and the sergeant<br>
+Stopped then to decide.<br>
+"Do you intend to fight us<br>
+Or unto us resign?"<br>
+"To surrender to such cowardly dogs<br>
+Is more than I will do,<br>
+This day I'll fight if I lose my life,"<br>
+Says bold Jack Donahoo.</p>
+
+<p>The captain and the sergeant<br>
+The men they did divide;<br>
+They fired from behind him<br>
+And also from each side;<br>
+It's six police he did shoot down<br>
+Before the fatal ball<br>
+Did pierce the heart of Donahoo<br>
+And cause bold Jack to fall.</p>
+
+<p>And when he fell, he closed his eyes,<br>
+He bid the world adieu;<br>
+Come, all you boys, and sing the song<br>
+Of bold Jack Donahoo.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">UTAH CARROLL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page066" name="page066"></a>(p. 066)</span></p>
+
+<p>And as, my friend, you ask me what makes me sad and still,<br>
+And why my brow is darkened like the clouds upon the hill;<br>
+Run in your pony closer and I'll tell to you the tale<br>
+Of Utah Carroll, my partner, and his last ride on the trail.</p>
+
+<p>'Mid the cactus and the thistles of Mexico's fair lands,<br>
+Where the cattle roam in thousands, a-many a herd and brand,<br>
+There is a grave with neither headstone, neither date nor name,&mdash;<br>
+There lies my partner sleeping in the land from which I came.</p>
+
+<p>We rode the range together and had rode it side by side;<br>
+I loved him as a brother, I wept when Utah died;<br>
+We were rounding up one morning, our work was almost done,<br>
+When on the side the cattle started on a mad and fearless run.</p>
+
+<p>The boss man's little daughter was holding on that side.<br>
+She <span class="pagenum"><a id="page067" name="page067"></a>(p. 067)</span> rushed; the cattle saw the blanket, they charged with maddened fear.<br>
+And little Varro, seeing the danger, turned her pony a pace<br>
+And leaning in the saddle, tied the blanket in its place.</p>
+
+<p>In leaning, she lost her balance and fell in front of that wild tide.<br>
+Utah's voice controlled the round-up. "Lay still, little Varro," he cried.<br>
+His only hope was to raise her, to catch her at full speed,<br>
+And oft-times he had been known to catch the trail rope off his steed.</p>
+
+<p>His pony reached the maiden with a firm and steady bound;<br>
+Utah swung out from the saddle to catch her from the ground.<br>
+He swung out from the saddle, I thought her safe from harm,<br>
+As he swung in his saddle to raise her in his arm.</p>
+
+<p>But the cinches of his saddle had not been felt before,<br>
+And his back cinch snapt asunder and he fell by the side of Varro.<br>
+He picked up the blanket and swung it over his head<br>
+And started across the prairie; "Lay still, little Varro," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Well, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page068" name="page068"></a>(p. 068)</span> he got the stampede turned and saved little Varro, his friend.<br>
+Then he turned to face the cattle and meet his fatal end.<br>
+His six-shooter from his pocket, from the scabbard he quickly drew,&mdash;<br>
+He was bound to die defended as all young cowboys do.</p>
+
+<p>His six-shooter flashed like lightning, the report rang loud and clear;<br>
+As the cattle rushed in and killed him he dropped the leading steer.<br>
+And when we broke the circle where Utah's body lay,<br>
+With many a wound and bruise his young life ebbed away.</p>
+
+<p>"And in some future morning," I heard the preacher say,<br>
+"I hope we'll all meet Utah at the round-up far away."<br>
+Then we wrapped him in a blanket sent by his little friend,<br>
+And it was that very red blanket that brought him to his end.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE BULL-WHACKER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page069" name="page069"></a>(p. 069)</span></p>
+
+<p>I'm a lonely bull-whacker<br>
+On the Red Cloud line,<br>
+I can lick any son of a gun<br>
+That will yoke an ox of mine.<br>
+And if I can catch him,<br>
+You bet I will or try,<br>
+I'd lick him with an ox-bow,&mdash;<br>
+Root hog or die.</p>
+
+<p>It's out on the road<br>
+With a very heavy load,<br>
+With a very awkward team<br>
+And a very muddy road,<br>
+You may whip and you may holler,<br>
+But if you cuss it's on the sly;<br>
+Then whack the cattle on, boys,&mdash;<br>
+Root hog or die.</p>
+
+<p>It's out on the road<br>
+These sights are to be seen,<br>
+The antelope and buffalo,<br>
+The prairie all so green,&mdash;<br>
+The antelope and buffalo,<br>
+The rabbit jumps so high;<br>
+It's whack the cattle on, boys,&mdash;<br>
+Root hog or die.</p>
+
+<p>It's <span class="pagenum"><a id="page070" name="page070"></a>(p. 070)</span> every day at twelve<br>
+There's something for to do;<br>
+And if there's nothing else,<br>
+There's a pony for to shoe;<br>
+I'll throw him down,<br>
+And still I'll make him lie;<br>
+Little pig, big pig,<br>
+Root hog or die.</p>
+
+<p>Now perhaps you'd like to know<br>
+What we have to eat,<br>
+A little piece of bread<br>
+And a little dirty meat,<br>
+A little black coffee,<br>
+And whiskey on the sly;<br>
+It's whack the cattle on, boys,&mdash;<br>
+Root hog or die.</p>
+
+<p>There's hard old times on Bitter Creek<br>
+That never can be beat,<br>
+It was root hog or die<br>
+Under every wagon sheet;<br>
+We cleaned up all the Indians,<br>
+Drank all the alkali,<br>
+And it's whack the cattle on, boys,&mdash;<br>
+Root hog or die.</p>
+
+<p>There was good old times in Salt Lake<br>
+That never can pass by,<br>
+It was there I first spied<br>
+My China girl called Wi.<br>
+She <span class="pagenum"><a id="page071" name="page071"></a>(p. 071)</span> could smile, she could chuckle,<br>
+She could roll her hog eye;<br>
+Then it's whack the cattle on, boys,&mdash;<br>
+Root hog or die.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, I'm going home<br>
+Bull-whacking for to spurn,<br>
+I ain't got a nickel,<br>
+And I don't give a dern.<br>
+'Tis when I meet a pretty girl,<br>
+You bet I will or try,<br>
+I'll make her my little wife,&mdash;<br>
+Root hog or die.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE "METIS" SONG OF THE BUFFALO HUNTERS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page072" name="page072"></a>(p. 072)</span><br>
+
+<span class="add2em">By Robideau</span></p>
+
+<p>Hurrah for the buffalo hunters!<br>
+<span class="add2em">Hurrah for the cart brigade!</span><br>
+That creak along on its winding way,<br>
+<span class="add2em">While we dance and sing and play.</span><br>
+Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade!</p>
+
+<p>Hurrah for the Pembinah hunters!<br>
+<span class="add2em">Hurrah for its cart brigade!</span><br>
+For with horse and gun we roll along<br>
+<span class="add2em">O'er mountain and hill and plain.</span><br>
+Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade!</p>
+
+<p>We whipped the Sioux and scalped them too,<br>
+<span class="add2em">While on the western plain,</span><br>
+And rode away on our homeward way<br>
+<span class="add2em">With none to say us nay,&mdash;</span><br>
+Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade! Hurrah!</p>
+
+<p>Mon ami, mon ami, hurrah for our black-haired girls!<br>
+<span class="add2em">That braved the Sioux and fought them too,</span><br>
+While on Montana's plains.<br>
+<span class="add2em">We'll hold them true and love them too,</span><br>
+While <span class="pagenum"><a id="page073" name="page073"></a>(p. 073)</span> on the trail of the Pembinah, hurrah!<br>
+<span class="add2em">Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade of Pembinah!</span></p>
+
+<p>We have the skins and the meat so sweet.<br>
+<span class="add2em">And we'll sit by the fire in the lodge so neat,</span><br>
+While the wind blows cold and the snow is deep.<br>
+<span class="add2em">Then roll in our robes and laugh as we sleep.</span><br>
+Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade! Hurrah!<br>
+<span class="add4em">Hurrah! Hurrah!</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE COWBOY'S LAMENT <span class="pagenum"><a id="page074" name="page074"></a>(p. 074)</span></p>
+
+<p>As I walked out in the streets of Laredo,<br>
+As I walked out in Laredo one day,<br>
+I spied a poor cowboy wrapped up in white linen,<br>
+Wrapped up in white linen as cold as the clay.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"Oh, beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly,<br>
+  Play the Dead March as you carry me along;<br>
+  Take me to the green valley, there lay the sod o'er me,<br>
+  For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.</p>
+
+<p>"I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy,"<br>
+These words he did say as I boldly stepped by.<br>
+"Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story;<br>
+I was shot in the breast and I know I must die.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"Let sixteen gamblers come handle my coffin,<br>
+  Let sixteen cowboys come sing me a song,<br>
+  Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o'er me,<br>
+  For I'm a poor cowboy and I know I've done wrong.</p>
+
+<p>"My friends and relations, they live in the Nation,<br>
+They know not where their boy has gone.<br>
+He first came to Texas and hired to a ranchman,<br>
+Oh, I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.</p>
+
+<p>"Go <span class="pagenum"><a id="page075" name="page075"></a>(p. 075)</span> write a letter to my gray-haired mother,<br>
+And carry the same to my sister so dear;<br>
+But not a word of this shall you mention<br>
+When a crowd gathers round you my story to hear.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"Then beat your drum lowly and play your fife slowly,<br>
+  Beat the Dead March as you carry me along;<br>
+  We all love our cowboys so young and so handsome,<br>
+  We all love our cowboys although they've done wrong.</p>
+
+<p>"There is another more dear than a sister,<br>
+She'll bitterly weep when she hears I am gone.<br>
+There is another who will win her affections,<br>
+For I'm a young cowboy and they say I've done wrong.</p>
+
+<p>"Go gather around you a crowd of young cowboys,<br>
+And tell them the story of this my sad fate;<br>
+Tell one and the other before they go further<br>
+To stop their wild roving before 'tis too late.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"Oh, muffle your drums, then play your fifes merrily;<br>
+  Play the Dead March as you go along.<br>
+  And fire your guns right over my coffin;<br>
+  There goes an unfortunate boy to his home.</p>
+
+<p>"It <span class="pagenum"><a id="page076" name="page076"></a>(p. 076)</span> was once in the saddle I used to go dashing,<br>
+It was once in the saddle I used to go gay;<br>
+First to the dram-house, then to the card-house,<br>
+Got shot in the breast, I am dying to-day.</p>
+
+<p>"Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin;<br>
+Get six pretty maidens to bear up my pall.<br>
+Put bunches of roses all over my coffin,<br>
+Put roses to deaden the clods as they fall.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">"Then swing your rope slowly and rattle your spurs lowly,<br>
+  And give a wild whoop as you carry me along;<br>
+  And in the grave throw me and roll the sod o'er me,<br>
+  For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.</p>
+
+<p>"Go bring me a cup, a cup of cold water,<br>
+To cool my parched lips," the cowboy said;<br>
+Before I turned, the spirit had left him<br>
+And gone to its Giver,&mdash;the cowboy was dead.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly,<br>
+  And bitterly wept as we bore him along;<br>
+  For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young, and handsome,<br>
+  We all loved our comrade although he'd done wrong.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">LOVE IN DISGUISE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page077" name="page077"></a>(p. 077)</span></p>
+
+<p>As William and Mary stood by the seashore<br>
+Their last farewell to take,<br>
+Returning no more, little Mary she said,<br>
+"Why surely my heart will break."<br>
+"Oh, don't be dismayed, little Mary," he said,<br>
+As he pressed the dear girl to his side,<br>
+"In my absence don't mourn, for when I return<br>
+I'll make little Mary my bride."</p>
+
+<p>Three years passed on without any news.<br>
+One day as she stood by the door<br>
+A beggar passed by with a patch on his eye,<br>
+"I'm home, oh, do pity, my love;<br>
+Have compassion on me, your friend I will be.<br>
+Your fortune I'll tell besides.<br>
+The lad you mourn will never return<br>
+To make little Mary his bride."</p>
+
+<p>She startled and trembled and then she did say,<br>
+"All the fortune I have I freely give<br>
+If what I ask you will tell unto me,&mdash;<br>
+Say, does young William yet live?"<br>
+"He lives and is true and poverty poor,<br>
+And shipwreck has suffered beside;<br>
+He'll return no more, because he is poor,<br>
+To make little Mary his bride."</p>
+
+<p>"No <span class="pagenum"><a id="page078" name="page078"></a>(p. 078)</span> tongue can tell the joy I do feel<br>
+Although his misfortune I mourn,<br>
+And he's welcome to me though poverty poor,<br>
+His jacket all tattered and torn.<br>
+I love him so dear, so true and sincere,<br>
+I'll have no other beside;<br>
+Those with riches enrobed and covered with gold<br>
+Can't make little Mary their bride."</p>
+
+<p>The beggar then tore the patch from his eye,<br>
+His crutches he laid by his side,<br>
+Coat, jacket and bundle; cheeks red as a rose,<br>
+'Twas William that stood by her side.<br>
+"Then excuse me, dear maid," to her he said,<br>
+"It was only your love I tried."<br>
+So he hastened away at the close of the day<br>
+To make little Mary his bride.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">MUSTANG GRAY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page079" name="page079"></a>(p. 079)</span></p>
+
+<p>There once was a noble ranger,<br>
+They called him Mustang Gray;<br>
+He left his home when but a youth,<br>
+Went ranging far away.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">But he'll go no more a-ranging,<br>
+  The savage to affright;<br>
+  He has heard his last war-whoop,<br>
+  And fought his last fight.</p>
+
+<p>He ne'er would sleep within a tent,<br>
+No comforts would he know;<br>
+But like a brave old Tex-i-an,<br>
+A-ranging he would go.</p>
+
+<p>When Texas was invaded<br>
+By a mighty tyrant foe,<br>
+He mounted his noble war-horse<br>
+And a-ranging he did go.</p>
+
+<p>Once he was taken prisoner,<br>
+Bound in chains upon the way,<br>
+He wore the yoke of bondage<br>
+Through the streets of Monterey.</p>
+
+<p>A senorita loved him,<br>
+And followed by his side;<br>
+She <span class="pagenum"><a id="page080" name="page080"></a>(p. 080)</span> opened the gates and gave to him<br>
+Her father's steed to ride.</p>
+
+<p>God bless the senorita,<br>
+The belle of Monterey,<br>
+She opened wide the prison door<br>
+And let him ride away.</p>
+
+<p>And when this veteran's life was spent,<br>
+It was his last command<br>
+To bury him on Texas soil<br>
+On the banks of the Rio Grande;</p>
+
+<p>And there the lonely traveler,<br>
+When passing by his grave,<br>
+Will shed a farewell tear<br>
+O'er the bravest of the brave.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">And he'll go no more a-ranging,<br>
+  The savage to affright;<br>
+  He has heard his last war-whoop,<br>
+  And fought his last fight.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">YOUNG COMPANIONS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page081" name="page081"></a>(p. 081)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you young companions<br>
+And listen unto me,<br>
+I'll tell you a story<br>
+Of some bad company.</p>
+
+<p>I was born in Pennsylvania<br>
+Among the beautiful hills<br>
+And the memory of my childhood<br>
+Is warm within me still.</p>
+
+<p>I did not like my fireside,<br>
+I did not like my home;<br>
+I had in view far rambling,<br>
+So far away did roam.</p>
+
+<p>I had a feeble mother,<br>
+She oft would plead with me;<br>
+And the last word she gave me<br>
+Was to pray to God in need.</p>
+
+<p>I had two loving sisters,<br>
+As fair as fair could be,<br>
+And oft beside me kneeling<br>
+They oft would plead with me.</p>
+
+<p>I bid adieu to loved ones,<br>
+To my home I bid farewell,<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page082" name="page082"></a>(p. 082)</span> I landed in Chicago<br>
+In the very depth of hell.</p>
+
+<p>It was there I took to drinking,<br>
+I sinned both night and day,<br>
+And there within my bosom<br>
+A feeble voice would say:</p>
+
+<p>"Then fare you well, my loved one,<br>
+May God protect my boy,<br>
+And blessings ever with him<br>
+Throughout his manhood joy."</p>
+
+<p>I courted a fair young maiden,<br>
+Her name I will not tell,<br>
+For I should ever disgrace her<br>
+Since I am doomed for hell.</p>
+
+<p>It was on one beautiful evening,<br>
+The stars were shining bright,<br>
+And with a fatal dagger<br>
+I bid her spirit flight.</p>
+
+<p>So justice overtook me,<br>
+You all can plainly see,<br>
+My soul is doomed forever<br>
+Throughout eternity.</p>
+
+<p>It's now I'm on the scaffold,<br>
+My moments are not long;<br>
+You may forget the singer<br>
+But don't forget the song.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">LACKEY BILL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page083" name="page083"></a>(p. 083)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you good old boys and listen to my rhymes,<br>
+We are west of Eastern Texas and mostly men of crimes;<br>
+Each with a hidden secret well smothered in his breast,<br>
+Which brought us out to Mexico, way out here in the West.</p>
+
+<p>My parents raised me tenderly, they had no child but me,<br>
+Till I began to ramble and with them could never agree.<br>
+My mind being bent on rambling did grieve their poor hearts sore,<br>
+To leave my aged parents them to see no more.</p>
+
+<p>I was borned and raised in Texas, though never come to fame,<br>
+A cowboy by profession, C.W. King, by name.<br>
+Oh, when the war was ended I did not like to work,<br>
+My brothers were not happy, for I had learned to shirk.</p>
+
+<p>In fact I was not able, my health was very bad,<br>
+I had no constitution, I was nothing but a lad.<br>
+I had no education, I would not go to school,<br>
+And living off my parents I thought it rather cool.</p>
+
+<p>So <span class="pagenum"><a id="page084" name="page084"></a>(p. 084)</span> I set a resolution to travel to the West,<br>
+My parents they objected, but still I thought it best.<br>
+It was out on the Seven Rivers all out on the Pecos stream,<br>
+It was there I saw a country I thought just suited me.</p>
+
+<p>I thought I would be no stranger and lead a civil life,<br>
+In order to be happy would choose myself a wife.<br>
+On one Sabbath evening in the merry month of May<br>
+To a little country singing I happened there to stray.</p>
+
+<p>It was there I met a damsel I never shall forget,<br>
+The impulse of that moment remains within me yet.<br>
+We soon became acquainted, I thought she would fill the bill,<br>
+She seemed to be good-natured, which helps to climb the hill.</p>
+
+<p>She was a handsome figure though not so very tall;<br>
+Her hair was red as blazes, I hate it worst of all.<br>
+I saw her home one evening in the presence of her pap,<br>
+I bid them both good evening with a note left in her lap.</p>
+
+<p>And when I got an answer I read it with a rush,<br>
+I found she had consented, my feelings was a hush.<br>
+But now I have changed my mind, boys, I am sure I wish her well.<br>
+Here's <span class="pagenum"><a id="page085" name="page085"></a>(p. 085)</span> to that precious jewel, I'm sure I wish her well.</p>
+
+<p>This girl was Miss Mollie Walker who fell in love with me,<br>
+She was a lovely Western girl, as lovely as could be,<br>
+She was so tall, so handsome, so charming and so fair,<br>
+There is not a girl in this whole world with her I could compare.</p>
+
+<p>She said my pockets would be lined with gold, hard work then I'd leave o'er<br>
+If I'd consent to live with her and say I'd roam no more.<br>
+My mind began to ramble and it grieved my poor heart sore,<br>
+To leave my darling girl, her to see no more.</p>
+
+<p>I asked if it made any difference if I crossed o'er the plains;<br>
+She said it made no difference if I returned again.<br>
+So we kissed, shook hands, and parted, I left that girl behind.<br>
+She said she'd prove true to me till death proved her unkind.</p>
+
+<p>I rode in the town of Vagus, all in the public square;<br>
+The mail coach had arrived, the post boy met me there.<br>
+He <span class="pagenum"><a id="page086" name="page086"></a>(p. 086)</span> handed me a letter that gave me to understand<br>
+That the girl I loved in Texas had married another man.</p>
+
+<p>So I read a little farther and found those words were true.<br>
+I turned myself all around, not knowing what to do.<br>
+I'll sell my horse, saddle, and bridle, cow-driving I'll resign,<br>
+I'll search this world from town to town for the girl I left behind.</p>
+
+<p>Here the gold I find in plenty, the girls to me are kind,<br>
+But my pillow is haunted with the girl I left behind.<br>
+It's trouble and disappointment is all that I can see,<br>
+For the dearest girl in all the world has gone square back on me.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">WHOOPEE TI YI YO, GIT ALONG LITTLE DOGIES <span class="pagenum"><a id="page087" name="page087"></a>(p. 087)</span></p>
+
+<p>As I walked out one morning for pleasure,<br>
+I spied a cow-puncher all riding alone;<br>
+His hat was throwed back and his spurs was a jingling,<br>
+As he approached me a-singin' this song,</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies,<br>
+  It's your misfortune, and none of my own.<br>
+  Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies,<br>
+  For you know Wyoming will be your new home.</p>
+
+<p>Early in the spring we round up the dogies,<br>
+Mark and brand and bob off their tails;<br>
+Round up our horses, load up the chuck-wagon,<br>
+Then throw the dogies upon the trail.</p>
+
+<p>It's whooping and yelling and driving the dogies;<br>
+Oh how I wish you would go on;<br>
+It's whooping and punching and go on little dogies,<br>
+For you know Wyoming will be your new home.</p>
+
+<p>Some boys goes up the trail for pleasure,<br>
+But that's where you get it most awfully wrong;<br>
+For you haven't any idea the trouble they give us<br>
+While we go driving them all along.</p>
+
+<p>When <span class="pagenum"><a id="page088" name="page088"></a>(p. 088)</span> the night comes on and we hold them on the bedground,<br>
+These little dogies that roll on so slow;<br>
+Roll up the herd and cut out the strays,<br>
+And roll the little dogies that never rolled before.</p>
+
+<p>Your mother she was raised way down in Texas,<br>
+Where the jimson weed and sand-burrs grow;<br>
+Now we'll fill you up on prickly pear and cholla<br>
+Till you are ready for the trail to Idaho.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, you'll be soup for Uncle Sam's Injuns;<br>
+"It's beef, heap beef," I hear them cry.<br>
+Git along, git along, git along little dogies<br>
+You're going to be beef steers by and by.</p>
+
+
+<h4>Whoopee <span class="pagenum"><a id="page089" name="page089"></a>(p. 089)</span> Ti Yi Yo, Git Along Little Dogies</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/whoopee.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/whoopee.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/whoopee.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/whoopee_full.png">
+<img src="images/whoopee_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="whoopee"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE U-S-U RANGE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page092" name="page092"></a>(p. 092)</span></p>
+
+<p>O come cowboys and listen to my song,<br>
+I'm in hopes I'll please you and not keep you long;<br>
+I'll sing you of things you may think strange<br>
+About West Texas and the U-S-U range.</p>
+
+<p>You may go to Stamford and there see a man<br>
+Who wears a white shirt and is asking for hands;<br>
+You may ask him for work and he'll answer you short,<br>
+He will hurry you up, for he wants you to start.<br>
+He will put you in a wagon and be off in the rain,<br>
+You will go up on Tongue River on the U-S-U range.</p>
+
+<p>You will drive up to the ranch and there you will stop.<br>
+It's a little sod house with dirt all on top.<br>
+You will ask what it is and they will tell you out plain<br>
+That it's the ranch house on the U-S-U range.</p>
+
+<p>You will go in the house and he will begin to explain;<br>
+You will see some blankets rolled up on the floor;<br>
+You may ask what it is and they will tell you out plain<br>
+That it is the bedding on the U-S-U range.</p>
+
+<p>You <span class="pagenum"><a id="page093" name="page093"></a>(p. 093)</span> are up in the morning at the daybreak<br>
+To eat cold beef and U-S-U steak,<br>
+And out to your work no matter if it's rain,&mdash;<br>
+And that is the life on the U-S-U range.</p>
+
+<p>You work hard all day and come in at night,<br>
+And turn your horse loose, for they say it's all right,<br>
+And set down to supper and begin to complain<br>
+Of the chuck that you eat on the U-S-U range.</p>
+
+<p>The grub that you get is beans and cold rice<br>
+And U-S-U steak cooked up very nice;<br>
+And if you don't like that you needn't complain,<br>
+For that's what you get on the U-S-U range.</p>
+
+<p>Now, kind friends, I must leave you, I no longer can remain,<br>
+I hope I have pleased you and given you no pain.<br>
+But when I am gone, don't think me strange,<br>
+For I have been a cow-puncher on the U-S-U range.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">I'M A GOOD OLD REBEL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page094" name="page094"></a>(p. 094)</span></p>
+
+<p>Oh, I'm a good old rebel, that's what I am;<br>
+And for this land of freedom, I don't care a damn,<br>
+I'm glad I fought agin her, I only wish we'd won,<br>
+And I don't axe any pardon for anything I've done.</p>
+
+<p>I served with old Bob Lee, three years about,<br>
+Got wounded in four places and starved at Point Lookout;<br>
+I caught the rheumatism a-campin' in the snow,<br>
+But I killed a <i>chance</i> of Yankees and wish I'd killed some mo'.</p>
+
+<p class="add4em">For I'm a good old rebel, etc.</p>
+
+<p>I hate the constitooshin, this great republic too;<br>
+I hate the mouty eagle, an' the uniform so blue;<br>
+I hate their glorious banner, an' all their flags an' fuss,<br>
+Those lyin', thievin' Yankees, I hate 'em wuss an' wuss.</p>
+
+<p class="add4em">For I'm a good old rebel, etc.</p>
+
+<p>I won't be re-constructed! I'm better now than them;<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page095" name="page095"></a>(p. 095)</span> for a carpet-bagger, I don't give a damn;<br>
+So I'm off for the frontier, soon as I can go,<br>
+I'll prepare me a weapon and start for Mexico.</p>
+
+<p class="add4em">For I'm a good old rebel, etc.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE COWBOY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page096" name="page096"></a>(p. 096)</span></p>
+
+<p>All day long on the prairies I ride,<br>
+Not even a dog to trot by my side;<br>
+My fire I kindle with chips gathered round,<br>
+My coffee I boil without being ground.</p>
+
+<p>I wash in a pool and wipe on a sack;<br>
+I carry my wardrobe all on my back;<br>
+For want of an oven I cook bread in a pot,<br>
+And sleep on the ground for want of a cot.</p>
+
+<p>My ceiling is the sky, my floor is the grass,<br>
+My music is the lowing of the herds as they pass;<br>
+My books are the brooks, my sermons the stones,<br>
+My parson is a wolf on his pulpit of bones.</p>
+
+<p>And then if my cooking is not very complete<br>
+You can't blame me for wanting to eat.<br>
+But show me a man that sleeps more profound<br>
+Than the big puncher-boy who stretches himself on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>My books teach me ever consistence to prize,<br>
+My sermons, that small things I should not despise;<br>
+My parson remarks from his pulpit of bones<br>
+That fortune favors those who look out for their own.</p>
+
+<p>And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page097" name="page097"></a>(p. 097)</span> then between me and love lies a gulf very wide.<br>
+Some lucky fellow may call her his bride.<br>
+My friends gently hint I am coming to grief,<br>
+But men must make money and women have beef.</p>
+
+<p>But Cupid is always a friend to the bold,<br>
+And the best of his arrows are pointed with gold.<br>
+Society bans me so savage and dodge<br>
+That the Masons would ball me out of their lodge.</p>
+
+<p>If I had hair on my chin, I might pass for the goat<br>
+That bore all the sins in the ages remote;<br>
+But why it is I can never understand,<br>
+For each of the patriarchs owned a big brand.</p>
+
+<p>Abraham emigrated in search of a range,<br>
+And when water was scarce he wanted a change;<br>
+Old Isaac owned cattle in charge of Esau,<br>
+And Jacob punched cows for his father-in-law.</p>
+
+<p>He started in business way down at bed rock,<br>
+And made quite a streak at handling stock;<br>
+Then David went from night-herding to using a sling;<br>
+And, winning the battle, he became a great king.<br>
+Then the shepherds, while herding the sheep on a hill,<br>
+Got a message from heaven of peace and goodwill.</p>
+
+
+<h4>The Cowboy <span class="pagenum"><a id="page098" name="page098"></a>(p. 098)</span><br>
+
+Music by the "Kid"</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/cowboy.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/cowboy.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/cowboy.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/cowboy_full.png">
+<img src="images/cowboy_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="The cowboy"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">BILL PETERS, THE STAGE DRIVER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page100" name="page100"></a>(p. 100)</span></p>
+
+<p>Bill Peters was a hustler<br>
+From Independence town;<br>
+He warn't a college scholar<br>
+Nor man of great renown,<br>
+But Bill had a way o' doing things<br>
+And doin' 'em up brown.</p>
+
+<p>Bill driv the stage from Independence<br>
+Up to the Smokey Hill;<br>
+And everybody knowed him thar<br>
+As Independence Bill,&mdash;<br>
+Thar warn't no feller on the route<br>
+That driv with half the skill.</p>
+
+<p>Bill driv four pair of horses,<br>
+Same as you'd drive a team,<br>
+And you'd think you was a-travelin'<br>
+On a railroad driv by steam;<br>
+And he'd git thar on time, you bet,<br>
+Or Bill 'u'd bust a seam.</p>
+
+<p>He carried mail and passengers,<br>
+And he started on the dot,<br>
+And them teams o' his'n, so they say,<br>
+Was never known to trot;<br>
+But they went it in a gallop<br>
+And kept their axles hot.</p>
+
+<p>When <span class="pagenum"><a id="page101" name="page101"></a>(p. 101)</span> Bill's stage 'u'd bust a tire,<br>
+Or something 'u'd break down,<br>
+He'd hustle round and patch her up<br>
+And start off with a bound;<br>
+And the wheels o' that old shack o' his<br>
+Scarce ever touched the ground.</p>
+
+<p>And Bill didn't low no foolin',<br>
+And when Inguns hove in sight<br>
+And bullets rattled at the stage,<br>
+He druv with all his might;<br>
+He'd holler, "Fellers, give 'em hell,<br>
+I ain't got time to fight."</p>
+
+<p>Then the way them wheels 'u'd rattle,<br>
+And the way the dust 'u'd fly,<br>
+You'd think a million cattle,<br>
+Had stampeded and gone by;<br>
+But the mail 'u'd get thar just the same,<br>
+If the horses had to die.</p>
+
+<p>He driv that stage for many a year<br>
+Along the Smokey Hill,<br>
+And a pile o' wild Comanches<br>
+Did Bill Peters have to kill,&mdash;<br>
+And I reckon if he'd had good luck<br>
+He'd been a drivin' still.</p>
+
+<p>But he chanced one day to run agin<br>
+A bullet made o' lead,<br>
+Which <span class="pagenum"><a id="page102" name="page102"></a>(p. 102)</span> was harder than he bargained for<br>
+And now poor Bill is dead;<br>
+And when they brung his body home<br>
+A barrel of tears was shed.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">HARD TIMES <span class="pagenum"><a id="page103" name="page103"></a>(p. 103)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come listen a while and I'll sing you a song<br>
+Concerning the times&mdash;it will not be long&mdash;<br>
+When everybody is striving to buy,<br>
+And cheating each other, I cannot tell why,&mdash;<br>
+And it's hard, hard times.</p>
+
+<p>From father to mother, from sister to brother,<br>
+From cousin to cousin, they're cheating each other.<br>
+Since cheating has grown to be so much the fashion,<br>
+I believe to my soul it will run the whole Nation,&mdash;<br>
+And it's hard, hard times.</p>
+
+<p>Now there is the talker, by talking he eats,<br>
+And so does the butcher by killing his meats.<br>
+He'll toss the steelyards, and weigh it right down,<br>
+And swear it's just right if it lacks forty pounds,&mdash;<br>
+And it's hard, hard times.</p>
+
+<p>And there is the merchant, as honest, we're told.<br>
+Whatever he sells you, my friend, you are sold;<br>
+Believe what I tell you, and don't be surprised<br>
+To find yourself cheated half out of your eyes,&mdash;<br>
+And it's hard, hard times.</p>
+
+<p>And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page104" name="page104"></a>(p. 104)</span> there is the lawyer you plainly will see,<br>
+He will plead your case for a very large fee,<br>
+He'll law you and tell you the wrong side is right,<br>
+And make you believe that a black horse is white,&mdash;<br>
+And it's hard, hard times.</p>
+
+<p>And there is the doctor, I like to forgot,<br>
+I believe to my soul he's the worst of the lot;<br>
+He'll tell you he'll cure you for half you possess,<br>
+And when you're buried he'll take all the rest,&mdash;<br>
+And it's hard, hard times.</p>
+
+<p>And there's the old bachelor, all hated with scorn,<br>
+He's like an old garment all tattered and torn,<br>
+The girls and the widows all toss him a sigh,<br>
+And think it quite right, and so do I,&mdash;<br>
+And it's hard, hard times.</p>
+
+<p>And there's the young widow, coquettish and shy,<br>
+With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye,<br>
+But when she gets married she'll cut quite a dash,<br>
+She'll give him the reins and she'll handle the cash,&mdash;<br>
+And it's hard, hard times.</p>
+
+<p>And there's the young lady I like to have missed,<br>
+And I believe to my soul she'd like to be kissed;<br>
+She'll tell you she loves you with all pretence<br>
+And ask you to call again some time hence,&mdash;<br>
+And it's hard, hard times.</p>
+
+<p>And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page105" name="page105"></a>(p. 105)</span> there's the young man, the worst of the whole.<br>
+Oh, he will tell you with all of his soul,<br>
+He'll tell you he loves you and for you will die,<br>
+And when he's away he will swear it's a lie,&mdash;<br>
+And it's hard, hard times.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">COLE YOUNGER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page106" name="page106"></a>(p. 106)</span></p>
+
+<p>Am one of a band of highwaymen, Cole Younger is my name;<br>
+My crimes and depredations have brought my friends to shame;<br>
+The robbing of the Northfield Bank, the same I can't deny,<br>
+For now I am a prisoner, in the Stillwater jail I lie.</p>
+
+<p>'Tis of a bold, high robbery, a story to you I'll tell,<br>
+Of a California miner who unto us befell;<br>
+We robbed him of his money and bid him go his way,<br>
+For which I will be sorry until my dying day.</p>
+
+<p>And then we started homeward, when brother Bob did say:<br>
+"Now, Cole, we will buy fast horses and on them ride away.<br>
+We will ride to avenge our father's death and try to win the prize;<br>
+We will fight those anti-guerrillas until the day we die."</p>
+
+<p>And then we rode towards Texas, that good old Lone Star State,<br>
+But on Nebraska's prairies the James boys we did meet;<br>
+With <span class="pagenum"><a id="page107" name="page107"></a>(p. 107)</span> knives, guns, and revolvers we all sat down to play,<br>
+A-drinking of good whiskey to pass the time away.</p>
+
+<p>A Union Pacific railway train was the next we did surprise,<br>
+And the crimes done by our bloody hands bring tears into my eyes.<br>
+The engineerman and fireman killed, the conductor escaped alive,<br>
+And now their bones lie mouldering beneath Nebraska's skies.</p>
+
+<p>Then we saddled horses, northwestward we did go,<br>
+To the God-forsaken country called Min-ne-so-te-o;<br>
+I had my eye on the Northfield bank when brother Bob did say,<br>
+"Now, Cole, if you undertake the job, you will surely curse the day."</p>
+
+<p>But I stationed out my pickets and up to the bank did go,<br>
+And there upon the counter I struck my fatal blow.<br>
+"Just hand us over your money and make no further delay,<br>
+We are the famous Younger brothers, we spare no time to pray."</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">MISSISSIPPI GIRLS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page108" name="page108"></a>(p. 108)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come, all you Mississippi girls, and listen to my noise,<br>
+If you happen to go West, don't you marry those Texian boys;<br>
+For if you do, your fortune will be<br>
+Cold jonny-cake and beefsteak, that's all that you will see,&mdash;<br>
+Cold jonny-cake and beefsteak, that's all that you will see.</p>
+
+<p>When they go courting, here's what they wear:<br>
+An old leather coat, and it's all ripped and tore;<br>
+And an old brown hat with the brim tore down,<br>
+And a pair of dirty socks, they've worn the winter round.</p>
+
+<p>When one comes in, the first thing you hear<br>
+Is, "Madam, your father has killed a deer";<br>
+And the next thing they say when they sit down<br>
+Is, "Madam, the jonny-cake is too damned brown."</p>
+
+<p>They live in a hut with hewed log wall,<br>
+But it ain't got any windows at all;<br>
+With a clap-board roof and a puncheon floor,<br>
+And that's the way all Texas o'er.</p>
+
+<p>They <span class="pagenum"><a id="page109" name="page109"></a>(p. 109)</span> will take you out on a live-oak hill<br>
+And there they will leave you much against your will.<br>
+They will leave you on the prairie, starve you on the plains,<br>
+For that is the way with the Texians,&mdash;<br>
+For that is the way with the Texians.</p>
+
+<p>When they go to preaching let me tell you how they dress;<br>
+Just an old black shirt without any vest,<br>
+Just an old straw hat more brim than crown<br>
+And an old sock leg that they wear the winter round,&mdash;<br>
+And an old sock leg that they wear the winter round.</p>
+
+<p>For your wedding supper, there'll be beef and cornbread;<br>
+There it is to eat when the ceremony's said.<br>
+And when you go to milk you'll milk into a gourd;<br>
+And set it in the corner and cover it with a board;<br>
+Some gets little and some gets none,<br>
+For that is the way with the Texians,&mdash;<br>
+For that is the way with the Texians.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE OLD MAN UNDER THE HILL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page110" name="page110"></a>(p. 110)</span></p>
+
+<p>There was an old man who lived under the hill,<br>
+Chir-u-ra-wee, lived under the hill,<br>
+And if he ain't dead he's living there still,<br>
+Chir-u-ra-wee, living there still.</p>
+
+<p>One day the old man went out to plow,<br>
+Chir-u-ra-wee, went out to plow;<br>
+'Tis good-bye the old fellow, and how are you now,<br>
+Sing chir-u-ra-wee, and how are you now.</p>
+
+<p>And then another came to his house,<br>
+Chir-u-ra-wee, came to his house;<br>
+"There's one of your family I've got to have now,<br>
+Sing chir-u-ra-wee, got to have now.</p>
+
+<p>"It's neither you nor your oldest son,<br>
+Chir-u-ra-wee, nor your oldest son."<br>
+"Then take my old woman and take her for fun,<br>
+Sing chir-u-ra-wee, take her for fun."</p>
+
+<p>He takened her all upon his back,<br>
+Chir-u-ra-wee, upon his back,<br>
+And like an old rascal went rickity rack,<br>
+Sing chir-u-ra-wee, went rickity rack.</p>
+
+<p>But when he got half way up the road,<br>
+Chir-u-ra-wee, up the road,<br>
+Says <span class="pagenum"><a id="page111" name="page111"></a>(p. 111)</span> he, "You old lady, you're sure a load,"<br>
+Sing chir-u-ra-wee, you're sure a load.</p>
+
+<p>He set her down on a stump to rest,<br>
+Chir-u-ra-wee, stump to rest;<br>
+She up with a stick and hit him her best.<br>
+Sing chir-u-ra-wee, hit him her best.</p>
+
+<p>He taken her on to hell's old gate,<br>
+Chir-u-ra-wee, hell's old gate,<br>
+But when he got there he got there too late,<br>
+Sing chir-u-ra-wee, got there too late.</p>
+
+<p>And so he had to keep his wife,<br>
+Chir-u-ra-wee, had to keep his wife,<br>
+And keep her he did for the rest of his life.<br>
+Sing chir-u-ra-wee, for the rest of his life.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">JERRY, GO ILE THAT CAR <span class="pagenum"><a id="page112" name="page112"></a>(p. 112)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all ye railroad section men an' listen to my song,<br>
+It is of Larry O'Sullivan who now is dead and gone.<br>
+For twinty years a section boss, he niver hired a tar&mdash;<br>
+Oh, it's "j'int ahead and cinter back,<br>
+An' Jerry, go ile that car!"</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">For twinty years a section boss, he niver hired a tar,<br>
+  But it's "j'int ahead an cinter back,<br>
+  An' Jerry, go ile that car-r-r!"</p>
+
+<p>For twinty years a section boss, he worked upon the track,<br>
+And be it to his cred-i-it he niver had a wrack.<br>
+For he kept every j'int right up to the p'int wid the tap of the tampin-bar-r-r;<br>
+And while the byes was a-swimmin' up the ties,<br>
+It's "Jerry, wud yez ile that car-r-r!"</p>
+
+<p>God rest ye, Larry O'Sullivan, to me ye were kind and good;<br>
+Ye always made the section men go out and chop me wood;<br>
+An' fetch me wather from the well an' chop me kindlin' fine;<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page113" name="page113"></a>(p. 113)</span> any man that wouldn't lind a hand, 'twas Larry give him his Time.</p>
+
+<p>And ivery Sunday morni-i-ing unto the gang he'd say:<br>
+"Me byes, prepare&mdash;yez be aware the ould lady goes to church the day.<br>
+Now, I want ivery man to pump the best he can, for the distance it is far-r-r;<br>
+An' we have to get in ahead of number tin&mdash;<br>
+So, Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"</p>
+
+<p>'Twas in November in the winter time and the ground all covered wid snow,<br>
+"Come put the hand-car-r-r on the track an' over the section go!"<br>
+Wid his big soger coat buttoned up to his t'roat, all weathers he would dare&mdash;<br>
+An' it's "Paddy Mack, will yez walk the track,<br>
+An' Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"</p>
+
+<p>"Give my respects to the roadmas-ther," poor Larry he did cry,<br>
+"An lave me up that I may see the ould hand-car before I die.<br>
+Come, j'int ahead an' cinter back,<br>
+An' Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">Then lay the spike maul upon his chist, the gauge, and the ould claw-bar-r-r,<br>
+  And while the byes do be fillin' up his grave,<br>
+  "Oh, Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">JOHN GARNER'S TRAIL HERD <span class="pagenum"><a id="page114" name="page114"></a>(p. 114)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you old timers and listen to my song;<br>
+I'll make it short as possible and I'll not keep you long;<br>
+I'll relate to you about the time you all remember well<br>
+When we, with old Joe Garner, drove a beef herd up the trail.</p>
+
+<p>When we left the ranch it was early in the spring,<br>
+We had as good a corporal as ever rope did swing,<br>
+Good hands and good horses, good outfit through and through,&mdash;<br>
+We went well equipped, we were a jolly crew.</p>
+
+<p>We had no little herd&mdash;two thousand head or more&mdash;<br>
+And some as wild a brush beeves as you ever saw before.<br>
+We swung to them all the way and sometimes by the tail,&mdash;<br>
+Oh, you know we had a circus as we all went up the trail.</p>
+
+<p>All things went on well till we reached the open ground,<br>
+And then them cattle turned in and they gave us merry hell.<br>
+They <span class="pagenum"><a id="page115" name="page115"></a>(p. 115)</span> stampeded every night that came and did it without fail,&mdash;<br>
+Oh, you know we had a circus as we all went up the trail.</p>
+
+<p>We would round them up at morning and the boss would make a count,<br>
+And say, "Look here, old punchers, we are out quite an amount;<br>
+You must make all losses good and do it without fail<br>
+Or you will never get another job of driving up the trail."</p>
+
+<p>When we reached Red River we gave the Inspector the dodge.<br>
+He swore by God Almighty, in jail old John should lodge.<br>
+We told him if he'd taken our boss and had him locked in jail,<br>
+We would shore get his scalp as we all came down the trail.</p>
+
+<p>When we reached the Reservation, how squirmish we did feel,<br>
+Although we had tried old Garner and knew him true as steel.<br>
+And if we would follow him and do as he said do,<br>
+That old bald-headed cow-thief would surely take us through.</p>
+
+<p>When <span class="pagenum"><a id="page116" name="page116"></a>(p. 116)</span> we reached Dodge City we drew our four months' pay.<br>
+Times was better then, boys, that was a better day.<br>
+The way we drank and gambled and threw the girls around,&mdash;<br>
+"Say, a crowd of Texas cowboys has come to take our town."</p>
+
+<p>The cowboy sees many hardships although he takes them well;<br>
+The fun we had upon that trip, no human tongue can tell.<br>
+The cowboy's life is a dreary life, though his mind it is no load,<br>
+And he always spends his money like he found it in the road.</p>
+
+<p>If ever you meet old Garner, you must meet him on the square,<br>
+For he is the biggest cow-thief that ever tramped out there.<br>
+But if you want to hear him roar and spin a lively tale,<br>
+Just ask him about the time we all went up the trail.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT <span class="pagenum"><a id="page117" name="page117"></a>(p. 117)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all of you, my brother scouts,<br>
+And join me in my song;<br>
+Come, let us sing together<br>
+Though the shadows fall so long.</p>
+
+<p>Of all the old frontiersmen<br>
+That used to scour the plain,<br>
+There are but very few of them<br>
+That with us yet remain.</p>
+
+<p>Day after day they're dropping off,<br>
+They're going one by one;<br>
+Our clan is fast decreasing,<br>
+Our race is almost run.</p>
+
+<p>There were many of our number<br>
+That never wore the blue,<br>
+But, faithfully, they did their part,<br>
+As brave men, tried and true.</p>
+
+<p>They never joined the army,<br>
+But had other work to do<br>
+In piloting the coming folks,<br>
+To help them safely through.</p>
+
+<p>But, brothers, we are falling,<br>
+Our race is almost run;<br>
+The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page118" name="page118"></a>(p. 118)</span> days of elk and buffalo<br>
+And beaver traps are gone.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, the days of elk and buffalo!<br>
+It fills my heart with pain<br>
+To know these days are past and gone<br>
+To never come again.</p>
+
+<p>We fought the red-skin rascals<br>
+Over valley, hill, and plain;<br>
+We fought him in the mountain top,<br>
+And fought him down again.</p>
+
+<p>These fighting days are over;<br>
+The Indian yell resounds<br>
+No more along the border;<br>
+Peace sends far sweeter sounds.</p>
+
+<p>But we found great joy, old comrades,<br>
+To hear, and make it die;<br>
+We won bright homes for gentle ones,<br>
+And now, our West, good-bye.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE LONE BUFFALO HUNTER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page119" name="page119"></a>(p. 119)</span></p>
+
+<p>It's of those Texas cowboys, a story I'll tell;<br>
+No name I will mention though in Texas they do dwell.<br>
+Go find them where you will, they are all so very brave,<br>
+And when in good society they seldom misbehave.</p>
+
+<p>When the fall work is all over in the line-camp they'll be found,<br>
+For they have to ride those lonesome lines the long winter round;<br>
+They prove loyal to a comrade, no matter what's to do;<br>
+And when in love with a fair one they seldom prove untrue.</p>
+
+<p>But springtime comes at last and finds them glad and gay;<br>
+They ride out to the round-up about the first of May;<br>
+About the first of August they start up the trail,<br>
+They have to stay with the cattle, no matter rain or hail.</p>
+
+<p>But when they get to the shipping point, then they receive their tens,<br>
+Straightway to the bar-room and gently blow them in;<br>
+It's <span class="pagenum"><a id="page120" name="page120"></a>(p. 120)</span> the height of their ambition, so I've been truly told,<br>
+To ride good horses and saddles and spend the silver and gold.</p>
+
+<p>Those last two things I've mentioned, it is their heart's desire,<br>
+And when they leave the shipping point, their eyes are like balls of fire.<br>
+It's of those fighting cattle, they seem to have no fear,<br>
+A-riding bucking broncos oft is their heart's desire.</p>
+
+<p>They will ride into the branding pen, a rope within their hands,<br>
+They will catch them by each forefoot and bring them to the sands;<br>
+It's altogether in practice with a little bit of sleight,<br>
+A-roping Texas cattle, it is their heart's delight.</p>
+
+<p>But now comes the rising generation to take the cowboy's place,<br>
+Likewise the corn-fed granger, with his bold and cheeky face;<br>
+It's on those plains of Texas a lone buffalo hunter does stand<br>
+To tell the fate of the cowboy that rode at his right hand.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE CROOKED TRAIL TO HOLBROOK <span class="pagenum"><a id="page121" name="page121"></a>(p. 121)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you jolly cowboys that follow the bronco steer,<br>
+I'll sing to you a verse or two your spirits for to cheer;<br>
+It's all about a trip, a trip that I did undergo<br>
+On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.</p>
+
+<p>It's on the seventeenth of February, our herd it started out,<br>
+It would have made your hearts shudder to hear them bawl and shout,<br>
+As wild as any buffalo that ever rode the Platte,<br>
+Those dogies we were driving, and every one was fat.</p>
+
+<p>We crossed the Mescal Mountains on the way to Gilson Flats,<br>
+And when we got to Gilson Flats, Lord, how the wind did blow;<br>
+It blew so hard, it blew so fierce, we knew not where to go,<br>
+But our spirits never failed us as onward we did go,&mdash;<br>
+On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.</p>
+
+<p>That night we had a stampede; Christ, how the cattle run!<br>
+We <span class="pagenum"><a id="page122" name="page122"></a>(p. 122)</span> made it to our horses; I tell you, we had no fun;<br>
+Over the prickly pear and catclaw brush we quickly made our way;<br>
+We thought of our long journey and the girls we'd left one day.</p>
+
+<p>It's long by Sombserva we slowly punched along,<br>
+While each and every puncher would sing a hearty song<br>
+To cheer up his comrade as onward we did go,<br>
+On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.</p>
+
+<p>We crossed the Mongollen Mountains where the tall pines do grow,<br>
+Grass grows in abundance, and rippling streams do flow;<br>
+Our packs were always turning, of course our gait was slow,<br>
+On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.</p>
+
+<p>At last we got to Holbrook, a little gale did blow;<br>
+It blew up sand and pebble stones and it didn't blow them slow.<br>
+We had to drink the water from that muddy little stream<br>
+And swallowed a peck of dirt when we tried to eat a bean.</p>
+
+<p>But the cattle now are shipped and homeward we are bound<br>
+With <span class="pagenum"><a id="page123" name="page123"></a>(p. 123)</span> a lot of as tired horses as ever could be found;<br>
+Across the reservation no danger did we fear,<br>
+But thought of wives and sweethearts and the ones we love so dear.<br>
+Now we are back in Globe City, our friendship there to share;<br>
+Here's luck to every puncher that follows the bronco steer.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">ONLY A COWBOY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page124" name="page124"></a>(p. 124)</span></p>
+
+<p>Away out in old Texas, that great lone star state,<br>
+Where the mocking bird whistles both early and late;<br>
+It was in Western Texas on the old N A range<br>
+The boy fell a victim on the old staked plains.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">He was only a cowboy gone on before,<br>
+  He was only a cowboy, we will never see more;<br>
+  He was doing his duty on the old N A range<br>
+  But now he is sleeping on the old staked plains.</p>
+
+<p>His crew they were numbered twenty-seven or eight,<br>
+The boys were like brothers, their friendship was great,<br>
+When "O God, have mercy" was heard from behind,&mdash;<br>
+The cattle were left to drift on the line.</p>
+
+<p>He leaves a dear wife and little ones, too,<br>
+To earn them a living, as fathers oft do;<br>
+For while he was working for the loved ones so dear<br>
+He was took without warning or one word of cheer.</p>
+
+<p>And while he is sleeping where the sun always shines,<br>
+The boys they go dashing along on the line;<br>
+The look on their faces it speaks to us all<br>
+Of one who departed to the home of the soul.</p>
+
+<p>He <span class="pagenum"><a id="page125" name="page125"></a>(p. 125)</span> was only a cowboy gone on before,<br>
+He was only a cowboy, we will never see more;<br>
+He was doing his duty on the old N A range<br>
+But now he is sleeping on the old staked plains.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">FULLER AND WARREN <span class="pagenum"><a id="page126" name="page126"></a>(p. 126)</span></p>
+
+<p>Ye sons of Columbia, your attention I do crave,<br>
+While a sorrowful story I do tell,<br>
+Which happened of late, in the Indiana state,<br>
+And a hero not many could excel;<br>
+Like Samson he courted, made choice of the fair,<br>
+And intended to make her his wife;<br>
+But she, like Delilah, his heart did ensnare,<br>
+Which cost him his honor and his life.</p>
+
+<p>A gold ring he gave her in token of his love,<br>
+On the face was the image of the dove;<br>
+They mutually agreed to get married with speed<br>
+And were promised by the powers above.<br>
+But the fickle-minded maiden vowed again to wed<br>
+To young Warren who lived in that place;<br>
+It was a fatal blow that caused his overthrow<br>
+And added to her shame and disgrace.</p>
+
+<p>When Fuller came to hear he was deprived of his dear<br>
+Whom he vowed by the powers to wed,<br>
+With his heart full of woe unto Warren he did go,<br>
+And smilingly unto him he said:<br>
+"Young man, you have injured me to gratify your cause<br>
+By reporting that I left a prudent wife;<br>
+Acknowledge <span class="pagenum"><a id="page127" name="page127"></a>(p. 127)</span> now that you have wronged me, for although I break the laws,<br>
+Young Warren, I'll deprive you of your life."</p>
+
+<p>Then Warren, he replied: "Your request must be denied,<br>
+For your darling to my heart she is bound;<br>
+And further I can say that this is our wedding day,<br>
+In spite of all the heroes in town."<br>
+Then Fuller in the passion of his love and anger bound,&mdash;<br>
+Alas! it caused many to cry,&mdash;<br>
+At one fatal shot killed Warren on the spot,<br>
+And smilingly said, "I'm ready now to die."</p>
+
+<p>The time was drawing nigh when Fuller had to die;<br>
+He bid the audience adieu.<br>
+Like an angel he did stand, for he was a handsome man,<br>
+On his breast he had a ribbon of blue.<br>
+Ten thousand spectators did smite him on the breast,<br>
+And the guards dropped a tear from the eye,<br>
+Saying, "Cursed be she who caused this misery,<br>
+Would to God in his stead she had to die."</p>
+
+<p>The gentle god of Love looked with anger from above<br>
+And the rope flew asunder like the sand.<br>
+Two doctors for the pay they murdered him, they say,<br>
+They <span class="pagenum"><a id="page128" name="page128"></a>(p. 128)</span> hung him by main strength of hand.<br>
+But the corpse it was buried and the doctors lost their prey,<br>
+Oh, that harlot was bribed, I do believe;<br>
+Bad women to a certainty are the downfall of men,<br>
+As Adam was beguiled by Eve.</p>
+
+
+<h4>Fuller and Warren <span class="pagenum"><a id="page129" name="page129"></a>(p. 129)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/fullerandwarren.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/fullerandwarren.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/fullerandwarren.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/fullerandwarren_full.png">
+<img src="images/fullerandwarren_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Fuller and Warren"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE TRAIL TO MEXICO <span class="pagenum"><a id="page132" name="page132"></a>(p. 132)</span></p>
+
+<p>I made up my mind to change my way<br>
+And quit my crowd that was so gay,<br>
+To leave my native home for a while<br>
+And to travel west for many a mile.</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>'Twas all in the merry month of May<br>
+When I started for Texas far away,<br>
+I left my darling girl behind,&mdash;<br>
+She said her heart was only mine.</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, it was when I embraced her in my arms<br>
+I thought she had ten thousand charms;<br>
+Her caresses were soft, her kisses were sweet,<br>
+Saying, "We will get married next time we meet."</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the year of eighty-three<br>
+That A.J. Stinson hired me.<br>
+He says, "Young fellow, I want you to go<br>
+And drive this herd to Mexico."</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page133" name="page133"></a>(p. 133)</span> first horse they gave me was an old black<br>
+With two big set-fasts on his back;<br>
+I padded him with gunny-sacks and my bedding all;<br>
+He went up, then down, and I got a fall.</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>The next they gave me was an old gray,<br>
+I'll remember him till my dying day.<br>
+And if I had to swear to the fact,<br>
+I believe he was worse off than the black.</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, it was early in the year<br>
+When I went on trail to drive the steer.<br>
+I stood my guard through sleet and snow<br>
+While on the trail to Mexico.</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, it was a long and lonesome go<br>
+As our herd rolled on to Mexico;<br>
+With laughter light and the cowboy's song<br>
+To Mexico we rolled along.</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>When I arrived in Mexico<br>
+I wanted to see my love but could not go;<br>
+So <span class="pagenum"><a id="page134" name="page134"></a>(p. 134)</span> I wrote a letter, a letter to my dear,<br>
+But not a word from her could I hear.</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>When I arrived at the once loved home<br>
+I called for the darling of my own;<br>
+They said she had married a richer life,<br>
+Therefore, wild cowboy, seek another wife.</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, the girl she is married I do adore,<br>
+And I cannot stay at home any more;<br>
+I'll cut my way to a foreign land<br>
+Or I'll go back west to my cowboy band.</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>I'll go back to the Western land,<br>
+I'll hunt up my old cowboy band,&mdash;<br>
+Where the girls are few and the boys are true<br>
+And a false-hearted love I never knew.</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>"O Buddie, O Buddie, please stay at home,<br>
+Don't be forever on the roam.<br>
+There is many a girl more true than I,<br>
+So pray don't go where the bullets fly."</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+<p>"It's <span class="pagenum"><a id="page135" name="page135"></a>(p. 135)</span> curse your gold and your silver too,<br>
+God pity a girl that won't prove true;<br>
+I'll travel West where the bullets fly,<br>
+I'll stay on the trail till the day I die."</p>
+
+<p>Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE HORSE WRANGLER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page136" name="page136"></a>(p. 136)</span></p>
+
+<p>I thought one spring just for fun<br>
+I'd see how cow-punching was done,<br>
+And when the round-ups had begun<br>
+I tackled the cattle-king.<br>
+Says he, "My foreman is in town,<br>
+He's at the plaza, and his name is Brown,<br>
+If you'll see him, he'll take you down."<br>
+Says I, "That's just the thing."</p>
+
+<p>We started for the ranch next day;<br>
+Brown augured me most all the way.<br>
+He said that cow-punching was nothing but play,<br>
+That it was no work at all,&mdash;<br>
+That all you had to do was ride,<br>
+And only drifting with the tide;<br>
+The son of a gun, oh, how he lied.<br>
+Don't you think he had his gall?</p>
+
+<p>He put me in charge of a cavyard,<br>
+And told me not to work too hard,<br>
+That all I had to do was guard<br>
+The horses from getting away;<br>
+I had one hundred and sixty head,<br>
+I sometimes wished that I was dead;<br>
+When one got away, Brown's head turned red,<br>
+And there was the devil to pay.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes <span class="pagenum"><a id="page137" name="page137"></a>(p. 137)</span> one would make a break,<br>
+Across the prairie he would take,<br>
+As if running for a stake,&mdash;<br>
+It seemed to them but play;<br>
+Sometimes I could not head them at all,<br>
+Sometimes my horse would catch a fall<br>
+And I'd shoot on like a cannon ball<br>
+Till the earth came in my way.</p>
+
+<p>They saddled me up an old gray hack<br>
+With two set-fasts on his back,<br>
+They padded him down with a gunny sack<br>
+And used my bedding all.<br>
+When I got on he quit the ground,<br>
+Went up in the air and turned around,<br>
+And I came down and busted the ground,&mdash;<br>
+I got one hell of a fall.</p>
+
+<p>They took me up and carried me in<br>
+And rubbed me down with an old stake pin.<br>
+"That's the way they all begin;<br>
+You're doing well," says Brown.<br>
+"And in the morning, if you don't die,<br>
+I'll give you another horse to try."<br>
+"Oh say, can't I walk?" says I.<br>
+Says he, "Yes, back to town."</p>
+
+<p>I've traveled up and I've traveled down,<br>
+I've traveled this country round and round,<br>
+I've lived in city and I've lived in town,<br>
+But <span class="pagenum"><a id="page138" name="page138"></a>(p. 138)</span> I've got this much to say:<br>
+Before you try cow-punching, kiss your wife,<br>
+Take a heavy insurance on your life,<br>
+Then cut your throat with a barlow knife,&mdash;<br>
+For it's easier done that way.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">CALIFORNIA JOE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page139" name="page139"></a>(p. 139)</span></p>
+
+<p>Well, mates, I don't like stories;<br>
+Or am I going to act<br>
+A part around the campfire<br>
+That ain't a truthful fact?<br>
+So fill your pipes and listen,<br>
+I'll tell you&mdash;let me see&mdash;<br>
+I think it was in fifty,<br>
+From that till sixty-three.</p>
+
+<p>You've all heard tell of Bridger;<br>
+I used to run with Jim,<br>
+And many a hard day's scouting<br>
+I've done longside of him.<br>
+Well, once near old Fort Reno,<br>
+A trapper used to dwell;<br>
+We called him old Pap Reynolds,<br>
+The scouts all knew him well.</p>
+
+<p>One night in the spring of fifty<br>
+We camped on Powder River,<br>
+And killed a calf of buffalo<br>
+And cooked a slice of liver.<br>
+While eating, quite contented,<br>
+I heard three shots or four;<br>
+Put out the fire and listened,&mdash;<br>
+We heard a dozen more.</p>
+
+<p>We <span class="pagenum"><a id="page140" name="page140"></a>(p. 140)</span> knew that old man Reynolds<br>
+Had moved his traps up here;<br>
+So picking up our rifles<br>
+And fixing on our gear<br>
+We moved as quick as lightning,<br>
+To save was our desire.<br>
+Too late, the painted heathens<br>
+Had set the house on fire.</p>
+
+<p>We hitched our horses quickly<br>
+And waded up the stream;<br>
+While down close beside the waters<br>
+I heard a muffled scream.<br>
+And there among the bushes<br>
+A little girl did lie.<br>
+I picked her up and whispered,<br>
+"I'll save you or I'll die."</p>
+
+<p>Lord, what a ride! Old Bridger<br>
+Had covered my retreat;<br>
+Sometimes that child would whisper<br>
+In voice low and sweet,<br>
+"Poor Papa, God will take him<br>
+To Mama up above;<br>
+There is no one left to love me,<br>
+There is no one left to love."</p>
+
+<p>The little one was thirteen<br>
+And I was twenty-two;<br>
+I says, "I'll be your father<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page141" name="page141"></a>(p. 141)</span> love you just as true."<br>
+She nestled to my bosom,<br>
+Her hazel eyes so bright,<br>
+Looked up and made me happy,&mdash;<br>
+The close pursuit that night.</p>
+
+<p>One month had passed and Maggie,<br>
+We called her Hazel Eye,<br>
+In truth was going to leave me,<br>
+Was going to say good-bye.<br>
+Her uncle, Mad Jack Reynolds,<br>
+Reported long since dead,<br>
+Had come to claim my angel,<br>
+His brother's child, he said.</p>
+
+<p>What could I say? We parted,<br>
+Mad Jack was growing old;<br>
+I handed him a bank note<br>
+And all I had in gold.<br>
+They rode away at sunrise,<br>
+I went a mile or two,<br>
+And parting says, "We will meet again;<br>
+May God watch over you."</p>
+
+<p>By a laughing, dancing brook<br>
+A little cabin stood,<br>
+And weary with a long day's scout,<br>
+I spied it in the wood.<br>
+The pretty valley stretched beyond,<br>
+The mountains towered above,<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page142" name="page142"></a>(p. 142)</span> near its willow banks I heard<br>
+The cooing of a dove.</p>
+
+<p>'Twas one grand pleasure;<br>
+The brook was plainly seen,<br>
+Like a long thread of silver<br>
+In a cloth of lovely green;<br>
+The laughter of the water,<br>
+The cooing of the dove,<br>
+Was like some painted picture,<br>
+Some well-told tale of love.</p>
+
+<p>While drinking in the country<br>
+And resting in the saddle,<br>
+I heard a gentle rippling<br>
+Like the dipping of a paddle,<br>
+And turning to the water,<br>
+A strange sight met my view,&mdash;<br>
+A lady with her rifle<br>
+In a little bark canoe.</p>
+
+<p>She stood up in the center,<br>
+With her rifle to her eye;<br>
+I thought just for a second<br>
+My time had come to die.<br>
+I doffed my hat and told her,<br>
+If it was just the same,<br>
+To drop her little shooter,<br>
+For I was not her game.</p>
+
+<p>She <span class="pagenum"><a id="page143" name="page143"></a>(p. 143)</span> dropped the deadly weapon<br>
+And leaped from the canoe.<br>
+Says she, "I beg your pardon;<br>
+I thought you was a Sioux.<br>
+Your long hair and your buckskin<br>
+Looked warrior-like and rough;<br>
+My bead was spoiled by sunshine,<br>
+Or I'd have killed you sure enough."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps it would've been better<br>
+If you'd dropped me then," says I;<br>
+"For surely such an angel<br>
+Would bear me to the sky."<br>
+She blushingly dropped her eyelids,<br>
+Her cheeks were crimson red;<br>
+One half-shy glance she gave me<br>
+And then hung down her head.</p>
+
+<p>I took her little hand in mine;<br>
+She wondered what it meant,<br>
+And yet she drew it not away,<br>
+But rather seemed content.<br>
+We sat upon the mossy bank,<br>
+Her eyes began to fill;<br>
+The brook was rippling at our feet,<br>
+The dove was cooing still.</p>
+
+<p>'Tis strong arms were thrown around her.<br>
+"I'll save you or I'll die."<br>
+I clasped her to my bosom,<br>
+My <span class="pagenum"><a id="page144" name="page144"></a>(p. 144)</span> long lost Hazel Eye.<br>
+The rapture of that moment<br>
+Was almost heaven to me;<br>
+I kissed her 'mid the tear-drops,<br>
+Her merriment and glee.</p>
+
+<p>Her heart near mine was beating<br>
+When sobbingly she said,<br>
+"My dear, my brave preserver,<br>
+They told me you were dead.<br>
+But oh, those parting words, Joe,<br>
+Have never left my mind,<br>
+You said, 'We'll meet again, Mag,'<br>
+Then rode off like the wind.</p>
+
+<p>"And oh, how I have prayed, Joe,<br>
+For you who saved my life,<br>
+That God would send an angel<br>
+To guide you through all strife.<br>
+The one who claimed me from you,<br>
+My Uncle, good and true,<br>
+Is sick in yonder cabin;<br>
+Has talked so much of you.</p>
+
+<p>"'If Joe were living darling,'<br>
+He said to me last night,<br>
+'He would care for you, Maggie,<br>
+When God puts out my light.'"<br>
+We found the old man sleeping.<br>
+"Hush, Maggie, let him rest."<br>
+The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page145" name="page145"></a>(p. 145)</span> sun was slowly setting<br>
+In the far-off, glowing West.</p>
+
+<p>And though we talked in whispers<br>
+He opened wide his eyes:<br>
+"A dream, a dream," he murmured;<br>
+"Alas, a dream of lies."<br>
+She drifted like a shadow<br>
+To where the old man lay.<br>
+"You had a dream, dear Uncle,<br>
+Another dream to-day?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh yes, I saw an angel<br>
+As pure as mountain snow,<br>
+And near her at my bedside<br>
+Stood California Joe."<br>
+"I'm sure I'm not an angel,<br>
+Dear Uncle, that you know;<br>
+These hands that hold your hand, too,<br>
+My face is not like snow.</p>
+
+<p>"Now listen while I tell you,<br>
+For I have news to cheer;<br>
+Hazel Eye is happy,<br>
+For Joe is truly here."<br>
+It was but a few days after<br>
+The old man said to me,<br>
+"Joe, boy, she is an angel,<br>
+And good as angels be.</p>
+
+<p>"For <span class="pagenum"><a id="page146" name="page146"></a>(p. 146)</span> three long months she hunted,<br>
+And trapped and nursed me too;<br>
+God bless you, boy, I believe it,<br>
+She's safe along with you."<br>
+The sun was slowly sinking,<br>
+When Maggie, my wife, and I<br>
+Went riding through the valley,<br>
+The tear-drops in her eye.</p>
+
+<p>"One year ago to-day, Joe,<br>
+I saw the mossy grave;<br>
+We laid him neath the daisies,<br>
+My Uncle, good and brave."<br>
+And comrade, every springtime<br>
+Is sure to find me there;<br>
+There is something in the valley<br>
+That is always fresh and fair.</p>
+
+<p>Our love is always kindled<br>
+While sitting by the stream,<br>
+Where two hearts were united<br>
+In love's sweet happy dream.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE BOSTON BURGLAR <span class="pagenum"><a id="page147" name="page147"></a>(p. 147)</span></p>
+
+<p>I was born in Boston City, a city you all know well,<br>
+Brought up by honest parents, the truth to you I'll tell,<br>
+Brought up by honest parents and raised most tenderly,<br>
+Till I became a roving man at the age of twenty-three.</p>
+
+<p>My character was taken then, and I was sent to jail.<br>
+My friends they found it was in vain to get me out on bail.<br>
+The jury found me guilty, the clerk he wrote it down,<br>
+The judge he passed me sentence and I was sent to Charleston town.</p>
+
+<p>You ought to have seen my aged father a-pleading at the bar,<br>
+Also my dear old mother a-tearing of her hair,<br>
+Tearing of her old gray locks as the tears came rolling down,<br>
+Saying, "Son, dear son, what have you done, that you are sent to Charleston town?"</p>
+
+<p>They put me aboard an eastbound train one cold December day,<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page148" name="page148"></a>(p. 148)</span> every station that we passed, I'd hear the people say,<br>
+"There goes a noted burglar, in strong chains he'll be bound,&mdash;<br>
+For the doing of some crime or other he is sent to Charleston town."</p>
+
+<p>There is a girl in Boston, she is a girl that I love well,<br>
+And if I ever gain my liberty, along with her I'll dwell;<br>
+And when I regain my liberty, bad company I will shun,<br>
+Night-walking, gambling, and also drinking rum.</p>
+
+<p>Now, you who have your liberty, pray keep it if you can,<br>
+And don't go around the streets at night to break the laws of man;<br>
+For if you do you'll surely rue and find yourself like me,<br>
+A-serving out my twenty-one years in the penitentiary.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">SAM BASS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page149" name="page149"></a>(p. 149)</span></p>
+
+<p>Sam Bass was born in Indiana, it was his native home,<br>
+And at the age of seventeen young Sam began to roam.<br>
+Sam first came out to Texas a cowboy for to be,&mdash;<br>
+A kinder-hearted fellow you seldom ever see.</p>
+
+<p>Sam used to deal in race stock, one called the Denton mare,<br>
+He matched her in scrub races, and took her to the Fair.<br>
+Sam used to coin the money and spent it just as free,<br>
+He always drank good whiskey wherever he might be.</p>
+
+<p>Sam left the Collin's ranch in the merry month of May<br>
+With a herd of Texas cattle the Black Hills for to see,<br>
+Sold out in Custer City and then got on a spree,&mdash;<br>
+A harder set of cowboys you seldom ever see.</p>
+
+<p>On their way back to Texas they robbed the U.P. train,<br>
+And then split up in couples and started out again.<br>
+Joe Collins and his partner were overtaken soon,<br>
+With all their hard-earned money they had to meet their doom.</p>
+
+<p>Sam <span class="pagenum"><a id="page150" name="page150"></a>(p. 150)</span> made it back to Texas all right side up with care;<br>
+Rode into the town of Denton with all his friends to share.<br>
+Sam's life was short in Texas; three robberies did he do,<br>
+He robbed all the passenger, mail, and express cars too.</p>
+
+<p>Sam had four companions&mdash;four bold and daring lads&mdash;<br>
+They were Richardson, Jackson, Joe Collins, and Old Dad;<br>
+Four more bold and daring cowboys the rangers never knew,<br>
+They whipped the Texas rangers and ran the boys in blue.</p>
+
+<p>Sam had another companion, called Arkansas for short,<br>
+Was shot by a Texas ranger by the name of Thomas Floyd;<br>
+Oh, Tom is a big six-footer and thinks he's mighty fly,<br>
+But I can tell you his racket,&mdash;he's a deadbeat on the sly.</p>
+
+<p>Jim Murphy was arrested, and then released on bail;<br>
+He <span class="pagenum"><a id="page151" name="page151"></a>(p. 151)</span> jumped his bond at Tyler and then took the train for Terrell;<br>
+But Mayor Jones had posted Jim and that was all a stall,<br>
+'Twas only a plan to capture Sam before the coming fall.</p>
+
+<p>Sam met his fate at Round Rock, July the twenty-first,<br>
+They pierced poor Sam with rifle balls and emptied out his purse.<br>
+Poor Sam he is a corpse and six foot under clay,<br>
+And Jackson's in the bushes trying to get away.</p>
+
+<p>Jim had borrowed Sam's good gold and didn't want to pay,<br>
+The only shot he saw was to give poor Sam away.<br>
+He sold out Sam and Barnes and left their friends to mourn,&mdash;<br>
+Oh, what a scorching Jim will get when Gabriel blows his horn.</p>
+
+<p>And so he sold out Sam and Barnes and left their friends to mourn,<br>
+Oh, what a scorching Jim will get when Gabriel blows his horn.<br>
+Perhaps he's got to heaven, there's none of us can say,<br>
+But if I'm right in my surmise he's gone the other way.</p>
+
+
+<h4>Sam Bass <span class="pagenum"><a id="page152" name="page152"></a>(p. 152)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/sambass.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/sambass.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/sambass.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/sambass_full.png">
+<img src="images/sambass_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Sam Bass"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE ZEBRA DUN <span class="pagenum"><a id="page154" name="page154"></a>(p. 154)</span></p>
+
+<p>We were camped on the plains at the head of the Cimarron<br>
+When along came a stranger and stopped to arger some.<br>
+He looked so very foolish that we began to look around,<br>
+We thought he was a greenhorn that had just 'scaped from town.</p>
+
+<p>We asked if he had been to breakfast; he hadn't had a smear,<br>
+So we opened up the chuck-box and bade him have his share.<br>
+He took a cup of coffee and some biscuits and some beans,<br>
+And then began to talk and tell about foreign kings and queens,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>About the Spanish war and fighting on the seas<br>
+With guns as big as steers and ramrods big as trees,&mdash;<br>
+And about old Paul Jones, a mean, fighting son of a gun,<br>
+Who was the grittiest cuss that ever pulled a gun.</p>
+
+<p>Such an educated feller his thoughts just came in herds,<br>
+He <span class="pagenum"><a id="page155" name="page155"></a>(p. 155)</span> astonished all them cowboys with them jaw-breaking words.<br>
+He just kept on talking till he made the boys all sick,<br>
+And they began to look around just how to play a trick.</p>
+
+<p>He said he had lost his job upon the Santa Fé<br>
+And was going across the plains to strike the 7-D.<br>
+He didn't say how come it, some trouble with the boss,<br>
+But said he'd like to borrow a nice fat saddle hoss.</p>
+
+<p>This tickled all the boys to death, they laughed way down in their sleeves,&mdash;<br>
+"We will lend you a horse just as fresh and fat as you please."<br>
+Shorty grabbed a lariat and roped the Zebra Dun<br>
+And turned him over to the stranger and waited for the fun.</p>
+
+<p>Old Dunny was a rocky outlaw that had grown so awful wild<br>
+That he could paw the white out of the moon every jump for a mile.<br>
+Old Dunny stood right still,&mdash;as if he didn't know,&mdash;<br>
+Until he was saddled and ready for to go.</p>
+
+<p>When the stranger hit the saddle, old Dunny quit the earth<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page156" name="page156"></a>(p. 156)</span> traveled right straight up for all that he was worth.<br>
+A-pitching and a-squealing, a-having wall-eyed fits,<br>
+His hind feet perpendicular, his front ones in the bits.</p>
+
+<p>We could see the tops of the mountains under Dunny every jump,<br>
+But the stranger he was growed there just like the camel's hump;<br>
+The stranger sat upon him and curled his black mustache<br>
+Just like a summer boarder waiting for his hash.</p>
+
+<p>He thumped him in the shoulders and spurred him when he whirled,<br>
+To show them flunky punchers that he was the wolf of the world.<br>
+When the stranger had dismounted once more upon the ground,<br>
+We knew he was a thoroughbred and not a gent from town;</p>
+
+<p>The boss who was standing round watching of the show,<br>
+Walked right up to the stranger and told him he needn't go,&mdash;<br>
+"If you can use the lasso like you rode old Zebra Dun,<br>
+You <span class="pagenum"><a id="page157" name="page157"></a>(p. 157)</span> are the man I've been looking for ever since the year one."</p>
+
+<p>Oh, he could twirl the lariat and he didn't do it slow,<br>
+He could catch them fore feet nine out of ten for any kind of dough.<br>
+And when the herd stampeded he was always on the spot<br>
+And set them to nothing, like the boiling of a pot.</p>
+
+<p>There's one thing and a shore thing I've learned since I've been born,<br>
+That every educated feller ain't a plumb greenhorn.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE BUFFALO SKINNERS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page158" name="page158"></a>(p. 158)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you jolly fellows and listen to my song,<br>
+There are not many verses, it will not detain you long;<br>
+It's concerning some young fellows who did agree to go<br>
+And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo.</p>
+
+<p>It happened in Jacksboro in the spring of seventy-three,<br>
+A man by the name of Crego came stepping up to me,<br>
+Saying, "How do you do, young fellow, and how would you like to go<br>
+And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's me being out of employment," this to Crego I did say,<br>
+"This going out on the buffalo range depends upon the pay.<br>
+But if you will pay good wages and transportation too,<br>
+I think, sir, I will go with you to the range of the buffalo."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page159" name="page159"></a>(p. 159)</span> I will pay good wages, give transportation too,<br>
+Provided you will go with me and stay the summer through;<br>
+But if you should grow homesick, come back to Jacksboro,<br>
+I won't pay transportation from the range of the buffalo."</p>
+
+<p>It's now our outfit was complete&mdash;seven able-bodied men,<br>
+With navy six and needle gun&mdash;our troubles did begin;<br>
+Our way it was a pleasant one, the route we had to go,<br>
+Until we crossed Pease River on the range of the buffalo.</p>
+
+<p>It's now we've crossed Pease River, our troubles have begun.<br>
+The first damned tail I went to rip, Christ! how I cut my thumb!<br>
+While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives wasn't a show,<br>
+For the Indians watched to pick us off while skinning the buffalo.</p>
+
+<p>He fed us on such sorry chuck I wished myself most dead,<br>
+It was old jerked beef, croton coffee, and sour bread.<br>
+Pease <span class="pagenum"><a id="page160" name="page160"></a>(p. 160)</span> River's as salty as hell fire, the water I could never go,&mdash;<br>
+O God! I wished I had never come to the range of the buffalo.</p>
+
+<p>Our meat it was buffalo hump and iron wedge bread,<br>
+And all we had to sleep on was a buffalo robe for a bed;<br>
+The fleas and gray-backs worked on us, O boys, it was not slow,<br>
+I'll tell you there's no worse hell on earth than the range of the buffalo.</p>
+
+<p>Our hearts were cased with buffalo hocks, our souls were cased with steel,<br>
+And the hardships of that summer would nearly make us reel.<br>
+While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives they had no show,<br>
+For the Indians waited to pick us off on the hills of Mexico.</p>
+
+<p>The season being near over, old Crego he did say<br>
+The crowd had been extravagant, was in debt to him that day,&mdash;<br>
+We coaxed him and we begged him and still it was no go,&mdash;<br>
+We left old Crego's bones to bleach on the range of the buffalo.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page161" name="page161"></a>(p. 161)</span> it's now we've crossed Pease River and homeward we are bound,<br>
+No more in that hell-fired country shall ever we be found.<br>
+Go home to our wives and sweethearts, tell others not to go,<br>
+For God's forsaken the buffalo range and the damned old buffalo.</p>
+
+
+<h4>Range of the Buffalo <span class="pagenum"><a id="page162" name="page162"></a>(p. 162)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/rangeofthebuffalo.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/rangeofthebuffalo.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/rangeofthebuffalo.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/rangeofthebuffalo_full.png">
+<img src="images/rangeofthebuffalo_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Range of the Buffalo"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">MACAFFIE'S CONFESSION <span class="pagenum"><a id="page164" name="page164"></a>(p. 164)</span></p>
+
+<p>Now come young men and list to me,<br>
+A sad and mournful history;<br>
+And may you ne'er forgetful be<br>
+Of what I tell this day to thee.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, I was thoughtless, young, and gay<br>
+And often broke the Sabbath day,<br>
+In wickedness I took delight<br>
+And sometimes done what wasn't right.</p>
+
+<p>I'd scarcely passed my fifteenth year,<br>
+My mother and my father dear<br>
+Were silent in their deep, dark grave,<br>
+Their spirits gone to Him who gave.</p>
+
+<p>'Twas on a pleasant summer day<br>
+When from my home I ran away<br>
+And took unto myself a wife,<br>
+Which step was fatal to my life.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, she was kind and good to me<br>
+As ever woman ought to be,<br>
+And might this day have been alive no doubt,<br>
+Had I not met Miss Hatty Stout.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, well I mind the fatal day<br>
+When Hatty stole my heart away;<br>
+'Twas <span class="pagenum"><a id="page165" name="page165"></a>(p. 165)</span> love for her controlled my will<br>
+And did cause me my wife to kill.</p>
+
+<p>'Twas on a brilliant summer's night<br>
+When all was still; the stars shone bright.<br>
+My wife lay still upon the bed<br>
+And I approached to her and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Dear wife, here's medicine I've brought,<br>
+For you this day, my love, I've bought.<br>
+I know it will be good for you<br>
+For those vile fits,&mdash;pray take it, do."</p>
+
+<p>She cast on me a loving look<br>
+And in her mouth the poison took;<br>
+Down by her infant on the bed<br>
+In her last, long sleep she laid her head.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, who could tell a mother's thought<br>
+When first to her the news was brought;<br>
+The sheriff said her son was sought<br>
+And into prison must be brought.</p>
+
+<p>Only a mother standing by<br>
+To hear them tell the reason why<br>
+Her son in prison, he must lie<br>
+Till on the scaffold he must die.</p>
+
+<p>My father, sixty years of age,<br>
+The best of counsel did engage,<br>
+To <span class="pagenum"><a id="page166" name="page166"></a>(p. 166)</span> see if something could be done<br>
+To save his disobedient son.</p>
+
+<p>So, farewell, mother, do not weep,<br>
+Though soon with demons I will sleep,<br>
+My soul now feels its mental hell<br>
+And soon with demons I will dwell.</p>
+
+<hr class="small">
+
+<p>The sheriff cut the slender cord,<br>
+His soul went up to meet its Lord;<br>
+The doctor said, "The wretch is dead,<br>
+His spirit from his body's fled."</p>
+
+<p>His weeping mother cried aloud,<br>
+"O God, do save this gazing crowd,<br>
+That none may ever have to pay<br>
+For gambling on the Sabbath day."</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">LITTLE JOE, THE WRANGLER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page167" name="page167"></a>(p. 167)</span></p>
+
+<p>It's little Joe, the wrangler, he'll wrangle never more,<br>
+His days with the <i>remuda</i> they are o'er;<br>
+'Twas a year ago last April when he rode into our camp,&mdash;<br>
+Just a little Texas stray and all alone,&mdash;<br>
+On a little Texas pony he called "Chaw."<br>
+With his brogan shoes and overalls, a tougher kid<br>
+You never in your life before had saw.</p>
+
+<p>His saddle was a Texas "kak," built many years ago,<br>
+With an O.K. spur on one foot lightly swung;<br>
+His "hot roll" in a cotton sack so loosely tied behind,<br>
+And his canteen from his saddle-horn was swung.<br>
+He said that he had to leave his home, his pa had married twice;<br>
+And his new ma whipped him every day or two;<br>
+So he saddled up old Chaw one night and lit a shuck this way,<br>
+And he's now trying to paddle his own canoe.</p>
+
+<p>He said if we would give him work, he'd do the best he could,<br>
+Though he didn't know straight up about a cow;<br>
+So <span class="pagenum"><a id="page168" name="page168"></a>(p. 168)</span> the boss he cut him out a mount and kindly put him on,<br>
+For he sorta liked this little kid somehow.<br>
+Learned him to wrangle horses and to try to know them all,<br>
+And get them in at daylight if he could;<br>
+To follow the chuck-wagon and always hitch the team,<br>
+And to help the <i>cocinero</i> rustle wood.</p>
+
+<p>We had driven to the Pecos, the weather being fine;<br>
+We had camped on the south side in a bend;<br>
+When a norther commenced blowin', we had doubled up our guard,<br>
+For it taken all of us to hold them in.<br>
+Little Joe, the wrangler, was called out with the rest;<br>
+Though the kid had scarcely reached the herd,<br>
+When the cattle they stampeded, like a hailstorm long they fled,<br>
+Then we were all a-ridin' for the lead.</p>
+
+<p>'Midst the streaks of lightin' a horse we could see in the lead,<br>
+'Twas Little Joe, the wrangler, in the lead;<br>
+He was riding Old Blue Rocket with a slicker o'er his head,<br>
+A tryin' to check the cattle in their speed.<br>
+At last we got them milling and kinda quieted down,<br>
+And the extra guard back to the wagon went;<br>
+But <span class="pagenum"><a id="page169" name="page169"></a>(p. 169)</span> there was one a-missin' and we knew it at a glance,<br>
+'Twas our little Texas stray, poor Wrangling Joe.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning just at day break, we found where Rocket fell,<br>
+Down in a washout twenty feet below;<br>
+And beneath the horse, mashed to a pulp,&mdash;his spur had rung the knell,&mdash;<br>
+Was our little Texas stray, poor Wrangling Joe.</p>
+
+
+<h4>Little Joe, The Wrangler <span class="pagenum"><a id="page170" name="page170"></a>(p. 170)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/littlejoe.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/littlejoe.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/littlejoe.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/littlejoe_full.png">
+<img src="images/littlejoe_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Little Joe"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">HARRY BALE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page172" name="page172"></a>(p. 172)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all kind friends and kindred dear and Christians young and old,<br>
+A story I'll relate to you, 'twill make your blood run cold;<br>
+'Tis all about an unfortunate boy who lived not far from here,<br>
+In the township of Arcade in the County of Lapeer.<br>
+It seems his occupation was a sawyer in a mill,<br>
+He followed it successfully two years, one month, until,<br>
+Until this fatal accident that caused many to weep and wail;<br>
+'Twas where this young man lost his life,&mdash;his name was Harry Bale.</p>
+
+<p>On the 29th of April in the year of seventy-nine,<br>
+He went to work as usual, no fear did he design;<br>
+In lowering of the feed bar throwing the carriage into gear<br>
+It brought him down upon the saw and cut him quite severe;<br>
+It cut him through the collar-bone and half way down the back,<br>
+It threw him down upon the saw, the carriage coming back.<br>
+He <span class="pagenum"><a id="page173" name="page173"></a>(p. 173)</span> started for the shanty, his strength was failing fast;<br>
+He said, "Oh, boys, I'm wounded: I fear it is my last."</p>
+
+<p>His brothers they were sent for, likewise his sisters too,<br>
+The doctors came and dressed his wound, but kind words proved untrue.<br>
+Poor Harry had no father to weep beside his bed,<br>
+No kind and loving mother to sooth his aching head.<br>
+He was just as gallant a young man as ever you wished to know,<br>
+But he withered like a flower, it was his time to go.</p>
+
+<p>They placed him in his coffin and laid him in his grave;<br>
+His brothers and sisters mourned the loss of a brother so true and brave.<br>
+They took him to the graveyard and laid him away to rest,<br>
+His body lies mouldering, his soul is among the blest.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">FOREMAN MONROE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page174" name="page174"></a>(p. 174)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you brave young shanty boys, and list while I relate<br>
+Concerning a young shanty boy and his untimely fate;<br>
+Concerning a young river man, so manly, true and brave;<br>
+'Twas on a jam at Gerry's Rock he met his watery grave;</p>
+
+<p>'Twas on a Sunday morning as you will quickly hear,<br>
+Our logs were piled up mountain high, we could not keep them clear.<br>
+Our foreman said, "Come on, brave boys, with hearts devoid of fear,<br>
+We'll break the jam on Gerry's Rock and for Agonstown we'll steer."</p>
+
+<p>Now, some of them were willing, while others they were not,<br>
+All for to work on Sunday they did not think they ought;<br>
+But six of our brave shanty boys had volunteered to go<br>
+And break the jam on Gerry's Rock with their foreman, young Monroe.</p>
+
+<p>They <span class="pagenum"><a id="page175" name="page175"></a>(p. 175)</span> had not rolled off many logs 'till they heard his clear voice say,<br>
+"I'd have you boys be on your guard, for the jam will soon give way."<br>
+These words he'd scarcely spoken when the jam did break and go,<br>
+Taking with it six of those brave boys and their foreman, young Monroe.</p>
+
+<p>Now when those other shanty boys this sad news came to hear,<br>
+In search of their dead comrades to the river they did steer;<br>
+Six of their mangled bodies a-floating down did go,<br>
+While crushed and bleeding near the banks lay the foreman, young Monroe.</p>
+
+<p>They took him from his watery grave, brushed back his raven hair;<br>
+There was a fair form among them whose cries did rend the air;<br>
+There was a fair form among them, a girl from Saginaw town.<br>
+Whose cries rose to the skies for her lover who'd gone down.</p>
+
+<p>Fair Clara was a noble girl, the river-man's true friend;<br>
+She and her widowed mother lived at the river's bend;<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page176" name="page176"></a>(p. 176)</span> the wages of her own true love the boss to her did pay,<br>
+But the shanty boys for her made up a generous sum next day.</p>
+
+<p>They buried him quite decently; 'twas on the first of May;<br>
+Come all you brave young shanty boys and for your comrade pray.<br>
+Engraved upon the hemlock tree that by the grave does grow<br>
+Is the aged date and the sad fate of the foreman, young Monroe.</p>
+
+<p>Fair Clara did not long survive, her heart broke with her grief;<br>
+And less than three months afterwards Death came to her relief;<br>
+And when the time had come and she was called to go,<br>
+Her last request was granted, to be laid by young Monroe.</p>
+
+<p>Come all you brave young shanty boys, I'd have you call and see<br>
+Two green graves by the river side where grows a hemlock tree;<br>
+The shanty boys cut off the wood where lay those lovers low,&mdash;<br>
+'Tis the handsome Clara Vernon and her true love, Jack Monroe.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE DREARY BLACK HILLS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page177" name="page177"></a>(p. 177)</span></p>
+
+<p>Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale,<br>
+I am an object of pity, I am looking quite stale,<br>
+I gave up my trade selling Right's Patent Pills<br>
+To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">Don't go away, stay at home if you can,<br>
+  Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,<br>
+  For big Walipe or Comanche Bills<br>
+  They will lift up your hair on the dreary Black Hills.</p>
+
+<p>The round-house in Cheyenne is filled every night<br>
+With loafers and bummers of most every plight;<br>
+On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills,<br>
+Each day they keep starting for the dreary Black Hills.</p>
+
+<p>I got to Cheyenne, no gold could I find,<br>
+I thought of the lunch route I'd left far behind;<br>
+Through rain, hail, and snow, frozen plumb to the gills,&mdash;<br>
+They call me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills.</p>
+
+<p>Kind friend, to conclude, my advice I'll unfold,<br>
+Don't go to the Black Hills a-hunting for gold;<br>
+Railroad speculators their pockets you'll fill<br>
+By taking a trip to those dreary Black Hills.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">Don't <span class="pagenum"><a id="page178" name="page178"></a>(p. 178)</span> go away, stay at home if you can,<br>
+Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,<br>
+For old Sitting Bull or Comanche Bills<br>
+They will take off your scalp on the dreary Black Hills.</p>
+
+
+<h4>The Dreary Black Hills <span class="pagenum"><a id="page179" name="page179"></a>(p. 179)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/drearyblackhills.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/drearyblackhills.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/drearyblackhills.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/drearyblackhills_full.png">
+<img src="images/drearyblackhills_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="The dreary Black Hills"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">A MORMON SONG <span class="pagenum"><a id="page182" name="page182"></a>(p. 182)</span></p>
+
+<p>I used to live on Cottonwood and owned a little farm,<br>
+I was called upon a mission that gave me much alarm;<br>
+The reason that they called me, I'm sure I do not know.<br>
+But to hoe the cane and cotton, straightway I must go.</p>
+
+<p>I yoked up Jim and Baldy, all ready for the start;<br>
+To leave my farm and garden, it almost broke my heart;<br>
+But at last we got started, I cast a look behind,<br>
+For the sand and rocks of Dixie were running through my mind.</p>
+
+<p>Now, when we got to Black Ridge, my wagon it broke down,<br>
+And I, being no carpenter and forty miles from town,&mdash;<br>
+I cut a clumsy cedar and rigged an awkward slide,<br>
+But the wagon ran so heavy poor Betsy couldn't ride.</p>
+
+<p>While Betsy was out walking I told her to take care,<br>
+When all of a sudden she struck a prickly pear,<br>
+Then she began to hollow as loud as she could bawl,&mdash;<br>
+If I were back in Cottonwood, I wouldn't go at all.</p>
+
+<p>Now, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page183" name="page183"></a>(p. 183)</span> when we got to Sand Ridge, we couldn't go at all,<br>
+Old Jim and old Baldy began to puff and loll,<br>
+I cussed and swore a little, for I couldn't make the route,<br>
+For the team and I and Betsy were all of us played out.</p>
+
+<p>At length we got to Washington; I thought we'd stay a while<br>
+To see if the flowers would make their virgin smile,<br>
+But I was much mistaken, for when we went away<br>
+The red hills of September were just the same in May.</p>
+
+<p>It is so very dreary, there's nothing here to cheer,<br>
+But old pathetic sermons we very often hear;<br>
+They preach them by the dozens and prove them by the book,<br>
+But I'd sooner have a roasting-ear and stay at home and cook.</p>
+
+<p>I am so awful weary I'm sure I'm almost dead;<br>
+'Tis six long weeks last Sunday since I have tasted bread;<br>
+Of turnip-tops and lucerne greens I've had enough to eat,<br>
+But I'd like to change my diet to buckwheat cakes and meat.</p>
+
+<p>I <span class="pagenum"><a id="page184" name="page184"></a>(p. 184)</span> had to sell my wagon for sorghum seed and bread;<br>
+Old Jim and old Baldy have long since been dead.<br>
+There's no one left but me and Bet to hoe the cotton tree,&mdash;<br>
+God pity any Mormon that attempts to follow me!</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE BUFFALO HUNTERS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page185" name="page185"></a>(p. 185)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you pretty girls, to you these lines I'll write,<br>
+We are going to the range in which we take delight;<br>
+We are going on the range as we poor hunters do,<br>
+And the tender-footed fellows can stay at home with you.</p>
+
+<p>It's all of the day long as we go tramping round<br>
+In search of the buffalo that we may shoot him down;<br>
+Our guns upon our shoulders, our belts of forty rounds,<br>
+We send them up Salt River to some happy hunting grounds.</p>
+
+<p>Our game, it is the antelope, the buffalo, wolf, and deer,<br>
+Who roam the wide prairies without a single fear;<br>
+We rob him of his robe and think it is no harm,<br>
+To buy us food and clothing to keep our bodies warm.</p>
+
+<p>The buffalo, he is the noblest of the band,<br>
+He sometimes rejects in throwing up his hand.<br>
+His shaggy main thrown forward, his head raised to the sky,<br>
+He seems <span class="pagenum"><a id="page186" name="page186"></a>(p. 186)</span> to say, "We're coming, boys; so hunter, mind your eye."</p>
+
+<p>Our fires are made of mesquite roots, our beds are on the ground;<br>
+Our houses made of buffalo hides, we make them tall and round;<br>
+Our furniture is the camp kettle, the coffee pot, and pan,<br>
+Our chuck it is both bread and meat, mingled well with sand.</p>
+
+<p>Our neighbors are the Cheyennes, the 'Rapahoes, and Sioux,<br>
+Their mode of navigation is a buffalo-hide canoe.<br>
+And when they come upon you they take you unaware,<br>
+And such a peculiar way they have of raising hunter's hair.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page187" name="page187"></a>(p. 187)</span></p>
+
+<p>I am looking rather seedy now while holding down my claim,<br>
+And my victuals are not always served the best;<br>
+And the mice play shyly round me as I nestle down to rest<br>
+In my little old sod shanty on my claim.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">The hinges are of leather and the windows have no glass,<br>
+  While the board roof lets the howling blizzards in,<br>
+  And I hear the hungry cayote as he slinks up through the grass<br>
+  Round the little old sod shanty on my claim.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, I rather like the novelty of living in this way,<br>
+Though my bill of fare is always rather tame,<br>
+But I'm happy as a clam on the land of Uncle Sam<br>
+In the little old sod shanty on my claim.</p>
+
+<p>But when I left my Eastern home, a bachelor so gay,<br>
+To try and win my way to wealth and fame,<br>
+I little thought I'd come down to burning twisted hay<br>
+In the little old sod shanty on my claim.</p>
+
+<p>My <span class="pagenum"><a id="page188" name="page188"></a>(p. 188)</span> clothes are plastered o'er with dough, I'm looking like a fright,<br>
+And everything is scattered round the room,<br>
+But I wouldn't give the freedom that I have out in the West<br>
+For the table of the Eastern man's old home.</p>
+
+<p>Still, I wish that some kind-hearted girl would pity on me take<br>
+And relieve me from the mess that I am in;<br>
+The angel, how I'd bless her if this her home she'd make<br>
+In the little old sod shanty on my claim.</p>
+
+<p>And we would make our fortunes on the prairies of the West,<br>
+Just as happy as two lovers we'd remain;<br>
+We'd forget the trials and troubles we endured at the first<br>
+In the little old sod shanty on my claim.</p>
+
+<p>And if fate should bless us with now and then an heir<br>
+To cheer our hearts with honest pride of fame,<br>
+Oh, then we'd be contented for the toil that we had spent<br>
+In the little old sod shanty on our claim.</p>
+
+<p>When time enough had lapsed and all those little brats<br>
+To <span class="pagenum"><a id="page189" name="page189"></a>(p. 189)</span> noble man and womanhood had grown,<br>
+It wouldn't seem half so lonely as round us we should look<br>
+And we'd see the old sod shanty on our claim.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE GOL-DARNED WHEEL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page190" name="page190"></a>(p. 190)</span></p>
+
+<p>I can take the wildest bronco in the tough old woolly West.<br>
+I can ride him, I can break him, let him do his level best;<br>
+I can handle any cattle ever wore a coat of hair,<br>
+And I've had a lively tussle with a tarnel grizzly bear.<br>
+I can rope and throw the longhorn of the wildest Texas brand,<br>
+And in Indian disagreements I can play a leading hand,<br>
+But at last I got my master and he surely made me squeal<br>
+When the boys got me a-straddle of that gol-darned wheel.</p>
+
+<p>It was at the Eagle Ranch, on the Brazos,<br>
+When I first found that darned contrivance that upset me in the dust.<br>
+A tenderfoot had brought it, he was wheeling all the way<br>
+From the sun-rise end of freedom out to San Francisco Bay.<br>
+He tied up at the ranch for to get outside a meal,<br>
+Never thinking we would monkey with his gol-darned wheel.</p>
+
+<p>Arizona <span class="pagenum"><a id="page191" name="page191"></a>(p. 191)</span> Jim begun it when he said to Jack McGill<br>
+There was fellows forced to limit bragging on their riding skill,<br>
+And he'd venture the admission the same fellow that he meant<br>
+Was a very handy cutter far as riding bronchos went;<br>
+But he would find that he was bucking 'gainst a different kind of deal<br>
+If he threw his leather leggins 'gainst a gol-darned wheel.</p>
+
+<p>Such a slam against my talent made me hotter than a mink,<br>
+And I swore that I would ride him for amusement or for chink.<br>
+And it was nothing but a plaything for the kids and such about,<br>
+And they'd have their ideas shattered if they'd lead the critter out.<br>
+They held it while I mounted and gave the word to go;<br>
+The shove they gave to start me warn't unreasonably slow.<br>
+But I never spilled a cuss word and I never spilled a squeal&mdash;<br>
+I was building reputation on that gol-darned wheel.</p>
+
+<p>Holy Moses and the Prophets, how we split the Texas air,<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page192" name="page192"></a>(p. 192)</span> the wind it made whip-crackers of my same old canthy hair,<br>
+And I sorta comprehended as down the hill we went<br>
+There was bound to be a smash-up that I couldn't well prevent.<br>
+Oh, how them punchers bawled, "Stay with her, Uncle Bill!<br>
+Stick your spurs in her, you sucker! turn her muzzle up the hill!"<br>
+But I never made an answer, I just let the cusses squeal,<br>
+I was finding reputation on that gol-darned wheel.</p>
+
+<p>The grade was mighty sloping from the ranch down to the creek<br>
+And I went a-galliflutin' like a crazy lightning streak,&mdash;<br>
+Went whizzing and a-darting first this way and then that,<br>
+The darned contrivance sort o' wobbling like the flying of a bat.<br>
+I pulled upon the handles, but I couldn't check it up,<br>
+And I yanked and sawed and hollowed but the darned thing wouldn't stop.<br>
+Then a sort of a meachin' in my brain began to steal,<br>
+That the devil held a mortgage on that gol-darned wheel.</p>
+
+<p>I've <span class="pagenum"><a id="page193" name="page193"></a>(p. 193)</span> a sort of dim and hazy remembrance of the stop,<br>
+With the world a-goin' round and the stars all tangled up;<br>
+Then there came an intermission that lasted till I found<br>
+I was lying at the ranch with the boys all gathered round,<br>
+And a doctor was a-sewing on the skin where it was ripped,<br>
+And old Arizona whispered, "Well, old boy, I guess you're whipped,"<br>
+And I told him I was busted from sombrero down to heel,<br>
+And he grinned and said, "You ought to see that gol-darned wheel."</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">BONNIE BLACK BESS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page194" name="page194"></a>(p. 194)</span></p>
+
+<p>When fortune's blind goddess<br>
+Had fled my abode,<br>
+And friends proved unfaithful,<br>
+I took to the road;<br>
+To plunder the wealthy<br>
+And relieve my distress,<br>
+I bought you to aid me,<br>
+My Bonnie Black Bess.</p>
+
+<p>No vile whip nor spur<br>
+Did your sides ever gall,<br>
+For none did you need,<br>
+You would bound at my call;<br>
+And for each act of kindness<br>
+You would me caress,<br>
+Thou art never unfaithful,<br>
+My Bonnie Black Bess.</p>
+
+<p>When dark, sable midnight<br>
+Her mantle had thrown<br>
+O'er the bright face of nature,<br>
+How oft we have gone<br>
+To the famed Houndslow heath,<br>
+Though an unwelcome guest<br>
+To the minions of fortune,<br>
+My Bonnie Black Bess.</p>
+
+<p>How <span class="pagenum"><a id="page195" name="page195"></a>(p. 195)</span> silent you stood<br>
+When the carriage I stopped,<br>
+The gold and the jewels<br>
+Its inmates would drop.<br>
+No poor man I plundered<br>
+Nor e'er did oppress<br>
+The widows or orphans,<br>
+My Bonnie Black Bess.</p>
+
+<p>When Argus-eyed justice<br>
+Did me hot pursue,<br>
+From Yorktown to London<br>
+Like lightning we flew.<br>
+No toll bars could stop you,<br>
+The waters did breast,<br>
+And in twelve hours we made it,<br>
+My Bonnie Black Bess.</p>
+
+<p>But hate darkens o'er me,<br>
+Despair is my lot,<br>
+And the law does pursue me<br>
+For the many I've shot;<br>
+To save me, poor brute,<br>
+Thou hast done thy best,<br>
+Thou art worn out and weary,<br>
+My Bonnie Black Bess.</p>
+
+<p>Hark! they never shall have<br>
+A beast like thee;<br>
+So noble and gentle<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page196" name="page196"></a>(p. 196)</span> brave, thou must die,<br>
+My dumb friend,<br>
+Though it does me distress,&mdash;<br>
+There! There! I have shot thee,<br>
+My Bonnie Black Bess.</p>
+
+<p>In after years<br>
+When I am dead and gone,<br>
+This story will be handed<br>
+From father to son;<br>
+My fate some will pity,<br>
+And some will confess<br>
+'Twas through kindness I killed thee,<br>
+My Bonnie Black Bess.</p>
+
+<p>No one can e'er say<br>
+That ingratitude dwelt<br>
+In the bosom of Turpin,&mdash;<br>
+'Twas a vice never felt.<br>
+I will die like a man<br>
+And soon be at rest;<br>
+Now, farewell forever,<br>
+My Bonnie Black Bess.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE LAST LONGHORN <span class="pagenum"><a id="page197" name="page197"></a>(p. 197)</span></p>
+
+<p>An ancient long-horned bovine<br>
+Lay dying by the river;<br>
+There was lack of vegetation<br>
+And the cold winds made him shiver;<br>
+A cowboy sat beside him<br>
+With sadness in his face.<br>
+To see his final passing,&mdash;<br>
+This last of a noble race.</p>
+
+<p>The ancient eunuch struggled<br>
+And raised his shaking head,<br>
+Saying, "I care not to linger<br>
+When all my friends are dead.<br>
+These Jerseys and these Holsteins,<br>
+They are no friends of mine;<br>
+They belong to the nobility<br>
+Who live across the brine.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell the Durhams and the Herefords<br>
+When they come a-grazing round,<br>
+And see me lying stark and stiff<br>
+Upon the frozen ground,<br>
+I don't want them to bellow<br>
+When they see that I am dead,<br>
+For I was born in Texas<br>
+Near the river that is Red.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell <span class="pagenum"><a id="page198" name="page198"></a>(p. 198)</span> the cayotes, when they come at night<br>
+A-hunting for their prey,<br>
+They might as well go further,<br>
+For they'll find it will not pay.<br>
+If they attempt to eat me,<br>
+They very soon will see<br>
+That my bones and hide are petrified,&mdash;<br>
+They'll find no beef on me.</p>
+
+<p>"I remember back in the seventies,<br>
+Full many summers past,<br>
+There was grass and water plenty,<br>
+But it was too good to last.<br>
+I little dreamed what would happen<br>
+Some twenty summers hence,<br>
+When the nester came with his wife, his kids,<br>
+His dogs, and his barbed-wire fence."</p>
+
+<p>His voice sank to a murmur,<br>
+His breath was short and quick;<br>
+The cowboy tried to skin him<br>
+When he saw he couldn't kick;<br>
+He rubbed his knife upon his boot<br>
+Until he made it shine,<br>
+But he never skinned old longhorn,<br>
+Caze he couldn't cut his rine.</p>
+
+<p>And the cowboy riz up sadly<br>
+And mounted his cayuse,<br>
+Saying, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page199" name="page199"></a>(p. 199)</span> "The time has come when longhorns<br>
+And their cowboys are no use!"<br>
+And while gazing sadly backward<br>
+Upon the dead bovine,<br>
+His bronc stepped in a dog-hole<br>
+And fell and broke his spine.</p>
+
+<p>The cowboys and the longhorns<br>
+Who partnered in eighty-four<br>
+Have gone to their last round-up<br>
+Over on the other shore;<br>
+They answered well their purpose,<br>
+But their glory must fade and go,<br>
+Because men say there's better things<br>
+In the modern cattle show.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">A PRISONER FOR LIFE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page200" name="page200"></a>(p. 200)</span></p>
+
+<p>Fare you well, green fields,<br>
+Soft meadows, adieu!<br>
+Rocks and mountains,<br>
+I depart from you;<br>
+Nevermore shall my eyes<br>
+By your beauties be blest,<br>
+Nevermore shall you soothe<br>
+My sad bosom to rest.</p>
+
+<p>Farewell, little birdies,<br>
+That fly in the sky,<br>
+You fly all day long<br>
+And sing your troubles by;<br>
+I am doomed to this cell,<br>
+I heave a deep sigh;<br>
+My heart sinks within me,<br>
+In anguish I die.</p>
+
+<p>Fare you well, little fishes,<br>
+That glides through the sea,<br>
+Your life's all sunshine,<br>
+All light, and all glee;<br>
+Nevermore shall I watch<br>
+Your skill in the wave,<br>
+I'll depart from all friends<br>
+This side of the grave.</p>
+
+<p>What <span class="pagenum"><a id="page201" name="page201"></a>(p. 201)</span> would I give<br>
+Such freedom to share,<br>
+To roam at my ease<br>
+And breathe the fresh air;<br>
+I would roam through the cities,<br>
+Through village and dell,<br>
+But I never would return<br>
+To my cold prison cell.</p>
+
+<p>What's life without liberty?<br>
+I ofttimes have said,<br>
+Of a poor troubled mind<br>
+That's always in dread;<br>
+No sun, moon, and stars<br>
+Can on me now shine,<br>
+No change in my danger<br>
+From daylight till dawn.</p>
+
+<p>Fare you well, kind friends,<br>
+I am willing to own,<br>
+Such a wild outcast<br>
+Never was known;<br>
+I'm the downfall of my family,<br>
+My children, my wife;<br>
+God pity and pardon<br>
+The poor prisoner for life.</p>
+
+
+<h4>A Prisoner For Life <span class="pagenum"><a id="page202" name="page202"></a>(p. 202)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/prisonerforlife.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/prisonerforlife.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/prisonerforlife.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/prisonerforlife_full.png">
+<img src="images/prisonerforlife_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Prisoner For Life"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE WARS OF GERMANY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page204" name="page204"></a>(p. 204)</span></p>
+
+<p>There was a wealthy merchant,<br>
+In London he did dwell,<br>
+He had an only daughter,<br>
+The truth to you I'll tell.<br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>She was courted by a lord<br>
+Of very high degree,<br>
+She was courted by a sailor Jack<br>
+Just from the wars of Germany.<br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>Her parents came to know this,<br>
+That such a thing could be,<br>
+A sailor Jack, a sailor lad,<br>
+Just from the wars of Germany.<br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>So Polly she's at home<br>
+With money at command,<br>
+She taken a notion<br>
+To view some foreign land.<br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>She <span class="pagenum"><a id="page205" name="page205"></a>(p. 205)</span> went to the tailor's shop<br>
+And dressed herself in man's array,<br>
+And was off to an officer<br>
+To carry her straight away.<br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>"Good morning," says the officer,<br>
+And "Morning," says she,<br>
+"Here's fifty guineas if you'll carry me<br>
+To the wars of Germany."<br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>"Your waist is too slender,<br>
+Your fingers are too small,<br>
+I am afraid from your countenance<br>
+You can't face a cannon ball."<br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>"My waist is not too slender,<br>
+My fingers are not too small,<br>
+And never would I quiver<br>
+To face a cannon ball."<br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+    <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>"We don't often 'list an officer<br>
+Unless the name we know;"<br>
+She <span class="pagenum"><a id="page206" name="page206"></a>(p. 206)</span> answered him in a low, sweet voice,<br>
+"You may call me Jack Munro."<br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>We gathered up our men<br>
+And quickly we did sail,<br>
+We landed in France<br>
+With a sweet and pleasant gale.<br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>We were walking on the land,<br>
+Up and down the line,&mdash;<br>
+Among the dead and wounded<br>
+Her own true love she did find.<br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>She picked him up all in her arms,<br>
+To Tousen town she went;<br>
+She soon found a doctor<br>
+To dress and heal his wounds,<br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone,</span><br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing I am left alone.</span></p>
+
+<p>So Jacky, he is married,<br>
+And his bride by his side,<br>
+In spite of her old parents<br>
+And all the world beside.<br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing no longer left alone,</span><br>
+     <span class="add2em">Sing no longer left alone.</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">FREIGHTING FROM WILCOX TO GLOBE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page207" name="page207"></a>(p. 207)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you jolly freighters<br>
+That has freighted on the road,<br>
+That has hauled a load of freight<br>
+From Wilcox to Globe;<br>
+We freighted on this road<br>
+For sixteen years or more<br>
+A-hauling freight for Livermore,&mdash;<br>
+No wonder that I'm poor.</p>
+
+<p class="add2em">And it's home, dearest home;<br>
+    And it's home you ought to be,<br>
+    Over on the Gila<br>
+    In the white man's country,<br>
+    Where the poplar and the ash<br>
+    And mesquite will ever be<br>
+    Growing green down on the Gila;<br>
+    There's a home for you and me.</p>
+
+<p>'Twas in the spring of seventy-three<br>
+I started with my team,<br>
+Led by false illusion<br>
+And those foolish, golden dreams;<br>
+The first night out from Wilcox<br>
+My best wheel horse was stole,<br>
+And it makes me curse a little<br>
+To come out in the hole.</p>
+
+<p>This <span class="pagenum"><a id="page208" name="page208"></a>(p. 208)</span> then only left me three,&mdash;<br>
+Kit, Mollie and old Mike;<br>
+Mike being the best one of the three<br>
+I put him out on spike;<br>
+I then took the mountain road<br>
+So the people would not smile,<br>
+And it took fourteen days<br>
+To travel thirteen mile.</p>
+
+<p>But I got there all the same<br>
+With my little three-up spike;<br>
+It taken all my money, then,<br>
+To buy a mate for Mike.<br>
+You all know how it is<br>
+When once you get behind,<br>
+You never get even again<br>
+Till you damn steal them blind.</p>
+
+<p>I was an honest man<br>
+When I first took to the road,<br>
+I would not swear an oath,<br>
+Nor would I tap a load;<br>
+But now you ought to see my mules<br>
+When I begin to cuss,<br>
+They flop their ears and wiggle their tails<br>
+And pull the load or bust.</p>
+
+<p>Now I can tap a whiskey barrel<br>
+With nothing but a stick,<br>
+No one can detect me<br>
+I've got it down so slick;<br>
+Just <span class="pagenum"><a id="page209" name="page209"></a>(p. 209)</span> fill it up with water,&mdash;<br>
+Sure, there's no harm in that.</p>
+
+<p>Now my clothes are not the finest,<br>
+Nor are they genteel;<br>
+But they will have to do me<br>
+Till I can make another steal.<br>
+My boots are number elevens,<br>
+For I swiped them from a chow,<br>
+And my coat cost dos reals<br>
+From a little Apache squaw.</p>
+
+<p>Now I have freighted in the sand,<br>
+I have freighted in the rain,<br>
+I have bogged my wagons down<br>
+And dug them out again;<br>
+I have worked both late and early<br>
+Till I was almost dead,<br>
+And I have spent some nights sleeping<br>
+In an Arizona bed.</p>
+
+<p>Now barbed wire and bacon<br>
+Is all that they will pay,<br>
+But you have to show your copper checks<br>
+To get your grain and hay;<br>
+If you ask them for five dollars,<br>
+Old Meyers will scratch his pate,<br>
+And the clerks in their white, stiff collars<br>
+Say, "Get down and pull your freight."</p>
+
+<p>But <span class="pagenum"><a id="page210" name="page210"></a>(p. 210)</span> I want to die and go to hell,<br>
+Get there before Livermore and Meyers,<br>
+And get a job of hauling coke<br>
+To keep up the devil's fires;<br>
+If I get the job of singeing them,<br>
+I'll see they don't get free;<br>
+I'll treat them like a yaller dog,<br>
+As they have treated me.</p>
+
+<p class="add2em">And it's home, dearest home;<br>
+    And it's home you ought to be,<br>
+    Over on the Gila,<br>
+    In the white man's country,<br>
+    Where the poplar and the ash<br>
+    And mesquite will ever be<br>
+    Growing green down on the Gila;<br>
+    There's a home for you and me.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE ARIZONA BOYS AND GIRLS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page211" name="page211"></a>(p. 211)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all of you people, I pray you draw near,<br>
+A comical ditty you all shall hear.<br>
+The boys in this country they try to advance<br>
+By courting the ladies and learning to dance,&mdash;<br>
+And they're down, down, and they're down.</p>
+
+<p>The boys in this country they try to be plain,<br>
+Those words that you hear you may hear them again,<br>
+With twice as much added on if you can.<br>
+There's many a boy stuck up for a man,&mdash;<br>
+And they're down, down, and they're down.</p>
+
+<p>They will go to their parties, their whiskey they'll take,<br>
+And out in the dark their bottles they'll break;<br>
+You'll hear one say, "There's a bottle around here;<br>
+So come around, boys, and we'll all take a share,"&mdash;<br>
+And they're down, down, and they're down.</p>
+
+<p>There is some wears shoes and some wears boots,<br>
+But there are very few that rides who don't shoot;<br>
+More than this, I'll tell you what they'll do,<br>
+They'll get them a watch and a ranger hat, too,&mdash;<br>
+And they're down, down, and they're down.</p>
+
+<p>They'll go in the hall with spurs on their heel,<br>
+They'll get them a partner to dance the next reel,<br>
+Saying, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page212" name="page212"></a>(p. 212)</span> "How do I look in my new brown suit,<br>
+With my pants stuffed down in the top of my boot?"&mdash;<br>
+And they're down, down, and they're down.</p>
+
+<p>Now I think it's quite time to leave off these lads<br>
+For here are some girls that's fully as bad;<br>
+They'll trim up their dresses and curl up their hair,<br>
+And like an old owl before the glass they'll stare,&mdash;<br>
+And they're down, down, and they're down.</p>
+
+<p>The girls in the country they grin like a cat,<br>
+And with giggling and laughing they don't know what they're at,<br>
+They think they're pretty and I tell you they're wise,<br>
+But they couldn't get married to save their two eyes,&mdash;<br>
+And they're down, down, and they're down.</p>
+
+<p>You can tell a good girl wherever she's found;<br>
+No trimming, no lace, no nonsense around;<br>
+With a long-eared bonnet tied under her chin,&mdash;</p>
+
+<hr class="small">
+
+<p>And they're down, down, and they're down.</p>
+
+<p>They'll go to church with their snuff-box in hand,<br>
+They'll give it a tap to make it look grand;<br>
+Perhaps there is another one or two<br>
+And they'll pass it around and it's "Madam, won't you,"&mdash;<br>
+And they're down, down, and they're down.</p>
+
+<p>Now, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page213" name="page213"></a>(p. 213)</span> I think it's quite time for this ditty to end;<br>
+If there's anyone here that it will offend,<br>
+If there's anyone here that thinks it amiss<br>
+Just come around now and give the singer a kiss,&mdash;<br>
+And they're down, down, and they're down.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE DYING RANGER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page214" name="page214"></a>(p. 214)</span></p>
+
+<p>The sun was sinking in the west<br>
+And fell with lingering ray<br>
+Through the branches of a forest<br>
+Where a wounded ranger lay;<br>
+Beneath the shade of a palmetto<br>
+And the sunset silvery sky,<br>
+Far away from his home in Texas<br>
+They laid him down to die.</p>
+
+<p>A group had gathered round him,<br>
+His comrades in the fight,<br>
+A tear rolled down each manly cheek<br>
+As he bid a last good-night.<br>
+One tried and true companion<br>
+Was kneeling by his side,<br>
+To stop his life-blood flowing,<br>
+But alas, in vain he tried.</p>
+
+<p>When to stop the life-blood flowing<br>
+He found 'twas all in vain,<br>
+The tears rolled down each man's cheek<br>
+Like light showers of rain.<br>
+Up spoke the noble ranger,<br>
+"Boys, weep no more for me,<br>
+I am crossing the deep waters<br>
+To a country that is free.</p>
+
+<p>"Draw <span class="pagenum"><a id="page215" name="page215"></a>(p. 215)</span> closer to me, comrades,<br>
+And listen to what I say,<br>
+I am going to tell a story<br>
+While my spirit hastens away.<br>
+Way back in Northwest Texas,<br>
+That good old Lone Star state,<br>
+There is one that for my coming<br>
+With a weary heart will wait.</p>
+
+<p>"A fair young girl, my sister,<br>
+My only joy, my pride,<br>
+She was my friend from boyhood,<br>
+I had no one left beside.<br>
+I have loved her as a brother,<br>
+And with a father's care<br>
+I have strove from grief and sorrov<br>
+Her gentle heart to spare.</p>
+
+<p>"My mother, she lies sleeping<br>
+Beneath the church-yard sod,<br>
+And many a day has passed away<br>
+Since her spirit fled to God.<br>
+My father, he lies sleeping<br>
+Beneath the deep blue sea,<br>
+I have no other kindred,<br>
+There are none but Nell and me.</p>
+
+<p>"But our country was invaded<br>
+And they called for volunteers;<br>
+She threw her arms around me,<br>
+Then burst into tears,<br>
+Saying, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page216" name="page216"></a>(p. 216)</span> 'Go, my darling brother,<br>
+Drive those traitors from our shore,<br>
+My heart may need your presence,<br>
+But our country needs you more.'</p>
+
+<p>"It is true I love my country,<br>
+For her I gave my all.<br>
+If it hadn't been for my sister,<br>
+I would be content to fall.<br>
+I am dying, comrades, dying,<br>
+She will never see me more,<br>
+But in vain she'll wait my coming<br>
+By our little cabin door.</p>
+
+<p>"Comrades, gather closer<br>
+And listen to my dying prayer.<br>
+Who will be to her as a brother,<br>
+And shield her with a brother's care?"<br>
+Up spake the noble rangers,<br>
+They answered one and all,<br>
+"We will be to her as brothers<br>
+Till the last one does fall."</p>
+
+<p>One glad smile of pleasure<br>
+O'er the ranger's face was spread;<br>
+One dark, convulsive shadow,<br>
+And the ranger boy was dead.<br>
+Far from his darling sister<br>
+We laid him down to rest<br>
+With his saddle for a pillow<br>
+And his gun across his breast.</p>
+
+
+<h4>The Dying Ranger <span class="pagenum"><a id="page217" name="page217"></a>(p. 217)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/dyingranger.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/dyingranger.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/dyingranger.pdf">View/Download PDFe</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/dyingranger_full.png">
+<img src="images/dyingranger_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="The Dying Ranger"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE FAIR FANNIE MOORE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page219" name="page219"></a>(p. 219)</span></p>
+
+<p>Yonder stands a cottage,<br>
+All deserted and alone,<br>
+Its paths are neglected,<br>
+With grass overgrown;<br>
+Go in and you will see<br>
+Some dark stains on the floor,&mdash;<br>
+Alas! it is the blood<br>
+Of fair Fannie Moore.</p>
+
+<p>To Fannie, so blooming,<br>
+Two lovers they came;<br>
+One offered young Fannie<br>
+His wealth and his name;<br>
+But neither his money<br>
+Nor pride could secure<br>
+A place in the heart<br>
+Of fair Fannie Moore.</p>
+
+<p>The first was young Randell,<br>
+So bold and so proud,<br>
+Who to the fair Fannie<br>
+His haughty head bowed;<br>
+But his wealth and his house<br>
+Both failed to allure<br>
+The heart from the bosom<br>
+Of fair Fannie Moore.</p>
+
+<p>The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page220" name="page220"></a>(p. 220)</span> next was young Henry,<br>
+Of lowest degree.<br>
+He won her fond love<br>
+And enraptured was he;<br>
+And then at the altar<br>
+He quick did secure<br>
+The hand with the heart<br>
+Of the fair Fannie Moore.</p>
+
+<p>As she was alone<br>
+In her cottage one day,<br>
+When business had called<br>
+Her fond husband away,<br>
+Young Randell, the haughty,<br>
+Came in at the door<br>
+And clasped in his arms<br>
+The fair Fannie Moore.</p>
+
+<p>"O Fannie, O Fannie,<br>
+Reflect on your fate<br>
+And accept of my offer<br>
+Before it's too late;<br>
+For one thing to-night<br>
+I am bound to secure,&mdash;<br>
+'Tis the love or the life<br>
+Of the fair Fannie Moore."</p>
+
+<p>"Spare me, Oh, spare me!"<br>
+The young Fannie cries,<br>
+While the tears swiftly flow<br>
+From <span class="pagenum"><a id="page221" name="page221"></a>(p. 221)</span> her beautiful eyes;<br>
+"Oh, no!" cries young Randell,<br>
+"Go home to your rest,"<br>
+And he buried his knife<br>
+In her snowy white breast.</p>
+
+<p>So Fannie, so blooming,<br>
+In her bright beauty died;<br>
+Young Randell, the haughty,<br>
+Was taken and tried;<br>
+At length he was hung<br>
+On a tree at the door,<br>
+For shedding the blood<br>
+Of the fair Fannie Moore.</p>
+
+<p>Young Henry, the shepherd,<br>
+Distracted and wild,<br>
+Did wander away<br>
+From his own native isle.<br>
+Till at length, claimed by death,<br>
+He was brought to this shore<br>
+And laid by the side<br>
+Of the fair Fannie Moore.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">HELL IN TEXAS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page222" name="page222"></a>(p. 222)</span></p>
+
+<p>The devil, we're told, in hell was chained,<br>
+And a thousand years he there remained;<br>
+He never complained nor did he groan,<br>
+But determined to start a hell of his own,<br>
+Where he could torment the souls of men<br>
+Without being chained in a prison pen.<br>
+So he asked the Lord if he had on hand<br>
+Anything left when he made the land.</p>
+
+<p>The Lord said, "Yes, I had plenty on hand,<br>
+But I left it down on the Rio Grande;<br>
+The fact is, old boy, the stuff is so poor<br>
+I don't think you could use it in hell anymore."<br>
+But the devil went down to look at the truck,<br>
+And said if it came as a gift he was stuck;<br>
+For after examining it carefully and well<br>
+He concluded the place was too dry for hell.</p>
+
+<p>So, in order to get it off his hands,<br>
+The Lord promised the devil to water the lands;<br>
+For he had some water, or rather some dregs,<br>
+A regular cathartic that smelled like bad eggs.<br>
+Hence the deal was closed and the deed was given<br>
+And the Lord went back to his home in heaven.<br>
+And the devil then said, "I have all that is needed<br>
+To make a good hell," and hence he succeeded.</p>
+
+<p>He <span class="pagenum"><a id="page223" name="page223"></a>(p. 223)</span> began to put thorns in all of the trees,<br>
+And mixed up the sand with millions of fleas;<br>
+And scattered tarantulas along all the roads;<br>
+Put thorns on the cactus and horns on the toads.<br>
+He lengthened the horns of the Texas steers,<br>
+And put an addition on the rabbit's ears;<br>
+He put a little devil in the broncho steed,<br>
+And poisoned the feet of the centipede.</p>
+
+<p>The rattlesnake bites you, the scorpion stings,<br>
+The mosquito delights you with buzzing wings;<br>
+The sand-burrs prevail and so do the ants,<br>
+And those who sit down need half-soles on their pants.<br>
+The devil then said that throughout the land<br>
+He'd managed to keep up the devil's own brand,<br>
+And all would be mavericks unless they bore<br>
+The marks of scratches and bites and thorns by the score.</p>
+
+<p>The heat in the summer is a hundred and ten,<br>
+Too hot for the devil and too hot for men.<br>
+The wild boar roams through the black chaparral,&mdash;<br>
+It's a hell of a place he has for a hell.<br>
+The red pepper grows on the banks of the brook;<br>
+The Mexicans use it in all that they cook.<br>
+Just dine with a Greaser and then you will shout,<br>
+"I've hell on the inside as well as the out!"</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">BY MARKENTURA'S FLOWERY MARGE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page224" name="page224"></a>(p. 224)</span></p>
+
+<p>By Markentura's flowery marge the Red Chief's wigwam stood,<br>
+Before the white man's rifle rang, loud echoing through the wood;<br>
+The tommy-hawk and scalping knife together lay at rest,<br>
+And peace was in the forest shade and in the red man's breast.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn,<br>
+  The life and light of the forest shade,&mdash;<br>
+  The Red Chief's child is gone!</p>
+
+<p>By Markentura's flowery marge the Spotted Fawn had birth<br>
+And grew as fair an Indian maid as ever graced the earth.<br>
+She was the Red Chief's only child and sought by many a brave,<br>
+But to the gallant young White Cloud her plighted troth she gave.</p>
+
+<p>By Markentura's flowery marge the bridal song arose,<br>
+Nor dreamed they in that festive night of near approaching woes;<br>
+But <span class="pagenum"><a id="page225" name="page225"></a>(p. 225)</span> through the forest stealthily the white man came in wrath.<br>
+And fiery darts before them spread, and death was in their path.</p>
+
+<p>By Markentura's flowery marge next morn no strife was seen,<br>
+But a wail went up, for the young Fawn's blood and White Cloud's dyed the green.<br>
+A burial in their own rude way the Indians gave them there,<br>
+And a low sweet requiem the brook sang and the air.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn,<br>
+  The life and light of the forest shade,&mdash;<br>
+  The Red Chief's child is gone!</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE STATE OF ARKANSAW <span class="pagenum"><a id="page226" name="page226"></a>(p. 226)</span></p>
+
+<p>My name is Stamford Barnes, I come from Nobleville town;<br>
+I've traveled this wide world over, I've traveled this wide world round.<br>
+I've met with ups and downs in life but better days I've saw,<br>
+But I've never knew what misery were till I came to Arkansaw.</p>
+
+<p>I landed in St. Louis with ten dollars and no more;<br>
+I read the daily papers till both my eyes were sore;<br>
+I read them evening papers until at last I saw<br>
+Ten thousand men were wanted in the state of Arkansaw.</p>
+
+<p>I wiped my eyes with great surprise when I read this grateful news,<br>
+And straightway off I started to see the agent, Billy Hughes.<br>
+He says, "Pay me five dollars and a ticket to you I'll draw,<br>
+It'll land you safe upon the railroad in the State of Arkansaw."</p>
+
+<p>I started off one morning a quarter after five;<br>
+I started from St. Louis, half dead and half alive;<br>
+I <span class="pagenum"><a id="page227" name="page227"></a>(p. 227)</span> bought me a quart of whiskey my misery to thaw,<br>
+I got as drunk as a biled owl when I left for old Arkansaw.</p>
+
+<p>I landed in Ft. Smith one sultry Sunday afternoon,<br>
+It was in the month of May, the early month of June,<br>
+Up stepped a walking skeleton with a long and lantern jaw,<br>
+Invited me to his hotel, "The best in Arkansaw."</p>
+
+<p>I followed my conductor into his dwelling place;<br>
+Poverty were depictured in his melancholy face.<br>
+His bread it was corn dodger, his beef I could not chaw;<br>
+This was the kind of hash they fed me in the State of Arkansaw.</p>
+
+<p>I started off next morning to catch the morning train,<br>
+He says to me, "You'd better work, for I have some land to drain.<br>
+I'll pay you fifty cents a day, your board, washing, and all,&mdash;<br>
+You'll find yourself a different man when you leave old Arkansaw."</p>
+
+<p>I worked six weeks for the son of a gun, Jesse Herring was his name,<br>
+He was six foot seven in his stocking feet and taller than any crane;<br>
+His <span class="pagenum"><a id="page228" name="page228"></a>(p. 228)</span> hair hung down in strings over his long and lantern jaw,&mdash;<br>
+He was a photograph of all the gents who lived in Arkansaw.</p>
+
+<p>He fed me on corn dodgers as hard as any rock,<br>
+Until my teeth began to loosen and my knees began to knock;<br>
+I got so thin on sassafras tea I could hide behind a straw,<br>
+And indeed I was a different man when I left old Arkansaw.</p>
+
+<p>Farewell to swamp angels, cane brakes, and chills;<br>
+Farewell to sage and sassafras and corn dodger pills.<br>
+If ever I see this land again, I'll give to you my paw;<br>
+It will be through a telescope from here to Arkansaw.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE TEXAS COWBOY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page229" name="page229"></a>(p. 229)</span></p>
+
+<p>Oh, I am a Texas cowboy,<br>
+Far away from home,<br>
+If ever I get back to Texas<br>
+I never more will roam.</p>
+
+<p>Montana is too cold for me<br>
+And the winters are too long;<br>
+Before the round-ups do begin<br>
+Our money is all gone.</p>
+
+<p>Take this old hen-skin bedding,<br>
+Too thin to keep me warm,&mdash;<br>
+I nearly freeze to death, my boys.<br>
+Whenever there's a storm.</p>
+
+<p>And take this old "tarpoleon,"<br>
+Too thin to shield my frame,&mdash;<br>
+I got it down in Nebraska<br>
+A-dealin' a Monte game.</p>
+
+<p>Now to win these fancy leggins<br>
+I'll have enough to do;<br>
+They cost me twenty dollars<br>
+The day that they were new.</p>
+
+<p>I have an outfit on the Mussel Shell,<br>
+But that I'll never see,<br>
+Unless <span class="pagenum"><a id="page230" name="page230"></a>(p. 230)</span> I get sent to represent<br>
+The Circle or D.T.</p>
+
+<p>I've worked down in Nebraska<br>
+Where the grass grows ten feet high,<br>
+And the cattle are such rustlers<br>
+That they seldom ever die;</p>
+
+<p>I've worked up in the sand hills<br>
+And down upon the Platte,<br>
+Where the cowboys are good fellows<br>
+And the cattle always fat;</p>
+
+<p>I've traveled lots of country,&mdash;<br>
+Nebraska's hills of sand,<br>
+Down through the Indian Nation,<br>
+And up the Rio Grande;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>But the Bad Lands of Montana<br>
+Are the worst I ever seen,<br>
+The cowboys are all tenderfeet<br>
+And the dogies are too lean.</p>
+
+<p>If you want to see some bad lands,<br>
+Go over on the Dry;<br>
+You will bog down in the coulees<br>
+Where the mountains reach the sky.</p>
+
+<p>A tenderfoot to lead you<br>
+Who never knows the way,<br>
+You <span class="pagenum"><a id="page231" name="page231"></a>(p. 231)</span> are playing in the best of luck<br>
+If you eat more than once a day.</p>
+
+<p>Your grub is bread and bacon<br>
+And coffee black as ink;<br>
+The water is so full of alkali<br>
+It is hardly fit to drink.</p>
+
+<p>They will wake you in the morning<br>
+Before the break of day,<br>
+And send you on a circle<br>
+A hundred miles away.</p>
+
+<p>All along the Yellowstone<br>
+'Tis cold the year around;<br>
+You will surely get consumption<br>
+By sleeping on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Work in Montana<br>
+Is six months in the year;<br>
+When all your bills are settled<br>
+There is nothing left for beer.</p>
+
+<p>Work down in Texas<br>
+Is all the year around;<br>
+You will never get consumption<br>
+By sleeping on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Come all you Texas cowboys<br>
+And warning take from me,<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page232" name="page232"></a>(p. 232)</span> do not go to Montana<br>
+To spend your money free.</p>
+
+<p>But stay at home in Texas<br>
+Where work lasts the year around,<br>
+And you will never catch consumption<br>
+By sleeping on the ground.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE DREARY, DREARY LIFE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page233" name="page233"></a>(p. 233)</span></p>
+
+<p>A cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,<br>
+Some say it's free from care;<br>
+Rounding up the cattle from morning till night<br>
+In the middle of the prairie so bare.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">Half-past four, the noisy cook will roar,<br>
+ "Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey!"<br>
+  Slowly you will rise with sleepy-feeling eyes,<br>
+  The sweet, dreamy night passed away.</p>
+
+<p>The greener lad he thinks it's play,<br>
+He'll soon peter out on a cold rainy day,<br>
+With his big bell spurs and his Spanish hoss,<br>
+He'll swear to you he was once a boss.</p>
+
+<p>The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,<br>
+He's driven through the heat and cold;<br>
+While the rich man's a-sleeping on his velvet couch,<br>
+Dreaming of his silver and gold.</p>
+
+<p>Spring-time sets in, double trouble will begin,<br>
+The weather is so fierce and cold;<br>
+Clothes are wet and frozen to our necks,<br>
+The cattle we can scarcely hold.</p>
+
+<p>The cowboy's life is a dreary one,<br>
+He works all day to the setting of the sun;<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page234" name="page234"></a>(p. 234)</span> then his day's work is not done,<br>
+For there's his night herd to go on.</p>
+
+<p>The wolves and owls with their terrifying howls<br>
+Will disturb us in our midnight dream,<br>
+As we lie on our slickers on a cold, rainy night<br>
+Way over on the Pecos stream.</p>
+
+<p>You are speaking of your farms, you are speaking of your charms,<br>
+You are speaking of your silver and gold;<br>
+But a cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,<br>
+He's driven through the heat and cold.</p>
+
+<p>Some folks say that we are free from care,<br>
+Free from all other harm;<br>
+But we round up the cattle from morning till night<br>
+Way over on the prairie so dry.</p>
+
+<p>I used to run about, now I stay at home,<br>
+Take care of my wife and child;<br>
+Nevermore to roam, always stay at home,<br>
+Take care of my wife and child.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">Half-past four the noisy cook will roar,<br>
+ "Hurrah, boys! she's breaking day!"<br>
+  Slowly we will rise and wipe our sleepy eyes,<br>
+  The sweet, dreamy night passed away.</p>
+
+<h4>The Dreary, Dreary Life <span class="pagenum"><a id="page235" name="page235"></a>(p. 235)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/drearylife.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/drearylife.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/drearylife.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/drearylife_full.png">
+<img src="images/drearylife_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="The Dreary Life"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">JIM FARROW <span class="pagenum"><a id="page237" name="page237"></a>(p. 237)</span></p>
+
+<p>It's Jim Farrow and John Farrow and little Simon, too,<br>
+Have plenty of cattle where I have but few.<br>
+Marking and branding both night and day,&mdash;<br>
+It's "Keep still, boys, my boys, and you'll all get your pay."<br>
+It's up to the courthouse, the first thing they know,<br>
+Before the Grand Jury they'll have to go.<br>
+They'll ask you about ear-marks, they'll ask you about brand,<br>
+But tell them you were absent when the work was on hand.<br>
+Jim Farrow brands J.F. on the side;<br>
+The next comes Johnnie who takes the whole hide;<br>
+Little Simon, too has H. on the loin;&mdash;<br>
+All stand for Farrow but it's not good for Sime.<br>
+You ask for the mark, I don't think it's fair,<br>
+You'll find the cow's head but the ear isn't there<br>
+It's a crop and a split and a sort of a twine,&mdash;<br>
+All stand for F. but it's not good for Sime.</p>
+
+<p>"Get up, my boys," Jim Farrow will say,<br>
+"And out to horse hunting before it is day."<br>
+So we get up and are out on the way<br>
+But it's damn few horses we find before day.<br>
+"Now saddle your horses and out on the peaks<br>
+To <span class="pagenum"><a id="page238" name="page238"></a>(p. 238)</span> see if the heifers are out on the creeks."<br>
+We'll round 'em to-day and we'll round 'em to-morrow,<br>
+And this ends my song concerning the Farrows.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">YOUNG CHARLOTTIE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page239" name="page239"></a>(p. 239)</span></p>
+
+<p>Young Charlottie lived by a mountain side in a wild and lonely spot,<br>
+There was no village for miles around except her father's cot;<br>
+And yet on many a wintry night young boys would gather there,&mdash;<br>
+Her father kept a social board, and she was very fair.</p>
+
+<p>One New Year's Eve as the sun went down, she cast a wistful eye<br>
+Out from the window pane as a merry sleigh went by.<br>
+At a village fifteen miles away was to be a ball that night;<br>
+Although the air was piercing cold, her heart was merry and light.</p>
+
+<p>At last her laughing eye lit up as a well-known voice she heard,<br>
+And dashing in front of the door her lover's sleigh appeared.<br>
+"O daughter, dear," her mother said, "this blanket round you fold,<br>
+'Tis such a dreadful night abroad and you will catch your death of cold."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh <span class="pagenum"><a id="page240" name="page240"></a>(p. 240)</span> no, oh no!" young Charlottie cried, as she laughed like a gipsy queen,<br>
+"To ride in blankets muffled up, I never would be seen.<br>
+My silken coat is quite enough, you know it is lined throughout,<br>
+And there is my silken scarf to wrap my head and neck about."</p>
+
+<p>Her bonnet and her gloves were on, she jumped into the sleigh,<br>
+And swiftly slid down the mountain side and over the hills away.<br>
+All muffled up so silent, five miles at last were past<br>
+When Charlie with few but shivering words, the silence broke at last.</p>
+
+<p>"Such a dreadful night I never saw, my reins I can scarcely hold."<br>
+Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I am exceedingly cold."<br>
+He cracked his whip and urged his speed much faster than before,<br>
+While at least five other miles in silence had passed o'er.</p>
+
+<p>Spoke Charles, "How fast the freezing ice is gathering on my brow!"<br>
+Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I'm growing warmer now."<br>
+So <span class="pagenum"><a id="page241" name="page241"></a>(p. 241)</span> on they sped through the frosty air and the glittering cold starlight<br>
+Until at last the village lights and the ball-room came in sight.</p>
+
+<p>They reached the door and Charles sprang out and reached his hands to her.<br>
+"Why sit you there like a monument that has no power to stir?"<br>
+He called her once, he called her twice, she answered not a word,<br>
+And then he called her once again but still she never stirred.</p>
+
+<p>He took her hand in his; 'twas cold and hard as any stone.<br>
+He tore the mantle from her face while cold stars on it shone.<br>
+Then quickly to the lighted hall her lifeless form he bore;&mdash;<br>
+Young Charlottie's eyes were closed forever, her voice was heard no more.</p>
+
+<p>And there he sat down by her side while bitter tears did flow,<br>
+And cried, "My own, my charming bride, you nevermore shall know."<br>
+He twined his arms around her neck and kissed her marble brow,<br>
+And his thoughts flew back to where she said, "I'm growing warmer now."</p>
+
+<p>He <span class="pagenum"><a id="page242" name="page242"></a>(p. 242)</span> took her back into the sleigh and quickly hurried home;<br>
+When he arrived at her father's door, oh, how her friends did mourn;<br>
+They mourned the loss of a daughter dear, while Charles wept over the gloom,<br>
+Till at last he died with the bitter grief,&mdash;now they both lie in one tomb.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE SKEW-BALL BLACK <span class="pagenum"><a id="page243" name="page243"></a>(p. 243)</span></p>
+
+<p>It was down to Red River I came,<br>
+Prepared to play a damned tough game,&mdash;<br>
+Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!</p>
+
+<p>I crossed the river to the ranch where I intended to work,<br>
+With a big six-shooter and a derned good dirk,&mdash;<br>
+Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!</p>
+
+<p>They roped me out a skew-ball black<br>
+With a double set-fast on his back,&mdash;<br>
+Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!</p>
+
+<p>And when I was mounted on his back,<br>
+The boys all yelled, "Just give him slack,"&mdash;<br>
+Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!</p>
+
+<p>They rolled and tumbled and yelled, by God,<br>
+For he threw me a-whirling all over the sod,&mdash;<br>
+Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!</p>
+
+<p>I went to the boss and I told him I'd resign,<br>
+The fool tumbled over, and I thought he was dyin',&mdash;<br>
+Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!</p>
+
+<p>And it's to Arkansaw I'll go back,<br>
+To hell with Texas and the skew-ball black,&mdash;<br>
+Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE RAMBLING COWBOY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page244" name="page244"></a>(p. 244)</span></p>
+
+<p>There was a rich old rancher who lived in the country by,<br>
+He had a lovely daughter on whom I cast my eye;<br>
+She was pretty, tall, and handsome, both neat and very fair,<br>
+There's no other girl in the country with her I could compare.</p>
+
+<p>I asked her if she would be willing for me to cross the plains;<br>
+She said she would be truthful until I returned again;<br>
+She said she would be faithful until death did prove unkind,<br>
+So we kissed, shook hands, and parted, and I left my girl behind.</p>
+
+<p>I left the State of Texas, for Arizona I was bound;<br>
+I landed in Tombstone City, I viewed the place all round.<br>
+Money and work were plentiful and the cowboys they were kind<br>
+But the only thought of my heart was the girl I left behind.</p>
+
+<p>One day as I was riding across the public square<br>
+The mail-coach came in and I met the driver there;<br>
+He <span class="pagenum"><a id="page245" name="page245"></a>(p. 245)</span> handed me a letter which gave me to understand<br>
+That the girl I left in Texas had married another man.</p>
+
+<p>I turned myself all round and about not knowing what to do,<br>
+But I read on down some further and it proved the words were true.<br>
+Hard work I have laid over, it's gambling I have designed.<br>
+I'll ramble this wide world over for the girl I left behind.</p>
+
+<p>Come all you reckless and rambling boys who have listened to this song,<br>
+If it hasn't done you any good, it hasn't done you any wrong;<br>
+But when you court a pretty girl, just marry her while you can,<br>
+For if you go across the plains she'll marry another man.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE COWBOY AT CHURCH <span class="pagenum"><a id="page246" name="page246"></a>(p. 246)</span></p>
+
+<p>Some time ago,&mdash;two weeks or more<br>
+If I remember well,&mdash;<br>
+I found myself in town and thought<br>
+I'd knock around a spell,<br>
+When all at once I heard the bell,&mdash;<br>
+I didn't know 'twas Sunday,&mdash;<br>
+For on the plains we scarcely know<br>
+A Sunday from a Monday,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>A-calling all the people<br>
+From the highways and the hedges<br>
+And all the reckless throng<br>
+That tread ruin's ragged edges,<br>
+To come and hear the pastor tell<br>
+Salvation's touching story,<br>
+And how the new road misses hell<br>
+And leads you straight to glory.</p>
+
+<p>I started by the chapel door,<br>
+But something urged me in,<br>
+And told me not to spend God's day<br>
+In revelry and sin.<br>
+I don't go much on sentiment,<br>
+But tears came in my eyes.<br>
+It seemed just like my mother's voice<br>
+Was speaking from the skies.</p>
+
+<p>I <span class="pagenum"><a id="page247" name="page247"></a>(p. 247)</span> thought how often she had gone<br>
+With little Sis and me<br>
+To church, when I was but a lad<br>
+Way back in Tennessee.<br>
+It never once occurred to me<br>
+About not being dressed<br>
+In Sunday rig, but carelessly<br>
+I went in with the rest.</p>
+
+<p>You should have seen the smiles and shrugs<br>
+As I went walking in,<br>
+As though they thought my leggins<br>
+Worse than any kind of sin;<br>
+Although the honest parson,<br>
+In his vestry garb arrayed<br>
+Was dressed the same as I was,&mdash;<br>
+In the trappings of his trade.</p>
+
+<p>The good man prayed for all the world<br>
+And all its motley crew,<br>
+For pagan, Hindoo, sinners, Turk,<br>
+And unbelieving Jew,&mdash;<br>
+Though the congregation doubtless thought<br>
+That the cowboys as a race<br>
+Were a kind of moral outlaw<br>
+With no good claim to grace.</p>
+
+<p>Is it very strange that cowboys are<br>
+A rough and reckless crew<br>
+When their garb forbids their doing right<br>
+As Christian people do?<br>
+That <span class="pagenum"><a id="page248" name="page248"></a>(p. 248)</span> they frequent scenes of revelry<br>
+Where death is bought and sold,<br>
+Where at least they get a welcome<br>
+Though it's prompted by their gold?</p>
+
+<p>Stranger, did it ever strike you,<br>
+When the winter days are gone<br>
+And the mortal grass is springing up<br>
+To meet the judgment sun,<br>
+And we 'tend mighty round-ups<br>
+Where, according to the Word,<br>
+The angel cowboy of the Lord<br>
+Will cut the human herd,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>That a heap of stock that's lowing now<br>
+Around the Master's pen<br>
+And feeding at his fodder stack<br>
+Will have the brand picked then?<br>
+And brands that when the hair was long<br>
+Looked like the letter C,<br>
+Will prove to be the devil's,<br>
+And the brand the letter D;</p>
+
+<p>While many a long-horned coaster,&mdash;<br>
+I mean, just so to speak,&mdash;<br>
+That hasn't had the advantage<br>
+Of the range and gospel creek<br>
+Will get to crop the grasses<br>
+In the pasture of the Lord<br>
+If the letter C showed up<br>
+Beneath the devil's checker board.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE U. S. A. RECRUIT <span class="pagenum"><a id="page249" name="page249"></a>(p. 249)</span></p>
+
+<p>Now list to my song, it will not take me long,<br>
+And in some things with me you'll agree;<br>
+A young man so green came in from Moline,<br>
+And enlisted a soldier to be.<br>
+He had lots of pluck, on himself he was stuck,<br>
+In his Government straights he looked "boss,"<br>
+And he chewed enough beans for a hoss.</p>
+
+<p class="add1em">He was a rookey, so flukey,<br>
+  He was a jim dandy you all will agree,<br>
+  He said without fear, "Before I'm a year<br>
+  In the Army, great changes you'll see."<br>
+  He was a stone thrower, a foam blower,<br>
+  He was a Loo Loo you bet,<br>
+  He stood on his head and these words gently said,<br>
+  "I'll be second George Washington yet."</p>
+
+<p>At his post he did land, they took him in hand,<br>
+The old bucks they all gathered 'round,<br>
+Saying "Give us your fist; where did you enlist?<br>
+You'll take on again I'll be bound;<br>
+I've a blanket to sell, it will fit you quite well,<br>
+I'll sell you the whole or a piece.<br>
+I've a dress coat to trade, or a helmet unmade,<br>
+It will do you for kitchen police."</p>
+
+<p>Then <span class="pagenum"><a id="page250" name="page250"></a>(p. 250)</span> the top said, "My Son, here is a gun,<br>
+Just heel ball that musket up bright.<br>
+In a few days or more you'll be rolling in gore,<br>
+A-chasing wild Goo Goos to flight.<br>
+There'll be fighting, you see, and blood flowing free,<br>
+We'll send you right on to the front;<br>
+And never you fear, if you're wounded, my dear,<br>
+You'll be pensioned eight dollars per month."</p>
+
+<p>He was worried so bad, he blew in all he had;<br>
+He went on a drunk with goodwill.<br>
+And the top did report, "One private short."<br>
+When he showed up he went to the mill.<br>
+The proceedings we find were a ten dollar blind,<br>
+Ten dollars less to blow foam.<br>
+This was long years ago, and this rookey you know<br>
+Is now in the old soldiers' home.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE COWGIRL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page251" name="page251"></a>(p. 251)</span></p>
+
+<p>My love is a rider and broncos he breaks,<br>
+But he's given up riding and all for my sake;<br>
+For he found him a horse and it suited him so<br>
+He vowed he'd ne'er ride any other bronco.</p>
+
+<p>My love has a gun, and that gun he can use,<br>
+But he's quit his gun fighting as well as his booze;<br>
+And he's sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,<br>
+And there's no more cow punching, and that's what I hope.</p>
+
+<p>My love has a gun that has gone to the bad,<br>
+Which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;<br>
+For the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low,<br>
+And it wobbles about like a bucking bronco.</p>
+
+<p>The cook is an unfortunate son of a gun;<br>
+He has to be up e'er the rise of the sun;<br>
+His language is awful, his curses are deep,&mdash;<br>
+He is like cascarets, for he works while you sleep.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE SHANTY BOY</p> <span class="pagenum"><a id="page252" name="page252"></a>(p. 252)</span>
+
+<p>I am a jolly shanty boy,<br>
+As you will soon discover.<br>
+To all the dodges I am fly,<br>
+A hustling pine woods rover.<br>
+A peavy hook it is my pride,<br>
+An ax I well can handle;<br>
+To fell a tree or punch a bull<br>
+Get rattling Danny Randall.</p>
+
+<p>Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.</p>
+
+<p>I love a girl in Saginaw;<br>
+She lives with her mother;<br>
+I defy all Michigan<br>
+To find such another.<br>
+She's tall and fat, her hair is red,<br>
+Her face is plump and pretty,<br>
+She's my daisy, Sunday-best-day girl,&mdash;<br>
+And her front name stands for Kitty.</p>
+
+<p>Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.</p>
+
+<p>I took her to a dance one night,<br>
+A mossback gave the bidding;<br>
+Silver Jack bossed the shebang<br>
+And Big Dan played the fiddle.<br>
+We <span class="pagenum"><a id="page253" name="page253"></a>(p. 253)</span> danced and drank, the livelong night.<br>
+With fights between the dancing&mdash;<br>
+Till Silver Jack cleaned out the ranch<br>
+And sent the mossbacks prancing.</p>
+
+<p>Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">ROOT HOG OR DIE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page254" name="page254"></a>(p. 254)</span></p>
+
+<p>When I was a young man I lived on the square,<br>
+I never had any pocket change and I hardly thought it fair;<br>
+So out on the crosses I went to rob and to steal,<br>
+And when I met a peddler oh, how happy I did feel.</p>
+
+<p>One morning, one morning, one morning in May<br>
+I seen a man a-coming, a little bit far away;<br>
+I seen a man a-coming, come riding up to me<br>
+"Come here, come here, young fellow, I'm after you to-day."</p>
+
+<p>He taken me to the new jail, he taken me to the new jail,<br>
+And I had to walk right in.<br>
+There all my friends went back on me<br>
+And also my kin.</p>
+
+<p>I had an old rich uncle, who lived in the West,<br>
+He heard of my misfortune, it wouldn't let him rest;<br>
+He came to see me, he paid my bills and score,&mdash;<br>
+I have been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.</p>
+
+<p>There's Minnie and Alice and Lucy likewise,<br>
+They heard of my misfortune brought tears to their eyes.<br>
+I've <span class="pagenum"><a id="page255" name="page255"></a>(p. 255)</span> told 'em my condition, I've told it o'er and o'er;<br>
+So I've been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.</p>
+
+<p>I will go to East Texas to marry me a wife,<br>
+And try to maintain her the balance of my life;<br>
+I'll try to maintain; I'll lay it up in store<br>
+I've been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.</p>
+
+<p>Young man, you robber, you had better take it fair,<br>
+Leave off your marshal killing and live on the square;<br>
+Should you meet the marshal, just pass him by;<br>
+And travel on the muscular, for it's root hog or die.</p>
+
+<p>When I drew my money I drew it all in cash<br>
+And off to see my Susan, you bet I cut a dash;<br>
+I spent my money freely and went it on a bum,<br>
+And I love the pretty women and am bound to have my fun.</p>
+
+<p>I used to sport a white hat, a horse and buggy fine,<br>
+Courted a pretty girl and always called her mine;<br>
+But all my courtships proved to be in vain,<br>
+For they sent me down to Huntsville to wear the ball and chain.</p>
+
+<p>Along came my true love, about twelve o'clock,<br>
+Saying, "Henry, O Henry, what sentence have you got?"<br>
+The jury found me guilty, the judge would allow no stay,<br>
+So they sent me down to Huntsville to wear my life away.</p>
+
+<h4>Root Hog or Die <span class="pagenum"><a id="page256" name="page256"></a>(p. 256)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/roothogordie.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/roothogordie.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/roothogordie.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/roothogordie_full.png">
+<img src="images/roothogordie_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Root Hog or Die"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page258" name="page258"></a>(p. 258)</span><br>
+
+<span class="add2em">"A California Immigrant Song of the Fifties"</span></p>
+
+<p>Oh, don't you remember sweet Betsy from Pike<br>
+Who crossed the big mountains with her lover Ike,<br>
+And two yoke of cattle, a large yellow dog,<br>
+A tall, shanghai rooster, and one spotted hog?<br>
+        <span class="add3em">Saying, good-bye, Pike County,</span><br>
+        <span class="add3em">Farewell for a while;</span><br>
+        <span class="add3em">We'll come back again</span><br>
+        <span class="add3em">When we've panned out our pile.</span></p>
+
+<p>One evening quite early they camped on the Platte,<br>
+'Twas near by the road on a green shady flat;<br>
+Where Betsy, quite tired, lay down to repose,<br>
+While with wonder Ike gazed on his Pike County rose.</p>
+
+<p>They soon reached the desert, where Betsy gave out,<br>
+And down in the sand she lay rolling about;<br>
+While Ike in great terror looked on in surprise,<br>
+Saying "Betsy, get up, you'll get sand in your eyes."<br>
+        <span class="add3em">Saying, good-bye, Pike County,</span><br>
+        <span class="add3em">Farewell for a while;</span><br>
+        <span class="add3em">I'd go back to-night</span><br>
+        <span class="add3em">If it was but a mile.</span></p>
+
+<p>Sweet <span class="pagenum"><a id="page259" name="page259"></a>(p. 259)</span> Betsy got up in a great deal of pain<br>
+And declared she'd go back to Pike County again;<br>
+Then Ike heaved a sigh and they fondly embraced,<br>
+And she traveled along with his arm around her waist.</p>
+
+<p>The wagon tipped over with a terrible crash,<br>
+And out on the prairie rolled all sorts of trash;<br>
+A few little baby clothes done up with care<br>
+Looked rather suspicious,&mdash;though 'twas all on the square.</p>
+
+<p>The shanghai ran off and the cattle all died,<br>
+The last piece of bacon that morning was fried;<br>
+Poor Ike got discouraged, and Betsy got mad,<br>
+The dog wagged his tail and looked wonderfully sad.</p>
+
+<p>One morning they climbed up a very high hill,<br>
+And with wonder looked down into old Placerville;<br>
+Ike shouted and said, as he cast his eyes down,<br>
+"Sweet Betsy, my darling, we've got to Hangtown."</p>
+
+<p>Long Ike and sweet Betsy attended a dance,<br>
+Where Ike wore a pair of his Pike County pants;<br>
+Sweet Betsy was covered with ribbons and rings.<br>
+Quoth Ike, "You're an angel, but where are your wings?"</p>
+
+<p>A miner <span class="pagenum"><a id="page260" name="page260"></a>(p. 260)</span> said, "Betsy, will you dance with me?"<br>
+"I will that, old hoss, if you don't make too free;<br>
+But don't dance me hard. Do you want to know why?<br>
+Dog on ye, I'm chock full of strong alkali."</p>
+
+<p>Long Ike and sweet Betsy got married of course,<br>
+But Ike getting jealous obtained a divorce;<br>
+And Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout,<br>
+"Good-bye, you big lummax, I'm glad you backed out."<br>
+      <span class="add3em">Saying, good-bye, dear Isaac,</span><br>
+      <span class="add3em">Farewell for a while,</span><br>
+      <span class="add3em">But come back in time</span><br>
+      <span class="add3em">To replenish my pile.</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE DISHEARTENED RANGER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page261" name="page261"></a>(p. 261)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come listen to a ranger, you kind-hearted stranger,<br>
+This song, though a sad one, you're welcome to hear;<br>
+We've kept the Comanches away from your ranches,<br>
+And followed them far o'er the Texas frontier.</p>
+
+<p>We're weary of scouting, of traveling, and routing<br>
+The blood-thirsty villains o'er prairie and wood;<br>
+No rest for the sinner, no breakfast or dinner,<br>
+But he lies in a supperless bed in the mud.</p>
+
+<p>No corn nor potatoes, no bread nor tomatoes,<br>
+But jerked beef as dry as the sole of your shoe;<br>
+All day without drinking, all night without winking,<br>
+I'll tell you, kind stranger, this never will do.</p>
+
+<p>Those great alligators, the State legislators,<br>
+Are puffing and blowing two-thirds of their time,<br>
+But windy orations about rangers and rations<br>
+Never put in our pockets one-tenth of a dime.</p>
+
+<p>They do not regard us, they will not reward us,<br>
+Though hungry and haggard with holes in our coats;<br>
+But the election is coming and they will be drumming<br>
+And praising our valor to purchase our votes.</p>
+
+<p>For <span class="pagenum"><a id="page262" name="page262"></a>(p. 262)</span> glory and payment, for vittles and raiment,<br>
+No longer we'll fight on the Texas frontier.<br>
+So guard your own ranches, and mind the Comanches<br>
+Or surely they'll scalp you in less than a year.</p>
+
+<p>Though sore it may grieve you, the rangers must leave you<br>
+Exposed to the arrows and knife of the foe;<br>
+So herd your own cattle and fight your own battle,<br>
+For home to the States I'm determined to go,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Where churches have steeples and laws are more equal,<br>
+Where houses have people and ladies are kind;<br>
+Where work is regarded and worth is rewarded;<br>
+Where pumpkins are plenty and pockets are lined.</p>
+
+<p>Your wives and your daughters we have guarded from slaughter,<br>
+Through conflicts and struggles I shudder to tell;<br>
+No more well defend them, to God we'll commend them.<br>
+To the frontier of Texas we bid a farewell.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE MELANCHOLY COWBOY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page263" name="page263"></a>(p. 263)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you melancholy folks and listen unto me,<br>
+I will sing you about the cowboy whose heart's so light and free;<br>
+He roves all over the prairie and at night when he lays down<br>
+His heart's as gay as the flowers of May with his bed spread on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>They are a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them at least;<br>
+But as long as you do not cross their trail, you can live with them in peace.<br>
+But if you do, they're sure to rule, the day you come to their land,<br>
+For they'll follow you up and shoot it out, they'll do it man to man.</p>
+
+<p>You can go to a cowboy hungry, go to him wet or dry,<br>
+And ask him for a few dollars in change and he will not deny;<br>
+He will pull out his pocket-book and hand you out a note,&mdash;<br>
+Oh, they are the fellows to strike, boys, whenever you are broke.</p>
+
+<p>You <span class="pagenum"><a id="page264" name="page264"></a>(p. 264)</span> can go to their ranches and often stay for weeks,<br>
+And when you go to leave, boys, they'll never charge you a cent;<br>
+But when they go to town, boys, you bet their money is spent.<br>
+They walk right up, they take their drinks and they pay for every one.<br>
+They never ask your pardon, boys, for a thing that they have done.</p>
+
+<p>They go to the ball-room, and swing the pretty girls around;<br>
+They ride their bucking broncos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats;<br>
+Their California saddles, their pants below their boots,<br>
+You can hear their spurs go jing-a-ling, or perhaps somebody shoots.</p>
+
+<p>Come all you soft and tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun,<br>
+Come go among the cowboys and they'll show you how it's done;<br>
+But take the kind advice of me as I gave it to you before,<br>
+For if you don't, they'll order you off with an old Colt's forty-four.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">BOB STANFORD <span class="pagenum"><a id="page265" name="page265"></a>(p. 265)</span></p>
+
+<p>Bob Stanford, he's a Texas boy,<br>
+He lives down on the flat;<br>
+His trade is running a well-drill,<br>
+But he's none the worse for that.</p>
+
+<p>He is neither rich nor handsome,<br>
+But, unlike the city dude,<br>
+His manners they are pleasant<br>
+Instead of flip and rude.</p>
+
+<p>His people live in Texas,<br>
+That is his native home,<br>
+But like many other Western lads<br>
+He drifted off from home.</p>
+
+<p>He came out to New Mexico<br>
+A fortune for to make,<br>
+He punched the bottom out of the earth<br>
+And never made a stake.</p>
+
+<p>So he came to Arizona<br>
+And again set up his drill<br>
+To punch a hole for water,<br>
+And he's punching at it still.</p>
+
+<p>He says he is determined<br>
+To make the business stick<br>
+Or <span class="pagenum"><a id="page266" name="page266"></a>(p. 266)</span> spend that derned old well machine<br>
+And all he can get on tick.</p>
+
+<p>I hope he is successful<br>
+And I'll help him if I can,<br>
+For I admire pluck and ambition<br>
+In an honest working man.</p>
+
+<p>So keep on going down,<br>
+Punch the bottom out, or try,<br>
+There is nothing in a hole in the ground<br>
+That continues being dry.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">CHARLIE RUTLAGE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page267" name="page267"></a>(p. 267)</span></p>
+
+<p>Another good cow-puncher has gone to meet his fate,<br>
+I hope he'll find a resting place within the golden gate.<br>
+Another place is vacant on the ranch of the X I T,<br>
+'Twill be hard to find another that's liked as well as he.</p>
+
+<p>The first that died was Kid White, a man both tough and brave,<br>
+While Charlie Rutlage makes the third to be sent to his grave,<br>
+Caused by a cow-horse falling while running after stock;<br>
+'Twas on the spring round-up,&mdash;a place where death men mock.</p>
+
+<p>He went forward one morning on a circle through the hills,<br>
+He was gay and full of glee, and free from earthly ills;<br>
+But when it came to finish up the work on which he went,<br>
+Nothing came back from him; for his time on earth was spent.</p>
+
+<p>'Twas <span class="pagenum"><a id="page268" name="page268"></a>(p. 268)</span> as he rode the round-up, an X I T turned back to the herd;<br>
+Poor Charlie shoved him in again, his cutting horse he spurred;<br>
+Another turned; at that moment his horse the creature spied<br>
+And turned and fell with him, and beneath, poor Charlie died.</p>
+
+<p>His relations in Texas his face never more will see,<br>
+But I hope he will meet his loved ones beyond in eternity.<br>
+I hope he will meet his parents, will meet them face to face,<br>
+And that they will grasp him by the right hand at the shining throne of grace.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE RANGE RIDERS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page269" name="page269"></a>(p. 269)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you range riders and listen to me,<br>
+I will relate you a story of the saddest degree,<br>
+I will relate you a story of the deepest distress,&mdash;<br>
+I love my poor Lulu, boys, of all girls the best.</p>
+
+<p>When you are out riding, boys, upon the highway,<br>
+Meet a fair damsel, a lady so gay,<br>
+With her red, rosy cheeks and her sparkling dark eyes,<br>
+Just think of my Lulu, boys, and your bosoms will rise.</p>
+
+<p>While you live single, boys, you are just in your prime;<br>
+You have no wife to scold, you have nothing to bother your minds;<br>
+You can roam this world over and do just as you will,<br>
+Hug and kiss the pretty girls and be your own still.</p>
+
+<p>But when you get married, boys, you are done with this life,<br>
+You have sold your sweet comfort for to gain you a wife;<br>
+Your <span class="pagenum"><a id="page270" name="page270"></a>(p. 270)</span> wife she will scold you, and the children will cry,<br>
+It will make those fair faces look withered and dry.</p>
+
+<p>You can scarcely step aside, boys, to speak to a friend<br>
+But your wife is at your elbow saying what do you mean.<br>
+With her nose turned upon you it will look like sad news,&mdash;<br>
+I advise you by experience that life to refuse.</p>
+
+<p>Come fill up your bottles, boys, drink Bourbon around;<br>
+Here is luck to the single wherever they are found.<br>
+Here is luck to the single and I wish them success,<br>
+Likewise to the married ones, I wish them no less.</p>
+
+<p>I have one more request to make, boys, before we part.<br>
+Never place your affection on a charming sweetheart.<br>
+She is dancing before you your affections to gain;<br>
+Just turn your back on them with scorn and disdain.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">HER WHITE BOSOM BARE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page271" name="page271"></a>(p. 271)</span></p>
+
+<p>The sun had gone down<br>
+O'er the hills of the west,<br>
+And the last beams had faded<br>
+O'er the mossy hill's crest,<br>
+O'er the beauties of nature<br>
+And the charms of the fair,<br>
+And Amanda was bound<br>
+With her white bosom bare.</p>
+
+<p>At the foot of the mountain<br>
+Amanda did sigh<br>
+At the hoot of an owl<br>
+Or the catamount's cry;<br>
+Or the howl of some wolf<br>
+In its low, granite cell,<br>
+Or the crash of some large<br>
+Forest tree as it fell.</p>
+
+<p>Amanda was there<br>
+All friendless and forlorn<br>
+With her face bathed in blood<br>
+And her garments all torn.<br>
+The sunlight had faded<br>
+O'er the hills of the green,<br>
+And fierce was the look<br>
+Of the wild, savage scene.</p>
+
+<p>For <span class="pagenum"><a id="page272" name="page272"></a>(p. 272)</span> it was out in the forest<br>
+Where the wild game springs,<br>
+Where low in the branches<br>
+The rude hammock swings;<br>
+The campfire was kindled,<br>
+Well fanned by the breeze,<br>
+And the light of the campfire<br>
+Shone round on the trees.</p>
+
+<p>The campfire was kindled,<br>
+Well fanned by the breeze,<br>
+And the light of the fire<br>
+Shone round on the trees;<br>
+And grim stood the circle<br>
+Of the warrior throng,<br>
+Impatient to join<br>
+In the war-dance and song.</p>
+
+<p>The campfire was kindled,<br>
+Each warrior was there,<br>
+And Amanda was bound<br>
+With her white bosom bare.<br>
+She counted the vengeance<br>
+In the face of her foes<br>
+And sighed for the moment<br>
+When her sufferings might close.</p>
+
+<p>Young Albon, he gazed<br>
+On the face of the fair<br>
+While her dark hazel eyes<br>
+Were <span class="pagenum"><a id="page273" name="page273"></a>(p. 273)</span> uplifted in prayer;<br>
+And her dark waving tresses<br>
+In ringlets did flow<br>
+Which hid from the gazer<br>
+A bosom of snow.</p>
+
+<p>Then young Albon, the chief<br>
+Of the warriors, drew near,<br>
+With an eye like an eagle<br>
+And a step like a deer.<br>
+"Forbear," cried he,<br>
+"Your torture forbear;<br>
+This maiden shall live.<br>
+By my wampum I swear.</p>
+
+<p>"It is for this maiden's freedom<br>
+That I do crave;<br>
+Give a sigh for her suffering<br>
+Or a tear for her grave.<br>
+If there is a victim<br>
+To be burned at that tree,<br>
+Young Albon, your leader,<br>
+That victim shall be."</p>
+
+<p>Then quick to the arms<br>
+Of Amanda he rushed;<br>
+The rebel was dead,<br>
+And the tumult was hushed;<br>
+And grim stood the circle<br>
+Of warriors around<br>
+While <span class="pagenum"><a id="page274" name="page274"></a>(p. 274)</span> the cords of Amanda<br>
+Young Albon unbound.</p>
+
+<p>So it was early next morning<br>
+The red, white, and blue<br>
+Went gliding o'er the waters<br>
+In a small birch canoe;<br>
+Just like the white swan<br>
+That glides o'er the tide,<br>
+Young Albon and Amanda<br>
+O'er the waters did ride.</p>
+
+<p>O'er the blue, bubbling water,<br>
+Neath the evergreen trees,<br>
+Young Albon and Amanda<br>
+Did ride at their ease;<br>
+And great was the joy<br>
+When she stepped on the shore<br>
+To embrace her dear father<br>
+And mother once more.</p>
+
+<p>Young Albon, he stood<br>
+And enjoyed their embrace,<br>
+With a sigh in his heart<br>
+And a tear on his face;<br>
+And all that he asked<br>
+Was kindness and food<br>
+From the parents of Amanda<br>
+To the chief of the woods.</p>
+
+<p>Young <span class="pagenum"><a id="page275" name="page275"></a>(p. 275)</span> Amanda is home now,<br>
+As you all know,<br>
+Enjoying the friends<br>
+Of her own native shore;<br>
+Nevermore will she roam<br>
+O'er the hills or the plains;<br>
+She praises the chief<br>
+That loosened her chains.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">JUAN MURRAY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page276" name="page276"></a>(p. 276)</span></p>
+
+<p>My name is Juan Murray, and hard for my fate,<br>
+I was born and raised in Texas, that good old lone star state.<br>
+I have been to many a round-up, boys, have worked on the trail,<br>
+Have stood many a long old guard through the rain, yes, sleet, and hail;<br>
+I have rode the Texas broncos that pitched from morning till noon,<br>
+And have seen many a storm, boys, between sunrise, yes, and noon.</p>
+
+<p>I am a jolly cowboy and have roamed all over the West,<br>
+And among the bronco riders I rank among the best.<br>
+But when I left old Midland, with voice right then I spoke,&mdash;<br>
+"I never will see you again until the day I croak."</p><br>
+
+<p>But since I left old Texas so many sights I have saw<br>
+A-traveling from my native state way out to Mexico,&mdash;<br>
+I am looking all around me and cannot help but smile<br>
+To see my nearest neighbors all in the Mexican style.</p>
+
+<p>I left <span class="pagenum"><a id="page277" name="page277"></a>(p. 277)</span> my home in Texas to dodge the ball and chain.<br>
+In the State of Sonora I will forever remain.<br>
+Farewell to my mother, my friends that are so dear,<br>
+I would like to see you all again, my lonesome heart to cheer.</p>
+
+<p>I have a word to speak, boys, only another to say,&mdash;<br>
+Don't never be a cow-thief, don't never ride a stray;<br>
+Be careful of your line, boys, and keep it on your tree,&mdash;<br>
+Just suit yourself about it, for it is nothing to me.</p>
+
+<p>But if you start to rustling you will come to some sad fate,<br>
+You will have to go to prison and work for the state.<br>
+Don't think that I am lying and trying to tell a joke,<br>
+For the writer has experienced just every word he's spoke.</p>
+
+<p>It is better to be honest and let other's stock alone<br>
+Than to leave your native country and seek a Mexican home.<br>
+For if you start to rustling you will surely come to see<br>
+The State of Sonora,&mdash;be an outcast just like me.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">GREER COUNTY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page278" name="page278"></a>(p. 278)</span></p>
+
+<p>Tom Hight is my name, an old bachelor I am,<br>
+You'll find me out West in the country of fame,<br>
+You'll find me out West on an elegant plain,<br>
+And starving to death on my government claim.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">Hurrah for Greer County!<br>
+    The land of the free,<br>
+    The land of the bed-bug,<br>
+    Grass-hopper and flea;<br>
+    I'll sing of its praises<br>
+    And tell of its fame,<br>
+    While starving to death<br>
+    On my government claim.</p>
+
+<p>My house is built of natural sod,<br>
+Its walls are erected according to hod;<br>
+Its roof has no pitch but is level and plain,<br>
+I always get wet if it happens to rain.</p>
+
+<p>How happy am I on my government claim,<br>
+I've nothing to lose, and nothing to gain;<br>
+I've nothing to eat, I've nothing to wear,&mdash;<br>
+From nothing to nothing is the hardest fare.</p>
+
+<p>How happy am I when I crawl into bed,&mdash;<br>
+A rattlesnake hisses a tune at my head,<br>
+A <span class="pagenum"><a id="page279" name="page279"></a>(p. 279)</span> gay little centipede, all without fear,<br>
+Crawls over my pillow and into my ear.</p>
+
+<p>Now all you claim holders, I hope you will stay<br>
+And chew your hard tack till you're toothless and gray;<br>
+But for myself, I'll no longer remain<br>
+To starve like a dog on my government claim.</p>
+
+<p>My clothes are all ragged as my language is rough,<br>
+My bread is corn dodgers, both solid and tough;<br>
+But yet I am happy, and live at my ease<br>
+On sorghum molasses, bacon, and cheese.</p>
+
+<p>Good-bye to Greer County where blizzards arise,<br>
+Where the sun never sinks and a flea never dies,<br>
+And the wind never ceases but always remains<br>
+Till it starves us all out on our government claims.</p>
+
+<p>Farewell to Greer County, farewell to the West,<br>
+I'll travel back East to the girl I love best,<br>
+I'll travel back to Texas and marry me a wife,<br>
+And quit corn bread for the rest of my life.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">ROSIN THE BOW <span class="pagenum"><a id="page280" name="page280"></a>(p. 280)</span></p>
+
+<p>I live for the good of my nation<br>
+And my sons are all growing low,<br>
+But I hope that my next generation<br>
+Will resemble Old Rosin the Bow.</p>
+
+<p>I have traveled this wide world all over,<br>
+And now to another I'll go,<br>
+For I know that good quarters are waiting<br>
+To welcome Old Rosin the Bow.</p>
+
+<p>The gay round of delights I have traveled,<br>
+Nor will I behind leave a woe,<br>
+For while my companions are jovial<br>
+They'll drink to Old Rosin the Bow.</p>
+
+<p>This life now is drawn to a closing,<br>
+All will at last be so,<br>
+Then we'll take a full bumper at parting<br>
+To the name of Old Rosin the Bow.</p>
+
+<p>When I am laid out on the counter,<br>
+And the people all anxious to know,<br>
+Just raise up the lid of the coffin<br>
+And look at Old Rosin the Bow.</p>
+
+<p>And when through the streets my friends bear me,<br>
+And the ladies are filled with deep woe,<br>
+They'll <span class="pagenum"><a id="page281" name="page281"></a>(p. 281)</span> come to the doors and the windows<br>
+And sigh for Old Rosin the Bow.</p>
+
+<p>Then get some fine, jovial fellows,<br>
+And let them all staggering go;<br>
+Then dig a deep hole in the meadow<br>
+And in it toss Rosin the Bow.</p>
+
+<p>Then get a couple of dornicks,<br>
+Place one at my head and my toe,<br>
+And do not forget to scratch on them,<br>
+"Here lies Old Rosin the Bow."</p>
+
+<p>Then let those same jovial fellows<br>
+Surround my lone grave in a row,<br>
+While they drink from my favorite bottle<br>
+The health of Old Rosin the Bow.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE GREAT ROUND-UP <span class="pagenum"><a id="page282" name="page282"></a>(p. 282)</span></p>
+
+<p>When I think of the last great round-up<br>
+On the eve of eternity's dawn,<br>
+I think of the past of the cowboys<br>
+Who have been with us here and are gone.<br>
+And I wonder if any will greet me<br>
+On the sands of the evergreen shore<br>
+With a hearty, "God bless you, old fellow,"<br>
+That I've met with so often before.</p>
+
+<p>I think of the big-hearted fellows<br>
+Who will divide with you blanket and bread,<br>
+With a piece of stray beef well roasted,<br>
+And charge for it never a red.<br>
+I often look upward and wonder<br>
+If the green fields will seem half so fair,<br>
+If any the wrong trail have taken<br>
+And fail to "be in" over there.</p>
+
+<p>For the trail that leads down to perdition<br>
+Is paved all the way with good deeds,<br>
+But in the great round-up of ages,<br>
+Dear boys, this won't answer your needs.<br>
+But the way to the green pastures, though narrow,<br>
+Leads straight to the home in the sky,<br>
+And Jesus will give you the passports<br>
+To the land of the sweet by and by.</p>
+
+<p>For <span class="pagenum"><a id="page283" name="page283"></a>(p. 283)</span> the Savior has taken the contract<br>
+To deliver all those who believe,<br>
+At the headquarters ranch of his Father,<br>
+In the great range where none can deceive.<br>
+The Inspector will stand at the gateway<br>
+And the herd, one by one, will go by,&mdash;<br>
+The round-up by the angels in judgment<br>
+Must pass 'neath his all-seeing eye.</p>
+
+<p>No maverick or slick will be tallied<br>
+In the great book of life in his home,<br>
+For he knows all the brands and the earmarks<br>
+That down through the ages have come.<br>
+But, along with the tailings and sleepers,<br>
+The strays must turn from the gate;<br>
+No road brand to gain them admission,<br>
+But the awful sad cry "too late."</p>
+
+<p>Yet I trust in the last great round-up<br>
+When the rider shall cut the big herd,<br>
+That the cowboys shall be represented<br>
+In the earmark and brand of the Lord,<br>
+To be shipped to the bright, mystic regions<br>
+Over there in green pastures to lie,<br>
+And led by the crystal still waters<br>
+In that home of the sweet by and by.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE JOLLY COWBOY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page284" name="page284"></a>(p. 284)</span></p>
+
+<p>My lover, he is a cowboy, he's brave and kind and true,<br>
+He rides a Spanish pony, he throws a lasso, too;<br>
+And when he comes to see me our vows we do redeem,<br>
+He throws his arms around me and thus begins to sing:</p>
+
+   <p class="add2em">"Ho, I'm a jolly cowboy, from Texas now I hail,<br>
+    Give me my quirt and pony, I'm ready for the trail;<br>
+    I love the rolling prairies, they're free from care and strife,<br>
+    Behind a herd of longhorns I'll journey all my life.</p>
+
+<p>"When early dawn is breaking and we are far away,<br>
+We fall into our saddles, we round-up all the day;<br>
+We rope, we brand, we ear-mark, I tell you we are smart,<br>
+And when the herd is ready, for Kansas then we start.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I am a Texas cowboy, lighthearted, brave, and free,<br>
+To roam the wide, wide prairie, 'tis always joy to me.<br>
+My <span class="pagenum"><a id="page285" name="page285"></a>(p. 285)</span> trusty little pony is my companion true,<br>
+O'er creeks and hills and rivers he's sure to pull me through.</p>
+
+<p>"When threatening clouds do gather and herded lightnings flash,<br>
+And heavy rain drops splatter, and rolling thunders crash;<br>
+What keeps the herd from running, stampeding far and wide?<br>
+The cowboy's long, low whistle and singing by their side.</p>
+
+<p>"When in Kansas City, our boss he pays us up,<br>
+We loaf around the city and take a parting cup;<br>
+We bid farewell to city life, from noisy crowds we come,<br>
+And back to dear old Texas, the cowboy's native home."</p>
+
+<p>Oh, he is coming back to marry the only girl he loves,<br>
+He says I am his darling, I am his own true love;<br>
+Some day we two will marry and then no more he'll roam,<br>
+But settle down with Mary in a cozy little home.</p>
+
+   <p class="add2em">"Ho, I'm a jolly cowboy, from Texas now I hail,<br>
+    Give me my bond to Mary, I'll quit the Lone Star trail.<br>
+    I <span class="pagenum"><a id="page286" name="page286"></a>(p. 286)</span> love the rolling prairies, they're free from care and strife,<br>
+    But I'll quit the herd of longhorns for the sake of my little wife."</p>
+
+
+<h4>The Texas Cowboy <span class="pagenum"><a id="page287" name="page287"></a>(p. 287)</span><br>
+Mrs. Robert Thomson</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/texascowboy.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/texascowboy.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/texascowboy.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/texascowboy_full.png">
+<img src="images/texascowboy_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="The Texas Cowboy"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE CONVICT <span class="pagenum"><a id="page290" name="page290"></a>(p. 290)</span></p>
+
+<p>When slumbering In my convict cell my childhood days I see,<br>
+When I was mother's little child and knelt at mother's knee.<br>
+There my life was peace, I know, I knew no sorrow or pain.<br>
+Mother dear never did think, I know, I would wear a felon's chain.</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,<br>
+  Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?<br>
+  Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,<br>
+  Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?</p>
+
+<p>When I had grown to manhood and evil paths I trod,<br>
+I learned to scorn my fellow-man and even curse my God;<br>
+And in the evil course I ran for a great length of time<br>
+Till at last I ran too long and was condemned for a felon's crime.</p>
+
+<p>My prison life will soon be o'er, my life will soon be gone,&mdash;<br>
+May <span class="pagenum"><a id="page291" name="page291"></a>(p. 291)</span> the angels waft it heavenward to a bright and happy home.<br>
+I'll be at rest, sweet, sweet rest, there is rest in the heavenly home;<br>
+I'll be at rest, sweet, sweet rest, there is rest in the heavenly home.</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,<br>
+  Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?<br>
+  Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,<br>
+  Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">JACK O' DIAMONDS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page292" name="page292"></a>(p. 292)</span></p>
+
+<p>O Mollie, O Mollie, it is for your sake alone<br>
+That I leave my old parents, my house and my home,<br>
+That I leave my old parents, you caused me to roam,&mdash;<br>
+I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">Jack o' diamonds, Jack o' diamonds,<br>
+  I know you of old,<br>
+  You've robbed my poor pockets<br>
+  Of silver and gold.<br>
+  Whiskey, you villain,<br>
+  You've been my downfall,<br>
+  You've kicked me, you've cuffed me,<br>
+  But I love you for all.</p>
+
+<p>My foot's in my stirrup, my bridle's in my hand,<br>
+I'm going to leave sweet Mollie, the fairest in the land.<br>
+Her parents don't like me, they say I'm too poor,<br>
+They say I'm unworthy to enter her door.</p>
+
+<p>They say I drink whiskey; my money is my own,<br>
+And them that don't like me can leave me alone.<br>
+I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry,<br>
+And when I get thirsty I'll lay down and cry.</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">It's <span class="pagenum"><a id="page293" name="page293"></a>(p. 293)</span> beefsteak when I'm hungry,<br>
+  And whiskey when I'm dry,<br>
+  Greenbacks when I'm hard up,<br>
+  And heaven when I die.<br>
+  Rye whiskey, rye whiskey,<br>
+  Rye whiskey I cry,<br>
+  If I don't get rye whiskey,<br>
+  I surely will die.<br>
+    <span class="add1em">O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before,</span><br>
+    <span class="add1em">Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor.</span></p>
+
+<p>I will build me a big castle on yonder mountain high,<br>
+Where my true love can see me when she comes riding by,<br>
+Where my true love can see me and help me to mourn,&mdash;<br>
+I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.</p>
+
+<p>I'll get up in my saddle, my quirt I'll take in hand,<br>
+I'll think of you, Mollie, when in some far distant land,<br>
+I'll think of you, Mollie, you caused me to roam,&mdash;<br>
+I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">If the ocean was whiskey,<br>
+  And I was a duck,<br>
+  I'd dive to the bottom<br>
+  To get one sweet sup;<br>
+  But the ocean ain't whiskey,<br>
+  And I ain't a duck,<br>
+  So <span class="pagenum"><a id="page294" name="page294"></a>(p. 294)</span> I'll play Jack o' diamonds<br>
+  And then we'll get drunk.<br>
+    <span class="add1em">O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before,</span><br>
+    <span class="add1em">Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor.</span></p>
+
+<p>I've rambled and trambled this wide world around,<br>
+But it's for the rabble army, dear Mollie, I'm bound,<br>
+It is to the rabble army, dear Mollie, I roam,&mdash;<br>
+I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.</p>
+
+<p>I have rambled and gambled all my money away,<br>
+But it's with the rabble army, O Mollie, I must stay,<br>
+It is with the rabble army, O Mollie I must roam,&mdash;<br>
+I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">Jack o' diamonds, Jack o' diamonds,<br>
+  I know you of old,<br>
+  You've robbed my poor pockets<br>
+  Of silver and gold.<br>
+  Rye whiskey, rye whiskey,<br>
+  Rye whiskey I cry,<br>
+  If you don't give me rye whiskey<br>
+  I'll lie down and die.<br>
+    <span class="add1em">O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before,</span><br>
+    <span class="add1em">Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor.</span></p>
+
+
+<h4>Jack o' Diamonds <span class="pagenum"><a id="page295" name="page295"></a>(p. 295)</span></h4>
+
+<p class="center"><a href="music/jackodiamonds.midi">Listen</a> | <a href="finale/jackodiamonds.mus">Download Finale</a>
+| <a href="pdf/jackodiamonds.pdf">View/Download PDF</a></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<a href="images/jackodiamonds_full.png">
+<img src="images/jackodiamonds_tb.png" width="500" height="646" alt="Jack O Diamonds"></a>
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE COWBOY'S MEDITATION <span class="pagenum"><a id="page297" name="page297"></a>(p. 297)</span></p>
+
+<p>At midnight when the cattle are sleeping<br>
+On my saddle I pillow my head,<br>
+And up at the heavens lie peeping<br>
+From out of my cold, grassy bed,&mdash;<br>
+Often and often I wondered<br>
+At night when lying alone<br>
+If every bright star up yonder<br>
+Is a big peopled world like our own.</p>
+
+<p>Are they worlds with their ranges and ranches?<br>
+Do they ring with rough rider refrains?<br>
+Do the cowboys scrap there with Comanches<br>
+And other Red Men of the plains?<br>
+Are the hills covered over with cattle<br>
+In those mystic worlds far, far away?<br>
+Do the ranch-houses ring with the prattle<br>
+Of sweet little children at play?</p>
+
+<p>At night in the bright stars up yonder<br>
+Do the cowboys lie down to their rest?<br>
+Do they gaze at this old world and wonder<br>
+If rough riders dash over its breast?<br>
+Do they list to the wolves in the canyons?<br>
+Do they watch the night owl in its flight,<br>
+With their horse their only companion<br>
+While guarding the herd through the night?</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes <span class="pagenum"><a id="page298" name="page298"></a>(p. 298)</span> when a bright star is twinkling<br>
+Like a diamond set in the sky,<br>
+I find myself lying and thinking,<br>
+It may be God's heaven is nigh.<br>
+I wonder if there I shall meet her,<br>
+My mother whom God took away;<br>
+If in the star-heavens I'll greet her<br>
+At the round-up that's on the last day.</p>
+
+<p>In the east the great daylight is breaking<br>
+And into my saddle I spring;<br>
+The cattle from sleep are awakening,<br>
+The heaven-thoughts from me take wing,<br>
+The eyes of my bronco are flashing,<br>
+Impatient he pulls at the reins,<br>
+And off round the herd I go dashing,<br>
+A reckless cowboy of the plains.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">BILLY VENERO <span class="pagenum"><a id="page299" name="page299"></a>(p. 299)</span></p>
+
+<p>Billy Venero heard them say,<br>
+In an Arizona town one day.<br>
+That a band of Apache Indians were upon the trail of death;<br>
+Heard them tell of murder done,<br>
+Three men killed at Rocky Run,<br>
+"They're in danger at the cow-ranch," said Venero, under breath.</p>
+
+<p>Cow-Ranch, forty miles away,<br>
+Was a little place that lay<br>
+In a deep and shady valley of the mighty wilderness;<br>
+Half a score of homes were there,<br>
+And in one a maiden fair<br>
+Held the heart of Billy Venero, Billy Venero's little Bess.</p>
+
+<p>So no wonder he grew pale<br>
+When he heard the cowboy's tale<br>
+Of the men that he'd seen murdered the day before at Rocky Run.<br>
+"Sure as there's a God above,<br>
+I will save the girl I love;<br>
+By my love for little Bessie I will see that something's done."</p>
+
+<p>Not <span class="pagenum"><a id="page300" name="page300"></a>(p. 300)</span> a moment he delayed<br>
+When his brave resolve was made.<br>
+"Why man," his comrades told him when they heard of his daring plan,<br>
+"You are riding straight to death."<br>
+But he answered, "Save your breath;<br>
+I may never reach the cow-ranch but I'll do the best I can."</p>
+
+<p>As he crossed the alkali<br>
+All his thoughts flew on ahead<br>
+To the little band at cow-ranch thinking not of danger near;<br>
+With his quirt's unceasing whirl<br>
+And the jingle of his spurs<br>
+Little brown Chapo bore the cowboy o'er the far away frontier.</p>
+
+<p>Lower and lower sank the sun;<br>
+He drew rein at Rocky Run;<br>
+"Here those men met death, my Chapo," and he stroked his glossy mane;<br>
+"So shall those we go to warn<br>
+Ere the coming of the morn<br>
+If we fail,&mdash;God help my Bessie," and he started on again.</p>
+
+<p>Sharp and clear a rifle shot<br>
+Woke the echoes of the spot.<br>
+"I <span class="pagenum"><a id="page301" name="page301"></a>(p. 301)</span> am wounded," cried Venero, as he swayed from side to side;<br>
+"While there's life there's always hope;<br>
+Slowly onward I will lope,&mdash;<br>
+If I fail to reach the cow-ranch, Bessie Lee shall know I tried.</p>
+
+<p>"I will save her yet," he cried,<br>
+"Bessie Lee shall know I tried,"<br>
+And for her sake then he halted in the shadow of a hill;<br>
+From his chapareras he took<br>
+With weak hands a little book;<br>
+Tore a blank leaf from its pages saying, "This shall be my will."</p>
+
+<p>From a limb a pen he broke,<br>
+And he dipped his pen of oak<br>
+In the warm blood that was spurting from a wound above his heart.<br>
+"Rouse," he wrote before too late;<br>
+"Apache warriors lie in wait.<br>
+Good-bye, Bess, God bless you darling," and he felt the cold tears start.</p>
+
+<p>Then he made his message fast,<br>
+Love's first message and its last,<br>
+To the saddle horn he tied it and his lips were white with pain,<br>
+"Take this message, if not me,<br>
+Straight <span class="pagenum"><a id="page302" name="page302"></a>(p. 302)</span> to little Bessie Lee;"<br>
+Then he tied himself to the saddle, and he gave his horse the rein.</p>
+
+<p>Just at dusk a horse of brown<br>
+Wet with sweat came panting down<br>
+The little lane at the cow-ranch, stopped in front of Bessie's door;<br>
+But the cowboy was asleep,<br>
+And his slumbers were so deep,<br>
+Little Bess could never wake him though she tried for evermore.</p>
+
+<p>You have heard the story told<br>
+By the young and by the old,<br>
+Away down yonder at the cow-ranch the night the Apaches came;<br>
+Of that sharp and bloody fight,<br>
+How the chief fell in the fight<br>
+And the panic-stricken warriors when they heard Venero's name.</p>
+
+<p>And the heavens and earth between<br>
+Keep a little flower so green<br>
+That little Bess had planted ere they laid her by his side.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">DOGIE SONG <span class="pagenum"><a id="page303" name="page303"></a>(p. 303)</span></p>
+
+<p>The cow-bosses are good-hearted chunks,<br>
+Some short, some heavy, more long;<br>
+But don't matter what he looks like,<br>
+They all sing the same old song.<br>
+On the plains, in the mountains, in the valleys,<br>
+In the south where the days are long,<br>
+The bosses are different fellows;<br>
+Still they sing the same old song.</p>
+
+ <p class="add1em">"Sift along, boys, don't ride so slow;<br>
+  Haven't got much time but a long round to go.<br>
+  Quirt him in the shoulders and rake him down the hip;<br>
+  I've cut you toppy mounts, boys, now pair off and rip.<br>
+  Bunch the herd at the old meet,<br>
+  Then beat 'em on the tail;<br>
+  Whip 'em up and down the sides<br>
+  And hit the shortest trail."</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE BOOZER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page304" name="page304"></a>(p. 304)</span></p>
+
+<p>I'm a howler from the prairies of the West.<br>
+If you want to die with terror, look at me.<br>
+I'm chain-lightning&mdash;if I ain't, may I be blessed.<br>
+I'm the snorter of the boundless prairie.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">He's a killer and a hater!<br>
+    He's the great annihilator!<br>
+    He's a terror of the boundless prairie.</p>
+
+<p>I'm the snoozer from the upper trail!<br>
+I'm the reveler in murder and in gore!<br>
+I can bust more Pullman coaches on the rail<br>
+Than anyone who's worked the job before.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">He's a snorter and a snoozer.<br>
+    He's the great trunk line abuser.<br>
+    He's the man who puts the sleeper on the rail.</p>
+
+<p>I'm the double-jawed hyena from the East.<br>
+I'm the blazing, bloody blizzard of the States.<br>
+I'm the celebrated slugger; I'm the Beast.<br>
+I can snatch a man bald-headed while he waits.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">He's a double-jawed hyena!<br>
+    He's the villain of the scena!<br>
+    He can snatch a man bald-headed while he waits.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">DRINKING SONG <span class="pagenum"><a id="page305" name="page305"></a>(p. 305)</span></p>
+
+<p>Drink that rot gut, drink that rot gut,<br>
+Drink that red eye, boys;<br>
+It don't make a damn wherever we land,<br>
+We hit her up for joy.</p>
+
+<p>We've lived in the saddle and ridden trail,<br>
+Drink old Jordan, boys,<br>
+We'll go whooping and yelling, we'll all go a-helling;<br>
+Drink her to our joy.</p>
+
+<p>Whoop-ee! drink that rot gut, drink that red nose,<br>
+Whenever you get to town;<br>
+Drink it straight and swig it mighty,<br>
+Till the world goes round and round!</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">A FRAGMENT <span class="pagenum"><a id="page306" name="page306"></a>(p. 306)</span></p>
+
+<p>I'd rather hear a rattler rattle,<br>
+I'd rather buck stampeding cattle,<br>
+I'd rather go to a greaser battle,<br>
+Than&mdash;<br>
+Than to&mdash;<br>
+Than to fight&mdash;<br>
+Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans.</p>
+
+<p>I'd rather eat a pan of dope,<br>
+I'd rather ride without a rope,<br>
+I'd rather from this country lope,<br>
+Than&mdash;<br>
+Than to&mdash;<br>
+Than to fight&mdash;<br>
+Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">A MAN NAMED HODS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page307" name="page307"></a>(p. 307)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come, all you old cowpunchers, a story I will tell,<br>
+And if you'll all be quiet, I sure will sing it well;<br>
+And if you boys don't like it, you sure can go to hell.</p>
+
+<p>Back in the day when I was young, I knew a man named Hods;<br>
+He wasn't fit fer nothin' 'cep turnin' up the clods.</p>
+
+<p>But he came west in fifty-three, behind a pair of mules,<br>
+And 'twas hard to tell between the three which was the biggest fools.</p>
+
+<p>Up on the plains old Hods he got and there his trouble began.<br>
+Oh, he sure did get in trouble,&mdash;and old Hodsie wasn't no man.</p>
+
+<p>He met a bunch of Indian bucks led by Geronimo,<br>
+And what them Indians did to him, well, shorely I don't know.</p>
+
+<p>But they lifted off old Hodsie's skelp and left him out to die,<br>
+And if it hadn't been for me, he'd been in the sweet by and by.</p>
+
+<p>But <span class="pagenum"><a id="page308" name="page308"></a>(p. 308)</span> I packed him back to Santa Fé and there I found his mules,<br>
+For them dad-blamed two critters had got the Indians fooled.</p>
+
+<p>I don't know how they done it, but they shore did get away,<br>
+And them two mules is livin' up to this very day.</p>
+
+<p>Old Hodsie's feet got toughened up, he got to be a sport,<br>
+He opened up a gamblin' house and a place of low resort;</p>
+
+<p>He got the prettiest dancing girls that ever could be found,&mdash;<br>
+Them girls' feet was like rubber balls and they never staid on the ground.</p>
+
+<p>And then thar came Billy the Kid, he envied Hodsie's wealth,<br>
+He told old Hods to leave the town, 'twould be better for his health;<br>
+Old Hodsie took the hint and got, but he carried all his wealth.</p>
+
+<p>And he went back to Noo York State with lots of dinero,<br>
+And now they say he's senator, but of that I shore don't know.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">A FRAGMENT <span class="pagenum"><a id="page309" name="page309"></a>(p. 309)</span></p>
+
+<p>I am fur from my sweetheart<br>
+And she is fur from me,<br>
+And when I'll see my sweetheart<br>
+I can't tell when 'twill be.</p>
+
+<p>But I love her just the same,<br>
+No matter where I roam;<br>
+And that there girl will wait fur me<br>
+Whenever I come home.</p>
+
+<p>I've roamed the Texas prairies,<br>
+I've followed the cattle trail,<br>
+I've rid a pitching pony<br>
+Till the hair came off his tail.</p>
+
+<p>I've been to cowboy dances,<br>
+I've kissed the Texas girls,<br>
+But they ain't none what can compare<br>
+With my own sweetheart's curls.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE LONE STAR TRAIL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page310" name="page310"></a>(p. 310)</span></p>
+
+<p>I'm a rowdy cowboy just off the stormy plains,<br>
+My trade is girting saddles and pulling bridle reins.<br>
+Oh, I can tip the lasso, it is with graceful ease;<br>
+I rope a streak of lightning, and ride it where I please.<br>
+My bosses they all like me, they say I am hard to beat;<br>
+I give them the bold standoff, you bet I have got the cheek.<br>
+I always work for wages, my pay I get in gold;<br>
+I am bound to follow the longhorn steer until I am too old.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.</p>
+
+<p>I am a Texas cowboy and I do ride the range;<br>
+My trade is cinches and saddles and ropes and bridle reins;<br>
+With Stetson hat and jingling spurs and leather up to the knees,<br>
+Gray backs as big as chili beans and fighting like hell with fleas.<br>
+And if I had a little stake, I soon would married be,<br>
+But another week and I must go, the boss said so to-day.<br>
+My <span class="pagenum"><a id="page311" name="page311"></a>(p. 311)</span> girl must cheer up courage and choose some other one,<br>
+For I am bound to follow the Lone Star Trail until my race is run.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.</p>
+
+<p>It almost breaks my heart for to have to go away,<br>
+And leave my own little darling, my sweetheart so far away.<br>
+But when I'm out on the Lone Star Trail often I'll think of thee,<br>
+Of my own dear girl, the darling one, the one I would like to see.<br>
+And when I get to a shipping point, I'll get on a little spree<br>
+To drive away the sorrow for the girl that once loved me.<br>
+And though red licker stirs us up we're bound to have our fun,<br>
+And I intend to follow the Lone Star Trail until my race is run.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.</p>
+
+<p>I went up the Lone Star Trail in eighteen eighty-three;<br>
+I fell in love with a pretty miss and she in love with me.<br>
+"When you get to Kansas write and let me know;<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page312" name="page312"></a>(p. 312)</span> if you get in trouble, your bail I'll come and go."<br>
+When I got up in Kansas, I had a pleasant dream;<br>
+I dreamed I was down on Trinity, down on that pleasant stream;<br>
+I dreampt my true love right beside me, she come to go my bail;<br>
+I woke up broken hearted with a yearling by the tail.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.</p>
+
+<p>In came my jailer about nine o'clock,<br>
+A bunch of keys was in his hand, my cell door to unlock,<br>
+Saying, "Cheer up, my prisoner, I heard some voice say<br>
+You're bound to hear your sentence some time to-day."<br>
+In came my mother about ten o'clock,<br>
+Saying, "O my loving Johnny, what sentence have you got?"<br>
+"The jury found me guilty and the judge a-standin' by<br>
+Has sent me down to Huntsville to lock me up and die."</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.</p>
+
+<p>Down come the jailer, just about eleven o'clock,<br>
+With a bunch of keys all in his hand the cell doors to unlock,<br>
+Saying, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page313" name="page313"></a>(p. 313)</span> "Cheer up, my prisoner, I heard the jury say<br>
+Just ten long years in Huntsville you're bound to go and stay."<br>
+Down come my sweetheart, ten dollars in her hand,<br>
+Saying, "Give this to my cowboy, 'tis all that I command;<br>
+O give this to my cowboy and think of olden times,<br>
+Think of the darling that he has left behind."</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">WAY DOWN IN MEXICO <span class="pagenum"><a id="page314" name="page314"></a>(p. 314)</span></p>
+
+<p>O boys, we're goin' far to-night,<br>
+Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!<br>
+We'll take the greasers now in hand<br>
+And drive 'em in the Rio Grande,<br>
+Way down in Mexico.</p>
+
+<p>We'll hang old Santa Anna soon,<br>
+Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!<br>
+And all the greaser soldiers, too,<br>
+To the chune of Yankee Doodle Doo,<br>
+Way down in Mexico.</p>
+
+<p>We'll scatter 'em like flocks of sheep,<br>
+Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!<br>
+We'll mow 'em down with rifle ball<br>
+And plant our flag right on their wall,<br>
+Way down in Mexico.</p>
+
+<p>Old Rough and Ready, he's a trump,<br>
+Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!<br>
+He'll wipe old Santa Anna out<br>
+And put the greasers all to rout,<br>
+Way down in Mexico.</p>
+
+<p>Then we'll march back by and by,<br>
+Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!<br>
+And kiss the gals we left to home<br>
+And never more we'll go and roam,<br>
+Way down in Mexico.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">RATTLESNAKE&mdash;A RANCH HAYING SONG <span class="pagenum"><a id="page315" name="page315"></a>(p. 315)</span></p>
+
+<p>A nice young ma-wa-wan<br>
+Lived on a hi-wi-will;<br>
+A nice young ma-wa-wan,<br>
+For I knew him we-we-well.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!</p>
+
+<p>This nice young ma-wa-wan<br>
+Went out to mo-wo-wow<br>
+To see if he-we-we<br>
+Could make a sho-wo-wow.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!</p>
+
+<p>He scarcely mo-wo-wowed<br>
+Half round the fie-we-wield<br>
+Till up jumped&mdash;come a rattle, come a sna-wa-wake,<br>
+And bit him on the he-we-weel.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!</p>
+
+<p>He laid right dow-we-wown<br>
+Upon the gro-wo-wound<br>
+And shut his ey-wy-wyes<br>
+And looked all aro-wo-wound.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!</p>
+
+<p>"O <span class="pagenum"><a id="page316" name="page316"></a>(p. 316)</span> pappy da-wa-wad,<br>
+Go tell my ga-wa-wal<br>
+That I'm a-goin' ter di-wi-wie,<br>
+For I know I sha-wa-wall."</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!</p>
+
+<p>"O pappy da-wa-wad,<br>
+Go spread the ne-wu-wus;<br>
+And here come Sa-wa-wall<br>
+Without her sho-woo-woos."</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!</p>
+
+<p>"O John, O Joh-wa-wahn,<br>
+Why did you go-wo-wo<br>
+Way down in the mea-we-we-dow<br>
+So far to mo-wo-wow?"</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!</p>
+
+<p>"O Sal, O Sa-wa-wall,<br>
+Why don't you kno-wo-wow<br>
+When the grass gits ri-wi-wipe,<br>
+It must be mo-wo-woed?"</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!</p>
+
+<p>Come all young gir-wi-wirls<br>
+And shed a tea-we-wear<br>
+For <span class="pagenum"><a id="page317" name="page317"></a>(p. 317)</span> this young ma-wa-wan<br>
+That died right he-we-were.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!</p>
+
+<p>Come all young me-we-wen<br>
+And warning ta-wa-wake,<br>
+And don't get bi-wi-wit<br>
+By a rattle sna-wa-wake.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE RAILROAD CORRAL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page318" name="page318"></a>(p. 318)</span></p>
+
+<p>Oh we're up in the morning ere breaking of day,<br>
+The chuck wagon's busy, the flapjacks in play;<br>
+The herd is astir o'er hillside and vale,<br>
+With the night riders rounding them into the trail.<br>
+  <span class="add1em">Oh, come take up your cinches, come shake out your reins;</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">Come wake your old broncho and break for the plains;</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">Come roust out your steers from the long chaparral,</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">For the outfit is off to the railroad corral.</span></p>
+
+<p>The sun circles upward; the steers as they plod<br>
+Are pounding to powder the hot prairie sod;<br>
+And it seems as the dust makes you dizzy and sick<br>
+That we'll never reach noon and the cool, shady creek.<br>
+  <span class="add1em">But tie up your kerchief and ply up your nag;</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">Come dry up your grumbles and try not to lag;</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">Come with your steers from the long chaparral,</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">For we're far on the road to the railroad corral.</span></p>
+
+<p>The afternoon shadows are starting to lean,<br>
+When the chuck wagon sticks in the marshy ravine;<br>
+The herd scatters farther than vision can look,<br>
+For <span class="pagenum"><a id="page319" name="page319"></a>(p. 319)</span> you can bet all true punchers will help out the cook.<br>
+  <span class="add1em">Come shake out your rawhide and snake it up fair;</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">Come break your old broncho to take in his share;</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">Come from your steers in the long chaparral,</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">For 'tis all in the drive to the railroad corral.</span></p>
+
+<p>But the longest of days must reach evening at last,<br>
+The hills all climbed, the creeks all past;<br>
+The tired herd droops in the yellowing light;<br>
+Let them loaf if they will, for the railroad's in sight<br>
+  <span class="add1em">So flap up your holster and snap up your belt,</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">And strap up your saddle whose lap you have felt;</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">Good-bye to the steers from the long chaparral,</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">For there's a town that's a trunk by the railroad corral.</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE SONG OF THE "METIS" TRAPPER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page320" name="page320"></a>(p. 320)</span><br>
+
+<span class="add2em">By Rolette</span></p>
+
+<p>Hurrah for the great white way!<br>
+  <span class="add1em">Hurrah for the dog and sledge!</span><br>
+As we snow-shoe along,<br>
+  <span class="add1em">We give them a song,</span><br>
+With a snap of the whip and an urgent "mush on,"&mdash;<br>
+  <span class="add1em">Hurrah for the great white way! Hurrah!</span></p>
+
+<p>Hurrah for the snow and the ice!<br>
+  <span class="add1em">As we follow the trail,</span><br>
+We call to the dogs with whistle and song,<br>
+  <span class="add1em">And reply to their talk</span><br>
+With only "mush on, mush on"!<br>
+  <span class="add1em">Hurrah for the snow and the ice! Hurrah!</span></p>
+
+<p>Hurrah for the gun and the trap,&mdash;<br>
+  <span class="add1em">As we follow the lines</span><br>
+By the rays of the mystic light<br>
+  <span class="add1em">That flames in the north with banners so bright,</span><br>
+As we list to its swish, swish, swish, through the air all night,<br>
+  <span class="add1em">Hurrah for the gun and the trap! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!</span></p>
+
+<p>Hurrah <span class="pagenum"><a id="page321" name="page321"></a>(p. 321)</span> for the fire and cold!<br>
+  <span class="add1em">As we lie in the robes all night.</span><br>
+And list to the howl of the wolf;<br>
+  <span class="add1em">For we emptied the pot of the tea so hot,</span><br>
+And a king on his throne might envy our lot,&mdash;<br>
+  <span class="add1em">Hurrah for the fire and cold! Hurrah!</span></p>
+
+<p>Hurrah for our black-haired girls,<br>
+  <span class="add1em">Who brave the storms of the mountain heights</span><br>
+And follow us on the great white way;<br>
+  <span class="add1em">For their eyes so bright light the way all right</span><br>
+And guide us to shelter and warmth each night.<br>
+  <span class="add1em">Hurrah for our black-haired girls! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE CAMP FIRE HAS GONE OUT <span class="pagenum"><a id="page322" name="page322"></a>(p. 322)</span></p>
+
+<p>Through progress of the railroads our occupation's gone;<br>
+So we will put ideas into words, our words into a song.<br>
+First comes the cowboy, he is pointed for the west;<br>
+Of all the pioneers I claim the cowboys are the best;<br>
+You will miss him on the round-up, it's gone, his merry shout,&mdash;<br>
+The cowboy has left the country and the campfire has gone out.</p>
+
+<p>There is the freighters, our companions, you've got to leave this land,<br>
+Can't drag your loads for nothing through the gumbo and the sand.<br>
+The railroads are bound to beat you when you do your level best;<br>
+So give it up to the grangers and strike out for the west.<br>
+Bid them all adieu and give the merry shout,&mdash;<br>
+The cowboy has left the country and the campfire has gone out.</p>
+
+<p>When I think of those good old days, my eyes with tears do fill;<br>
+When <span class="pagenum"><a id="page323" name="page323"></a>(p. 323)</span> I think of the tin can by the fire and the cayote on the hill.<br>
+I'll tell you, boys, in those days old-timers stood a show,&mdash;<br>
+Our pockets full of money, not a sorrow did we know.<br>
+But things have changed now, we are poorly clothed and fed.<br>
+Our wagons are all broken and our ponies most all dead.<br>
+Soon we will leave this country, you'll hear the angels shout,<br>
+"Oh, here they come to Heaven, the campfire has gone out."</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">NIGHT-HERDING SONG <span class="pagenum"><a id="page324" name="page324"></a>(p. 324)</span><br>
+
+<span class="add2em">By Harry Stephens</span></p>
+
+<p>Oh, slow up, dogies, quit your roving round,<br>
+You have wandered and tramped all over the ground;<br>
+Oh, graze along, dogies, and feed kinda slow,<br>
+And don't forever be on the go,&mdash;<br>
+Oh, move slow, dogies, move slow.</p>
+
+<p>Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.</p>
+
+<p>I have circle-herded, trail-herded, night-herded, and cross-herded, too,<br>
+But to keep you together, that's what I can't do;<br>
+My horse is leg weary and I'm awful tired,<br>
+But if I let you get away I'm sure to get fired,&mdash;<br>
+Bunch up, little dogies, bunch up.</p>
+
+<p>Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.</p>
+
+<p>O say, little dogies, when you goin' to lay down<br>
+And quit this forever siftin' around?<br>
+My limbs are weary, my seat is sore;<br>
+Oh, lay down, dogies, like you've laid before,&mdash;<br>
+Lay down, little dogies, lay down.</p>
+
+<p>Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page325" name="page325"></a>(p. 325)</span> lay still, dogies, since you have laid down,<br>
+Stretch away out on the big open ground;<br>
+Snore loud, little dogies, and drown the wild sound<br>
+That will all go away when the day rolls round,&mdash;<br>
+Lay still, little dogies, lay still.</p>
+
+<p>Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.<br>
+.   .   .   .   .   .</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">TAIL PIECE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page326" name="page326"></a>(p. 326)</span></p>
+
+<p>Oh, the cow-puncher loves the whistle of his rope,<br>
+As he races over the plains;<br>
+And the stage-driver loves the popper of his whip,<br>
+And the rattle of his concord chains;<br>
+And we'll all pray the Lord that we will be saved,<br>
+And we'll keep the golden rule;<br>
+But I'd rather be home with the girl I love<br>
+Than to monkey with this goddamn'd mule.<br>
+.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE HABIT<a id="footnotetag5" name="footnotetag5"></a><a href="#footnote5">[5]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a id="page327" name="page327"></a>(p. 327)</span></p>
+
+<p>I've beat my way wherever any winds have blown,<br>
+I've bummed along from Portland down to San Antone,<br>
+From Sandy Hook to Frisco, over gulch and hill;<br>
+For once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still.</p>
+
+<p>I settles down quite frequent and I says, says I,<br>
+"I'll never wander further till I comes to die."<br>
+But the wind it sorta chuckles, "Why, o' course you will,"<br>
+And shure enough I does it, cause I can't keep still.</p>
+
+<p>I've seed a lot o' places where I'd like to stay,<br>
+But I gets a feelin' restless and I'm on my way.<br>
+I was never meant for settin' on my own door sill,<br>
+And once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still.</p>
+
+<p>I've been in rich men's houses and I've been in jail,<br>
+But when it's time for leavin', I jes hits the trail;<br>
+I'm a human bird of passage, and the song I trill,<br>
+Is, "Once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still."</p>
+
+<p>The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page328" name="page328"></a>(p. 328)</span> sun is sorta coaxin' and the road is clear<br>
+And the wind is singin' ballads that I got to hear.<br>
+It ain't no use to argue when you feel the thrill;<br>
+For once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">OLD PAINT<a id="footnotetag6" name="footnotetag6"></a><a href="#footnote6">[6]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a id="page329" name="page329"></a>(p. 329)</span></p>
+
+<p>REFRAIN:<br>
+Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne,<br>
+Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>My foot in the stirrup, my pony won't stand;<br>
+Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.</p>
+
+<p>I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne, I'm off for Montan';<br>
+Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.</p>
+
+<p>I'm a ridin' Old Paint, I'm a-leadin' old Fan;<br>
+Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.</p>
+
+<p>With my feet in the stirrups, my bridle in my hand;<br>
+Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.</p>
+
+<p>Old Paint's a good pony, he paces when he can;<br>
+Goodbye, little Annie, I'm off for Cheyenne.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, hitch up your horses and feed 'em some hay,<br>
+And seat yourself by me so long as you stay.</p>
+
+<p>My <span class="pagenum"><a id="page330" name="page330"></a>(p. 330)</span> horses ain't hungry, they'll not eat your hay;<br>
+My wagon is loaded and rolling away.</p>
+
+<p>My foot in my stirrup, my reins in my hand;<br>
+Good-morning, young lady, my horses won't stand.</p>
+
+<p>Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.<br>
+Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">DOWN SOUTH ON THE RIO GRANDE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page331" name="page331"></a>(p. 331)</span></p>
+
+<p>From way down south on the Rio Grande,<br>
+Roll on steers for the Post Oak Sand,&mdash;<br>
+Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.</p>
+
+<p>You'd laugh fur to see that fellow a-straddle<br>
+Of a mustang mare on a raw-hide saddle,&mdash;<br>
+Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.</p>
+
+<p>Rich as a king, and he wouldn't be bigger<br>
+Fur a pitchin' hoss and a lame old nigger,&mdash;<br>
+Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.</p>
+
+<p>Ole Abe kep' gettin' bigger an' bigger,<br>
+'Til he bust hisself 'bout a lame old nigger,&mdash;<br>
+Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.</p>
+
+<p>Old Jeff swears he'll sew him together<br>
+With powder and shot instead of leather,&mdash;<br>
+Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.</p>
+
+<p>Kin cuss an' fight an' hold or free 'em,<br>
+But I know them mavericks when I see 'em,&mdash;<br>
+Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">SILVER JACK<a id="footnotetag7" name="footnotetag7"></a><a href="#footnote7">[7]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a id="page332" name="page332"></a>(p. 332)</span></p>
+
+<p>I was on the drive in eighty<br>
+Working under Silver Jack,<br>
+Which the same is now in Jackson<br>
+And ain't soon expected back,<br>
+And there was a fellow 'mongst us<br>
+By the name of Robert Waite;<br>
+Kind of cute and smart and tonguey<br>
+Guess he was a graduate.</p>
+
+<p>He could talk on any subject<br>
+From the Bible down to Hoyle,<br>
+And his words flowed out so easy,<br>
+Just as smooth and slick as oil,<br>
+He was what they call a skeptic,<br>
+And he loved to sit and weave<br>
+Hifalutin' words together<br>
+Tellin' what he didn't believe.</p>
+
+<p>One day we all were sittin' round<br>
+Smokin' nigger head tobacco<br>
+And hearing Bob expound;<br>
+Hell, he said, was all a humbug,<br>
+And he made it plain as day<br>
+That the Bible was a fable;<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page333" name="page333"></a>(p. 333)</span> we lowed it looked that way.<br>
+Miracles and such like<br>
+Were too rank for him to stand,<br>
+And as for him they called the Savior<br>
+He was just a common man.</p>
+
+<p>"You're a liar," someone shouted,<br>
+"And you've got to take it back."<br>
+Then everybody started,&mdash;<br>
+'Twas the words of Silver Jack.<br>
+And he cracked his fists together<br>
+And he stacked his duds and cried,<br>
+"'Twas in that thar religion<br>
+That my mother lived and died;<br>
+And though I haven't always<br>
+Used the Lord exactly right,<br>
+Yet when I hear a chump abuse him<br>
+He's got to eat his words or fight."</p>
+
+<p>Now, this Bob he weren't no coward<br>
+And he answered bold and free:<br>
+"Stack your duds and cut your capers,<br>
+For there ain't no flies on me."<br>
+And they fit for forty minutes<br>
+And the crowd would whoop and cheer<br>
+When Jack spit up a tooth or two,<br>
+Or when Bobby lost an ear.</p>
+
+<p>But at last Jack got him under<br>
+And he slugged him onct or twict,<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page334" name="page334"></a>(p. 334)</span> straightway Bob admitted<br>
+The divinity of Christ.<br>
+But Jack kept reasoning with him<br>
+Till the poor cuss gave a yell<br>
+And lowed he'd been mistaken<br>
+In his views concerning hell.</p>
+
+<p>Then the fierce encounter ended<br>
+And they riz up from the ground<br>
+And someone brought a bottle out<br>
+And kindly passed it round.<br>
+And we drank to Bob's religion<br>
+In a cheerful sort o' way,<br>
+But the spread of infidelity<br>
+Was checked in camp that day.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE COWBOY'S CHRISTMAS BALL<a id="footnotetag8" name="footnotetag8"></a><a href="#footnote8">[8]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a id="page335" name="page335"></a>(p. 335)</span></p>
+
+<p>Way out in Western Texas, where the Clear Fork's waters flow,<br>
+Where the cattle are a-browzin' and the Spanish ponies grow;<br>
+Where the Northers come a-whistlin' from beyond the Neutral Strip;<br>
+And the prairie dogs are sneezin', as though they had the grip;<br>
+Where the coyotes come a-howlin' round the ranches after dark,<br>
+And the mockin' birds are singin' to the lovely medder lark;<br>
+Where the 'possum and the badger and the rattlesnakes abound,<br>
+And the monstrous stars are winkin' o'er a wilderness profound;<br>
+Where lonesome, tawny prairies melt into airy streams,<br>
+While <span class="pagenum"><a id="page336" name="page336"></a>(p. 336)</span> the Double Mountains slumber in heavenly kinds of dreams;<br>
+Where the antelope is grazin' and the lonely plovers call,&mdash;<br>
+It was there I attended the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.</p>
+
+<p>The town was Anson City, old Jones' county seat,<br>
+Where they raised Polled Angus cattle and waving whiskered wheat;<br>
+Where the air is soft and bammy and dry and full of health,<br>
+Where the prairies is explodin' with agricultural wealth;<br>
+Where they print the <i>Texas Western</i>, that Hec McCann supplies<br>
+With news and yarns and stories, of most amazing size;<br>
+Where Frank Smith "pulls the badger" on knowing tenderfeet,<br>
+And Democracy's triumphant and mighty hard to beat;<br>
+Where lives that good old hunter, John Milsap, from Lamar,<br>
+Who used to be the sheriff "back east in Paris, sah"!<br>
+'Twas there, I say, at Anson with the lovely Widder Wall,<br>
+That I went to that reception, the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.</p>
+
+<p>The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page337" name="page337"></a>(p. 337)</span> boys had left the ranches and come to town in piles;<br>
+The ladies, kinder scatterin', had gathered in for miles.<br>
+And yet the place was crowded, as I remember well,<br>
+'Twas gave on this occasion at the Morning Star Hotel.<br>
+The music was a fiddle and a lively tambourine,<br>
+And a viol came imported, by the stage from Abilene.<br>
+The room was togged out gorgeous&mdash;with mistletoe and shawls,<br>
+And the candles flickered festious, around the airy walls.<br>
+The wimmen folks looked lovely&mdash;the boys looked kinder treed,<br>
+Till the leader commenced yelling, "Whoa, fellers, let's stampede,"<br>
+And the music started sighing and a-wailing through the hall<br>
+As a kind of introduction to the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.</p>
+
+<p>The leader was a feller that came from Swenson's ranch,&mdash;<br>
+They called him Windy Billy from Little Deadman's Branch.<br>
+His rig was kinder keerless,&mdash;big spurs and high heeled boots;<br>
+He had the reputation that comes when fellers shoots.<br>
+His <span class="pagenum"><a id="page338" name="page338"></a>(p. 338)</span> voice was like the bugle upon the mountain height;<br>
+His feet were animated, and a mighty movin' sight,<br>
+When he commenced to holler, "Now fellers, shake your pen!<br>
+Lock horns ter all them heifers and rustle them like men;<br>
+Saloot yer lovely critters; neow swing and let 'em go;<br>
+Climb the grapevine round 'em; neow all hands do-ce-do!<br>
+You maverick, jine the round-up,&mdash;jes skip the waterfall,"<br>
+Huh! hit was getting active, the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.</p>
+
+<p>The boys was tolerable skittish, the ladies powerful neat,<br>
+That old bass viol's music just got there with both feet!<br>
+That wailin', frisky fiddle, I never shall forget;<br>
+And Windy kept a-singin'&mdash;I think I hear him yet&mdash;<br>
+"Oh, X's, chase yer squirrels, and cut 'em to our side;<br>
+Spur Treadwell to the center, with Cross P Charley's bride,<br>
+Doc Hollis down the center, and twine the ladies' chain,<br>
+Van Andrews, pen the fillies in big T Diamond's train.<br>
+All <span class="pagenum"><a id="page339" name="page339"></a>(p. 339)</span> pull your freight together, neow swallow fork and change;<br>
+Big Boston, lead the trail herd through little Pitchfork's range.<br>
+Purr round yer gentle pussies, neow rope and balance all!"<br>
+Huh! Hit were gettin' active&mdash;the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.</p>
+
+<p>The dust riz fast and furious; we all jes galloped round,<br>
+Till the scenery got so giddy that T Bar Dick was downed.<br>
+We buckled to our partners and told 'em to hold on,<br>
+Then shook our hoofs like lightning until the early dawn.<br>
+Don't tell me 'bout cotillions, or germans. No sir-ee!<br>
+That whirl at Anson City jes takes the cake with me.<br>
+I'm sick of lazy shufflin's, of them I've had my fill,<br>
+Give me a frontier break-down backed up by Windy Bill.<br>
+McAllister ain't nowhere, when Windy leads the show;<br>
+I've seen 'em both in harness and so I ought ter know.<br>
+Oh, Bill, I shan't forget yer, and I oftentimes recall<br>
+That lively gaited sworray&mdash;the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">PINTO <span class="pagenum"><a id="page340" name="page340"></a>(p. 340)</span></p>
+
+<p>I am a vaquero by trade;<br>
+To handle my rope I'm not afraid.<br>
+I lass' an <i>otero</i> by the two horns<br>
+Throw down the biggest that ever was born.<br>
+Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!</p>
+
+<p>My name to you I will not tell;<br>
+For what's the use, you know me so well.<br>
+The girls all love me, and cry<br>
+When I leave them to join the rodero.<br>
+Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!</p>
+
+<p>I am a vaquero, and here I reside;<br>
+Show me the broncho I cannot ride.<br>
+They say old Pinto with one split ear<br>
+Is the hardest jumping broncho on the rodero.<br>
+Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!</p>
+
+<p>There strayed to our camp an iron gray colt;<br>
+The boys were all fraid him so on him I bolt.<br>
+You bet I stayed with him till cheer after cheer,&mdash;<br>
+"He's the broncho twister that's on the rodero."<br>
+Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!</p>
+
+<p>My <span class="pagenum"><a id="page341" name="page341"></a>(p. 341)</span> story is ended, old Pinto is dead;<br>
+I'm going down Laredo and paint the town red.<br>
+I'm going up to Laredo and set up the beer<br>
+To all the cowboys that's on the rodero.<br>
+Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE GAL I LEFT BEHIND ME <span class="pagenum"><a id="page342" name="page342"></a>(p. 342)</span></p>
+
+<p>I struck the trail in seventy-nine,<br>
+The herd strung out behind me;<br>
+As I jogged along my mind ran back<br>
+For the gal I left behind me.<br>
+    <span class="add2em">That sweet little gal, that true little gal,</span><br>
+    <span class="add2em">The gal I left behind me!</span></p>
+
+<p>If ever I get off the trail<br>
+And the Indians they don't find me,<br>
+I'll make my way straight back again<br>
+To the gal I left behind me.<br>
+    <span class="add2em">That sweet little gal, that true little gal,</span><br>
+    <span class="add2em">The gal I left behind me!</span></p>
+
+<p>The wind did blow, the rain did flow,<br>
+The hail did fall and blind me;<br>
+I thought of that gal, that sweet little gal,<br>
+That gal I'd left behind me!<br>
+    <span class="add2em">That sweet little gal, that true little gal,</span><br>
+    <span class="add2em">The gal I left behind me!</span></p>
+
+<p>She wrote ahead to the place I said,<br>
+I was always glad to find it.<br>
+She says, "I am true, when you get through<br>
+Right back here you will find me."<br>
+    <span class="add2em">That <span class="pagenum"><a id="page343" name="page343"></a>(p. 343)</span> sweet little gal, that true little gal,</span><br>
+    <span class="add2em">The gal I left behind me!</span></p>
+
+<p>When we sold out I took the train,<br>
+I knew where I would find her;<br>
+When I got back we had a smack<br>
+And that was no gol-darned liar.<br>
+    <span class="add2em">That sweet little gal, that true little gal,</span><br>
+    <span class="add2em">The gal I left behind me!</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">BILLY THE KID <span class="pagenum"><a id="page344" name="page344"></a>(p. 344)</span></p>
+
+<p>Billy was a bad man<br>
+And carried a big gun,<br>
+He was always after Greasers<br>
+And kept 'em on the run.</p>
+
+<p>He shot one every morning,<br>
+For to make his morning meal.<br>
+And let a white man sass him,<br>
+He was shore to feel his steel.</p>
+
+<p>He kept folks in hot water,<br>
+And he stole from many a stage;<br>
+And when he was full of liquor<br>
+He was always in a rage.</p>
+
+<p>But one day he met a man<br>
+Who was a whole lot badder.<br>
+And now he's dead,<br>
+And we ain't none the sadder.</p>
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE HELL-BOUND TRAIN <span class="pagenum"><a id="page345" name="page345"></a>(p. 345)</span></p>
+
+<p>A Texas cowboy lay down on a bar-room floor.<br>
+Having drunk so much he could drink no more;<br>
+So he fell asleep with a troubled brain<br>
+To dream that he rode on a hell-bound train.</p>
+
+<p>The engine with murderous blood was damp<br>
+And was brilliantly lit with a brimstone lamp;<br>
+An imp, for fuel, was shoveling bones,<br>
+While the furnace rang with a thousand groans.</p>
+
+<p>The boiler was filled with lager beer<br>
+And the devil himself was the engineer;<br>
+The passengers were a most motley crew,&mdash;<br>
+Church member, atheist, Gentile, and Jew,</p>
+
+<p>Rich men in broadcloth, beggars in rags,<br>
+Handsome young ladies, and withered old hags,<br>
+Yellow and black men, red, brown, and white.<br>
+All chained together,&mdash;O God, what a sight!</p>
+
+<p>While the train rushed on at an awful pace,<br>
+The sulphurous fumes scorched their hands and face;<br>
+Wider and wider the country grew,<br>
+As faster and faster the engine flew.</p>
+
+<p>Louder <span class="pagenum"><a id="page346" name="page346"></a>(p. 346)</span> and louder the thunder crashed<br>
+And brighter and brighter the lightning flashed;<br>
+Hotter and hotter the air became<br>
+Till the clothes were burnt from each quivering frame.</p>
+
+<p>And out of the distance there arose a yell,<br>
+"Ha, ha," said the devil, "we're nearing hell!"<br>
+Then oh, how the passengers all shrieked with pain<br>
+And begged the devil to stop the train.</p>
+
+<p>But he capered about and danced for glee<br>
+And laughed and joked at their misery.<br>
+"My faithful friends, you have done the work<br>
+And the devil never can a payday shirk.</p>
+
+<p>"You've bullied the weak, you've robbed the poor;<br>
+The starving brother you've turned from the door,<br>
+You've laid up gold where the canker rust,<br>
+And have given free vent to your beastly lust.</p>
+
+<p>"You've justice scorned, and corruption sown,<br>
+And trampled the laws of nature down.<br>
+You have drunk, rioted, cheated, plundered, and lied,<br>
+And mocked at God in your hell-born pride.</p>
+
+<p>"You have paid full fare so I'll carry you through;<br>
+For it's only right you should have your due.<br>
+Why, the laborer always expects his hire,<br>
+So I'll land you safe in the lake of fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Where <span class="pagenum"><a id="page347" name="page347"></a>(p. 347)</span> your flesh will waste in the flames that roar,<br>
+And my imps torment you forever more."<br>
+Then the cowboy awoke with an anguished cry,<br>
+His clothes wet with sweat and his hair standing high.</p>
+
+<p>Then he prayed as he never had prayed till that hour<br>
+To be saved from his sin and the demon's power.<br>
+And his prayers and his vows were not in vain;<br>
+For he never rode the hell-bound train.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT <span class="pagenum"><a id="page348" name="page348"></a>(p. 348)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all of you, my brother scouts,<br>
+And listen to my song;<br>
+Come, let us sing together<br>
+Though the shadows fall so long.</p>
+
+<p>Of all the old frontiersmen<br>
+That used to scour the plain<br>
+There are but very few of them<br>
+That with us yet remain.</p>
+
+<p>Day after day they're dropping off,<br>
+They're going one by one;<br>
+Our clan is fast decreasing,<br>
+Our race is almost run.</p>
+
+<p>There are many of our number<br>
+That never wore the blue,<br>
+But faithfully they did their part<br>
+As brave men, tried and true.</p>
+
+<p>They never joined the army,<br>
+But had other work to do<br>
+In piloting the coming folks,<br>
+To help them safely through.</p>
+
+<p>But <span class="pagenum"><a id="page349" name="page349"></a>(p. 349)</span> brothers, we are failing,<br>
+Our race is almost run;<br>
+The days of elk and buffalo<br>
+And beaver traps are gone&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Oh, the days of elk and buffalo!<br>
+It fills my heart with pain<br>
+To know these days are past and gone<br>
+To never come again.</p>
+
+<p>We fought the red-skin rascals<br>
+Over valley, hill, and plain;<br>
+We fought him in the mountain top,<br>
+We fought him down again.</p>
+
+<p>These fighting days are over.<br>
+The Indian yell resounds<br>
+No more along the border;<br>
+Peace sends far sweeter sounds.</p>
+
+<p>But we found great joy, old comrades,<br>
+To hear and make it die;<br>
+We won bright homes for gentle ones,<br>
+And now, our West, good-bye.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE DESERTED ADOBE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page350" name="page350"></a>(p. 350)</span></p>
+
+<p>Round the 'dobe rank sands are thickly blowin',<br>
+Its ridges fill the deserted field;<br>
+Yet on this claim young lives once hope were sowing<br>
+For all the years might yield;<br>
+And in strong hands the echoing hoof pursuin'<br>
+A wooden share turned up the sod,<br>
+The toiler brave drank deep the fresh air's brewin'<br>
+And sang content to God.<br>
+  <span class="add1em">The toiler brave drank deep the fresh air's brewin'</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">And sang content to God.</span></p>
+
+<p>A woman fair and sweet has smilin' striven<br>
+Through long and lonesome hours;<br>
+A blue-eyed babe, a bit of earthly heaven,<br>
+Laughed at the sun's hot towers;<br>
+A bow of promise made this desert splendid,<br>
+This 'dobe was their pride.<br>
+But what began so well, alas, has ended&mdash;,<br>
+The promise died.<br>
+  <span class="add1em">But what began so well alas soon ended&mdash;,</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">The promise died.</span></p>
+
+<p>Their plans and dreams, their cheerful labor wasted<br>
+In dry and mis-spent years;<br>
+The spring was sweet, the summer bitter tasted,<br>
+The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page351" name="page351"></a>(p. 351)</span> autumn salt with tears.<br>
+Now "gyp" and sand do hide their one-time yearnin';<br>
+'Twas theirs; 'tis past.<br>
+God's ways are strange, we take so long in learnin',<br>
+To fail at last.<br>
+  <span class="add1em">God's ways are strange, we take so long in learnin',</span><br>
+  <span class="add1em">To fail at last.</span></p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE COWBOY AT WORK <span class="pagenum"><a id="page352" name="page352"></a>(p. 352)</span></p>
+
+<p>You may call the cowboy horned and think him hard to tame,<br>
+You may heap vile epithets upon his head;<br>
+But to know him is to like him, notwithstanding his hard name,<br>
+For he will divide with you his beef and bread.</p>
+
+<p>If you see him on his pony as he scampers o'er the plain,<br>
+You would think him wild and woolly, to be sure;<br>
+But his heart is warm and tender when he sees a friend in need,<br>
+Though his education is but to endure.</p>
+
+<p>When the storm breaks in its fury and the lightning's vivid flash<br>
+Makes you thank the Lord for shelter and for bed,<br>
+Then it is he mounts his pony and away you see him dash,<br>
+No protection but the hat upon his head.</p>
+
+<p>Such is life upon a cow ranch, and the half was never told;<br>
+But you never find a kinder-hearted set<br>
+Than <span class="pagenum"><a id="page353" name="page353"></a>(p. 353)</span> the cattleman at home, be he either young or old,<br>
+He's a "daisy from away back," don't forget.</p>
+
+<p>When you fail to find a pony or a cow that's gone a-stray,<br>
+Be that cow or pony wild or be it tame,<br>
+The cowboy, like the drummer,&mdash;and the bed-bug, too, they say,&mdash;<br>
+Brings him to you, for he gets there just the same.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">HERE'S TO THE RANGER! <span class="pagenum"><a id="page354" name="page354"></a>(p. 354)</span></p>
+
+<p>He leaves unplowed his furrow,<br>
+He leaves his books unread<br>
+For a life of tented freedom<br>
+By lure of danger led.<br>
+He's first in the hour of peril,<br>
+He's gayest in the dance,<br>
+Like the guardsman of old England<br>
+Or the beau sabreur of France.</p>
+
+<p>He stands our faithful bulwark<br>
+Against our savage foe;<br>
+Through lonely woodland places<br>
+Our children come and go;<br>
+Our flocks and herds untended<br>
+O'er hill and valley roam,<br>
+The Ranger in the saddle<br>
+Means peace for us at home.</p>
+
+<p>Behold our smiling farmsteads<br>
+Where waves the golden grain!<br>
+Beneath yon tree, earth's bosom<br>
+Was dark with crimson stain.<br>
+That bluff the death-shot echoed<br>
+Of husband, father, slain!<br>
+God <span class="pagenum"><a id="page355" name="page355"></a>(p. 355)</span> grant such sight of horror<br>
+We never see again!</p>
+
+<p>The gay and hardy Ranger,<br>
+His blanket on the ground,<br>
+Lies by the blazing camp-fire<br>
+While song and tale goes round;<br>
+And if one voice is silent,<br>
+One fails to hear the jest,<br>
+They know his thoughts are absent<br>
+With her who loves him best.</p>
+
+<p>Our state, her sons confess it,<br>
+That queenly, star-crowned brow,<br>
+Has darkened with the shadow<br>
+Of lawlessness ere now;<br>
+And men of evil passions<br>
+On her reproach have laid,<br>
+But that the ready Ranger<br>
+Rode promptly to her aid.</p>
+
+<p>He may not win the laurel<br>
+Nor trumpet tongue of fame;<br>
+But beauty smiles upon him,<br>
+And ranchmen bless his name.<br>
+Then here's to the Texas Ranger,<br>
+Past, present and to come!<br>
+Our safety from the savage,<br>
+The guardian of our home.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">MUSTER OUT THE RANGER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page356" name="page356"></a>(p. 356)</span></p>
+
+<p>Yes, muster them out, the valiant band<br>
+That guards our western home.<br>
+What matter to you in your eastern land<br>
+If the raiders here should come?<br>
+No danger that you shall awake at night<br>
+To the howls of a savage band;<br>
+So muster them out, though the morning light<br>
+Find havoc on every hand.</p>
+
+<p>Some dear one is sick and the horses all gone,<br>
+So we can't for a doctor send;<br>
+The outlaws were in in the light of the morn<br>
+And no Rangers here to defend.<br>
+For they've mustered them out, the brave true band,<br>
+Untiring by night and day.<br>
+The fearless scouts of this border land<br>
+Made the taxes high, they say.</p>
+
+<p>Have fewer men in the capitol walls,<br>
+Fewer tongues in the war of words,<br>
+But add to the Rangers, the living wall<br>
+That keeps back the bandit hordes.<br>
+Have fewer dinners, less turtle soup,<br>
+If the taxes are too high.<br>
+There <span class="pagenum"><a id="page357" name="page357"></a>(p. 357)</span> are many other and better ways<br>
+To lower them if they try.</p>
+
+<p>Don't waste so much of your money<br>
+Printing speeches people don't read.<br>
+If you'd only take off what's used for that<br>
+'Twould lower the tax indeed.<br>
+Don't use so much sugar and lemons;<br>
+Cold water is just as good<br>
+For a constant drink in the summer time<br>
+And better for the blood.</p>
+
+<p>But leave us the Rangers to guard us still,<br>
+Nor think that they cost too dear;<br>
+For their faithful watch over vale and hill<br>
+Gives our loved ones naught to fear.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">A COW CAMP ON THE RANGE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page358" name="page358"></a>(p. 358)</span></p>
+
+<p>Oh, the prairie dogs are screaming,<br>
+And the birds are on the wing,<br>
+See the heel fly chase the heifer, boys!<br>
+'Tis the first class sign of spring.<br>
+The elm wood is budding,<br>
+The earth is turning green.<br>
+See the pretty things of nature<br>
+That make life a pleasant dream!</p>
+
+<p>I'm just living through the winter<br>
+To enjoy the coming change,<br>
+For there is no place so homelike<br>
+As a cow camp on the range.<br>
+The boss is smiling radiant,<br>
+Radiant as the setting sun;<br>
+For he knows he's stealing glories,<br>
+For he ain't a-cussin' none.</p>
+
+<p>The cook is at the chuck-box<br>
+Whistling "Heifers in the Green,"<br>
+Making baking powder biscuits, boys,<br>
+While the pot is biling beans.<br>
+The boys untie their bedding<br>
+And unroll it on the run,<br>
+For <span class="pagenum"><a id="page359" name="page359"></a>(p. 359)</span> they are in a monstrous hurry<br>
+For the supper's almost done.</p>
+
+<p>"Here's your bloody wolf bait,"<br>
+Cried the cook's familiar voice<br>
+As he climbed the wagon wheel<br>
+To watch the cowboys all rejoice.<br>
+Then all thoughts were turned from reverence<br>
+To a plate of beef and beans,<br>
+As we graze on beef and biscuits<br>
+Like yearlings on the range.</p>
+
+<p>To the dickens with your city<br>
+Where they herd the brainless brats,<br>
+On a range so badly crowded<br>
+There ain't room to cuss the cat.<br>
+This life is not so sumptuous,<br>
+I'm not longing for a change,<br>
+For there is no place so homelike<br>
+As a cow camp on the range.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">FRECKLES. A FRAGMENT <span class="pagenum"><a id="page360" name="page360"></a>(p. 360)</span></p>
+
+<p>He was little an' peaked an' thin, an' narry a no account horse,&mdash;<br>
+Least that's the way you'd describe him in case that the beast had been lost;<br>
+But, for single and double cussedness an' for double fired sin,<br>
+The horse never came out o' Texas that was half-way knee-high to him!</p>
+
+<p>The first time that ever I saw him was nineteen years ago last spring;<br>
+'Twas the year we had grasshoppers, that come an' et up everything,<br>
+That a feller rode up here one evenin' an' wanted to pen over night<br>
+A small bunch of horses, he said; an' I told him I guessed 'twas all right.</p>
+
+<p>Well, the feller was busted, the horses was thin, an' the grass round here kind of good,<br>
+An' he said if I'd let him hold here a few days he'd settle with me when he could.<br>
+So <span class="pagenum"><a id="page361" name="page361"></a>(p. 361)</span> I told him all right, turn them loose down the draw, that the latch string was always untied,<br>
+He was welcome to stop a few days if he wished and rest from his weary ride.</p>
+
+<p>Well, the cuss stayed around for two or three weeks, till at last he was ready to go;<br>
+And that cuss out yonder bein' too poor to move, he gimme,&mdash;the cuss had no dough.<br>
+Well, at first the darn brute was as wild as a deer, an' would snort when he came to the branch,<br>
+An' it took two cow punchers, on good horses, too, to handle him here at the ranch.</p>
+
+<p>Well, the winter came on an' the range it got hard, an' my mustang commenced to get thin,<br>
+So I fed him some an' rode him around, an' found out old Freckles was game.<br>
+For that was what the other cuss called him,&mdash;just Freckles, no more or no less,&mdash;<br>
+His color,&mdash;couldn't describe it,&mdash;something like a paint shop in distress.</p>
+
+<p>Them was Indian times, young feller, that I am telling about;<br>
+An' oft's the time I've seen the red man fight an' put the boys to rout.<br>
+A good horse in them days, young feller, would save your life,&mdash;<br>
+One that in any race could hold the pace when the red-skin bands were rife.</p>
+
+<hr class="small">
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">WHOSE OLD COW? <span class="pagenum"><a id="page362" name="page362"></a>(p. 362)</span></p>
+
+<p>'Twas the end of round-up, the last day of June,<br>
+Or maybe July, I don't remember,<br>
+Or it might have been August, 'twas some time ago,<br>
+Or perhaps 'twas the first of September.</p>
+
+<p>Anyhow, 'twas the round-up we had at Mayou<br>
+On the Lightning Rod's range, near Cayo;<br>
+There were some twenty wagons, more or less, camped about<br>
+On the temporal in the cañon.</p>
+
+<p>First night we'd no cattle, so we only stood guard<br>
+On the horses, somewhere near two hundred head;<br>
+So we side-lined and hoppled, we belled and we staked,<br>
+Loosed our hot-rolls and fell into bed.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning 'bout day break we started our work,<br>
+Our horses, like 'possums, felt fine.<br>
+Each one "tendin' knittin'," none tryin' to shirk!<br>
+So the round-up got on in good time.</p>
+
+<p>Well, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page363" name="page363"></a>(p. 363)</span> we worked for a week till the country was clean<br>
+And the bosses said, "Now, boys, we'll stay here.<br>
+We'll carve and we'll trim 'em and start out a herd<br>
+Up the east trail from old Abilene."</p>
+
+<p>Next morning all on herd, and but two with the cut,<br>
+And the boss on Piute, carving fine,<br>
+Till he rode down his horse and had to pull out,<br>
+And a new man went in to clean up.</p>
+
+<p>Well, after each outfit had worked on the band<br>
+There was only three head of them left;<br>
+When Nig Add from L F D outfit rode in,&mdash;<br>
+A dictionary on earmarks and brands.</p>
+
+<p>He cut the two head out, told where they belonged;<br>
+But when the last cow stood there alone<br>
+Add's eyes bulged so he didn't know just what to say,<br>
+'Ceptin', "Boss, dere's something here monstrous wrong!</p>
+
+<p>"White folks smarter'n Add, and maybe I'se wrong;<br>
+But here's six months' wages dat I'll give<br>
+If anyone'll tell me when I reads dis mark<br>
+To who dis longhorned cow belong!</p>
+
+<p>"Overslope in right ear an' de underbill,<br>
+Lef' ear swaller fork an' de undercrop,<br>
+Hole punched in center, an' de jinglebob<br>
+Under half crop, an' de slash an' split.</p>
+
+<p>"She's <span class="pagenum"><a id="page364" name="page364"></a>(p. 364)</span> got O Block an' Lightnin' Rod,<br>
+Nine Forty-Six an' A Bar Eleven,<br>
+T Terrapin an' Ninety-Seven,<br>
+Rafter Cross an' de Double Prod.</p>
+
+<p>"Half circle A an' Diamond D,<br>
+Four Cross L and Three P Z,<br>
+B W I bar, X V V,<br>
+Bar N cross an' A L C.</p>
+
+<p>"So, if none o' you punchers claims dis cow,<br>
+Mr. Stock 'Sociation needn't git 'larmed;<br>
+For one more brand more or less won't do no harm,<br>
+So old Nigger Add'l just brand her now."</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">OLD TIME COWBOY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page365" name="page365"></a>(p. 365)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you melancholy folks wherever you may be,<br>
+I'll sing you about the cowboy whose life is light and free.<br>
+He roams about the prairie, and, at night when he lies down,<br>
+His heart is as gay as the flowers in May in his bed upon the ground.</p>
+
+<p>They're a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them, at least;<br>
+But if you do not hunt a quarrel you can live with them in peace;<br>
+For if you do, you're sure to rue the day you joined their band.<br>
+They will follow you up and shoot it out with you just man to man.</p>
+
+<p>Did you ever go to a cowboy whenever hungry and dry,<br>
+Asking for a dollar, and have him you deny?<br>
+He'll just pull out his pocket book and hand you a note,&mdash;<br>
+They are the fellows to help you whenever you are broke.</p>
+
+<p>Go <span class="pagenum"><a id="page366" name="page366"></a>(p. 366)</span> to their ranches and stay a while, they never ask a cent;<br>
+And when they go to town, their money is freely spent.<br>
+They walk straight up and take a drink, paying for every one,<br>
+And they never ask your pardon for anything they've done.</p>
+
+<p>When they go to their dances, some dance while others pat<br>
+They ride their bucking bronchos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats;<br>
+With their California saddles, and their pants stuck in their boots,<br>
+You can hear their spurs a-jingling, and perhaps some of them shoots.</p>
+
+<p>Come all soft-hearted tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun;<br>
+Go live among the cowboys, they'll show you how it's done.<br>
+They'll treat you like a prince, my boys, about them there's nothing mean;<br>
+But don't try to give them too much advice, for all of them ain't green.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">BUCKING BRONCHO <span class="pagenum"><a id="page367" name="page367"></a>(p. 367)</span></p>
+
+<p>My love is a rider, wild bronchos he breaks,<br>
+Though he's promised to quit it, just for my sake.<br>
+He ties up one foot, the saddle puts on,<br>
+With a swing and a jump he is mounted and gone.</p>
+
+<p>The first time I met him, 'twas early one spring,<br>
+Riding a broncho, a high-headed thing.<br>
+He tipped me a wink as he gaily did go;<br>
+For he wished me to look at his bucking broncho.</p>
+
+<p>The next time I saw him 'twas late in the fall,<br>
+Swinging the girls at Tomlinson's ball.<br>
+He laughed and he talked as we danced to and fro,<br>
+Promised never to ride on another broncho.</p>
+
+<p>He made me some presents, among them a ring;<br>
+The return that I made him was a far better thing;<br>
+'Twas a young maiden's heart, I'd have you all know;<br>
+He's won it by riding his bucking broncho.</p>
+
+<p>My love has a gun, and that gun he can use,<br>
+But he's quit his gun fighting as well as his booze;<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page368" name="page368"></a>(p. 368)</span> he's sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,<br>
+And there's no more cow punching, and that's what I hope.</p>
+
+<p>My love has a gun that has gone to the bad,<br>
+Which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;<br>
+For the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low,<br>
+And it wobbles about like a bucking broncho.</p>
+
+<p>Now all you young maidens, where'er you reside,<br>
+Beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide;<br>
+He'll court you and pet you and leave you and go<br>
+In the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE PECOS QUEEN <span class="pagenum"><a id="page369" name="page369"></a>(p. 369)</span></p>
+
+<p>Where the Pecos River winds and turns in its journey to the sea,<br>
+From its white walls of sand and rock striving ever to be free,<br>
+Near the highest railroad bridge that all these modern times have seen,<br>
+Dwells fair young Patty Morehead, the Pecos River queen.</p>
+
+<p>She is known by every cowboy on the Pecos River wide,<br>
+They know full well that she can shoot, that she can rope and ride.<br>
+She goes to every round-up, every cow work without fail,<br>
+Looking out for her cattle, branded "walking hog on rail."</p>
+
+<p>She made her start in cattle, yes, made it with her rope;<br>
+Can tie down every maverick before it can strike a lope.<br>
+She can rope and tie and brand it as quick as any man;<br>
+She's voted by all cowboys an A-1 top cow hand.</p>
+
+<p>Across <span class="pagenum"><a id="page370" name="page370"></a>(p. 370)</span> the Comstock railroad bridge, the highest in the West,<br>
+Patty rode her horse one day, a lover's heart to test;<br>
+For he told her he would gladly risk all dangers for her sake&mdash;<br>
+But the puncher wouldn't follow, so she's still without a mate.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">CHOPO <span class="pagenum"><a id="page371" name="page371"></a>(p. 371)</span></p>
+
+<p>Through rocky arroyas so dark and so deep,<br>
+Down the sides of the mountains so slippery and steep,&mdash;<br>
+You've good judgment, sure-footed, wherever you go,<br>
+You're a safety conveyance, my little Chopo.</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">Refrain:&mdash;<br>
+  Chopo, my pony, Chopo, my pride,<br>
+  Chopo, my amigo, Chopo I will ride.<br>
+  From Mexico's borders 'cross Texas' Llano<br>
+  To the salt Pecos River, I ride you, Chopo.</p>
+
+<p>Whether single or double or in the lead of the team,<br>
+Over highways or byways or crossing a stream,&mdash;<br>
+You're always in fix and willing to go,<br>
+Whenever you're called on, my chico Chopo.</p>
+
+<p>You're a good roping horse, you were never jerked down,<br>
+When tied to a steer, you will circle him round;<br>
+Let him once cross the string and over he'll go,&mdash;<br>
+You sabe the business, my cow-horse, Chopo.</p>
+
+<p>One <span class="pagenum"><a id="page372" name="page372"></a>(p. 372)</span> day on the Llano a hailstorm began,<br>
+The herds were stampeded, the horses all ran,<br>
+The lightning it glittered, a cyclone did blow,<br>
+But you faced the sweet music, my little Chopo.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">TOP HAND <span class="pagenum"><a id="page373" name="page373"></a>(p. 373)</span></p>
+
+<p>While you're all so frisky I'll sing a little song,&mdash;<br>
+Think a little horn of whiskey will help the thing along?<br>
+It's all about the Top Hand, when he busted flat<br>
+Bummin' round the town, in his Mexican hat.<br>
+He's laid up all winter, and his pocket book is flat,<br>
+His clothes are all tatters, but he don't mind that.</p>
+
+<p>See him in town with a crowd that he knows,<br>
+Rollin' cigarettes and smokin' through his nose.<br>
+First thing he tells you, he owns a certain brand,&mdash;<br>
+Leads you to think he is a daisy hand;<br>
+Next thing he tells you 'bout his trip up the trail,<br>
+All the way to Kansas, to finish out his tale.</p>
+
+<p>Put him on a hoss, he's a handy hand to work;<br>
+Put him in the brandin'-pen, he's dead sure to shirk.<br>
+With his natural leaf tobacco in the pockets of his vest<br>
+He'll tell you his California pants are the best.<br>
+He's handled lots of cattle, hasn't any fears,<br>
+Can draw his sixty dollars for the balance of his years.</p>
+
+<p>Put him on herd, he's a-cussin' all day;<br>
+Anything he tries, it's sure to get away.<br>
+When <span class="pagenum"><a id="page374" name="page374"></a>(p. 374)</span> you have a round-up, he tells it all about<br>
+He's goin' to do the cuttin' an' you can't keep him out.<br>
+If anything goes wrong, he lays it on the screws,<br>
+Says the lazy devils were tryin' to take a snooze.</p>
+
+<p>When he meets a greener he ain't afraid to rig,<br>
+Stands him on a chuck box and makes him dance a jig,&mdash;<br>
+Waves a loaded cutter, makes him sing and shout,&mdash;<br>
+He's a regular Ben Thompson when the boss ain't about.<br>
+When the boss ain't about he leaves his leggins in camp,<br>
+He swears a man who wears them is worse than a tramp.</p>
+
+<p>Says he's not carin' for the wages he earns,<br>
+For Dad's rich in Texas,&mdash;got wagon loads to burn;<br>
+But when he goes to town, he's sure to take it in,<br>
+He's always been dreaded wherever he's been.<br>
+He rides a fancy horse, he's a favorite man,<br>
+Can get more credit than a common waddie can.</p>
+
+<p>When you ship the cattle he's bound to go along<br>
+To keep the boss from drinking and see that nothing's wrong.<br>
+Wherever he goes, catch on to his name,<br>
+He likes to be called with a handle to his name.<br>
+He's always primping with a pocket looking-glass,<br>
+From the top to the bottom he's a bold Jackass.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">CALIFORNIA TRAIL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page375" name="page375"></a>(p. 375)</span></p>
+
+<p>List all you California boys<br>
+And open wide your ears,<br>
+For now we start across the plains<br>
+With a herd of mules and steers.<br>
+Now, bear in mind before you start,<br>
+That you'll eat jerked beef, not ham,<br>
+And antelope steak, Oh cuss the stuff!<br>
+It often proves a sham.</p>
+
+<p>You cannot find a stick of wood<br>
+On all this prairie wide;<br>
+Whene'er you eat you've got to stand<br>
+Or sit on some old bull hide.<br>
+It's fun to cook with buffalo chips<br>
+Or mesquite, green as corn,&mdash;<br>
+If I'd once known what I know now<br>
+I'd have gone around Cape Horn.</p>
+
+<p>The women have the hardest time<br>
+Who emigrate by land;<br>
+For when they cook out in the wind<br>
+They're sure to burn their hand.<br>
+Then they scold their husbands round,<br>
+Get mad and spill the tea,&mdash;<br>
+I'd have thanked my stars if they'd not come out<br>
+Upon this bleak prairie.</p>
+
+<p>Most <span class="pagenum"><a id="page376" name="page376"></a>(p. 376)</span> every night we put out guards<br>
+To keep the Indians off.<br>
+When night comes round some heads will ache,<br>
+And some begin to cough.<br>
+To be deprived of help at night,<br>
+You know is mighty hard,<br>
+But every night there's someone sick<br>
+To keep from standing guard.</p>
+
+<p>Then they're always talking of what they've got,<br>
+And what they're going to do;<br>
+Some will say they're content,<br>
+For I've got as much as you.<br>
+Others will say, "I'll buy or sell,<br>
+I'm damned if I care which."<br>
+Others will say, "Boys, buy him out,<br>
+For he doesn't own a stitch."</p>
+
+<p>Old raw-hide shoes are hell on corns<br>
+While tramping through the sands,<br>
+And driving jackass by the tail,&mdash;<br>
+Damn the overland!<br>
+I would as leaf be on a raft at sea<br>
+And there at once be lost.<br>
+John, let's leave the poor old mule,<br>
+We'll never get him across!</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">BRONC PEELER'S SONG <span class="pagenum"><a id="page377" name="page377"></a>(p. 377)</span></p>
+
+<p>I've been upon the prairie,<br>
+I've been upon the plain,<br>
+I've never rid a steam-boat,<br>
+Nor a double-cinched-up train.<br>
+But I've driv my eight-up to wagon<br>
+That were locked three in a row,<br>
+And that through blindin' sand storms,<br>
+And all kinds of wind and snow.</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">Cho:&mdash;<br>
+  Goodbye, Liza, poor gal,<br>
+  Goodbye, Liza Jane,<br>
+  Goodbye, Liza, poor gal,<br>
+  She died on the plain.</p>
+
+<p>There never was a place I've been<br>
+Had any kind of wood.<br>
+We burn the roots of bar-grass<br>
+And think it's very good.<br>
+I've never tasted home bread,<br>
+Nor cakes, nor muss like that;<br>
+But I know fried dough and beef<br>
+Pulled from red-hot tallow fat.</p>
+
+<p>I hate to see the wire fence<br>
+A-closin' up the range;<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page378" name="page378"></a>(p. 378)</span> all this fillin' in the trail<br>
+With people that is strange.<br>
+We fellers don't know how to plow,<br>
+Nor reap the golden grain;<br>
+But to round up steers and brand the cows<br>
+To us was allus plain.</p>
+
+<p>So when this blasted country<br>
+Is all closed in with wire,<br>
+And all the top, as trot grass,<br>
+Is burnin' in Sol's fire,<br>
+I hope the settlers will be glad<br>
+When rain hits the land.<br>
+And all us cowdogs are in hell<br>
+With a "set"<a id="footnotetag9" name="footnotetag9"></a><a href="#footnote9">[9]</a> joined hand in hand.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">A DEER HUNT <span class="pagenum"><a id="page379" name="page379"></a>(p. 379)</span></p>
+
+<p>One pleasant summer day it came a storm of snow;<br>
+I picked my old gun and a-hunting I did go.</p>
+
+<p>I came across a herd of deer and I trailed them through the snow,<br>
+I trailed them to the mountains where straight up they did go.</p>
+
+<p>I trailed them o'er the mountains, I trailed them to the brim,<br>
+And I trailed them to the waters where they jumped in to swim.</p>
+
+<p>I cocked both my pistols and under water went,&mdash;<br>
+To kill the fattest of them deer, that was my whole intent.</p>
+
+<p>While I was under water five hundred feet or more<br>
+I fired both my pistols; like cannons did they roar.</p>
+
+<p>I picked up my venison and out of water came,&mdash;<br>
+To kill the balance of them deer, I thought it would be fun.</p>
+
+<p>So <span class="pagenum"><a id="page380" name="page380"></a>(p. 380)</span> I bent my gun in circles and fired round a hill.<br>
+And, out of three or four deer, ten thousand I did kill.</p>
+
+<p>Then I picked up my venison and on my back I tied<br>
+And as the sun came passing by I hopped up there to ride.</p>
+
+<p>The sun she carried me o'er the globe, so merrily I did roam<br>
+That in four and twenty hours I landed safe at home.</p>
+
+<p>And the money I received for my venison and skin,<br>
+I taken it all to the barn door and it would not all go in.</p>
+
+<p>And if you doubt the truth of this I tell you how to know:<br>
+Just take my trail and go my rounds, as I did, long ago.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">WINDY BILL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page381" name="page381"></a>(p. 381)</span></p>
+
+<p>Windy Bill was a Texas man,&mdash;<br>
+Well, he could rope, you bet.<br>
+He swore the steer he couldn't tie,&mdash;<br>
+Well, he hadn't found him yet.<br>
+But the boys they knew of an old black steer,<br>
+A sort of an old outlaw<br>
+That ran down in the malpais<br>
+At the foot of a rocky draw.</p>
+
+<p>This old black steer had stood his ground<br>
+With punchers from everywhere;<br>
+So they bet old Bill at two to one<br>
+That he couldn't quite get there.<br>
+Then Bill brought out his old gray hoss,<br>
+His withers and back were raw,<br>
+And prepared to tackle the big black brute<br>
+That ran down in the draw.</p>
+
+<p>With his brazen bit and his Sam Stack tree<br>
+His chaps and taps to boot,<br>
+And his old maguey tied hard and fast,<br>
+Bill swore he'd get the brute.<br>
+Now, first Bill sort of sauntered round<br>
+Old Blackie began to paw,<br>
+Then threw his tail straight in the air<br>
+And went driftin' down the draw.</p>
+
+<p>The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page382" name="page382"></a>(p. 382)</span> old gray plug flew after him,<br>
+For he'd been eatin' corn;<br>
+And Bill, he piled his old maguey<br>
+Right round old Blackie's horns.<br>
+The old gray hoss he stopped right still;<br>
+The cinches broke like straw,<br>
+And the old maguey and the Sam Stack tree<br>
+Went driftin' down the draw.</p>
+
+<p>Bill, he lit in a flint rock pile,<br>
+His face and hands were scratched.<br>
+He said he thought he could rope a snake<br>
+But he guessed he'd met his match.<br>
+He paid his bets like a little man<br>
+Without a bit of jaw,<br>
+And lowed old Blackie was the boss<br>
+Of anything in the draw.</p>
+
+<p>There's a moral to my story, boys,<br>
+And that you all must see.<br>
+Whenever you go to tie a snake,<a id="footnotetag10" name="footnotetag10"></a><a href="#footnote10">[10]</a><br>
+Don't tie it to your tree;<br>
+But take your dolly welters<a id="footnotetag11" name="footnotetag11"></a><a href="#footnote11">[11]</a><br>
+'Cordin' to California law,<br>
+And you'll never see your old rim-fire<a id="footnotetag12" name="footnotetag12"></a><a href="#footnote12">[12]</a><br>
+Go drifting down the draw.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">WILD ROVERS <span class="pagenum"><a id="page383" name="page383"></a>(p. 383)</span></p>
+
+<p>Come all you wild rovers<br>
+And listen to me<br>
+While I retail to you<br>
+My sad history.<br>
+I'm a man of experience<br>
+Your favors to gain,<br>
+Oh, love has been the ruin<br>
+Of many a poor man.</p>
+
+<p>When you are single<br>
+And living at your ease<br>
+You can roam this world over<br>
+And do as you please;<br>
+You can roam this world over<br>
+And go where you will<br>
+And slyly kiss a pretty girl<br>
+And be your own still.</p>
+
+<p>But when you are married<br>
+And living with your wife,<br>
+You've lost all the joys<br>
+And comforts of life.<br>
+Your wife she will scold you,<br>
+Your children will cry,<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page384" name="page384"></a>(p. 384)</span> that will make papa<br>
+Look withered and dry.</p>
+
+<p>You can't step aside, boys,<br>
+To speak to a friend<br>
+Without your wife at your elbow<br>
+Saying, "What does this mean?"<br>
+Your wife, she will scold<br>
+And there is sad news.<br>
+Dear boys, take warning;<br>
+'Tis a life to refuse.</p>
+
+<p>If you chance to be riding<br>
+Along the highway<br>
+And meet a fair maiden,<br>
+A lady so gay,<br>
+With red, rosy cheeks<br>
+And sparkling blue eyes,&mdash;<br>
+Oh, heavens! what a tumult<br>
+In your bosom will rise!</p>
+
+<p>One more request, boys,<br>
+Before we must part:<br>
+Don't place your affections<br>
+On a charming sweetheart;<br>
+She'll dance before you<br>
+Your favors to gain.<br>
+Oh, turn your back on them<br>
+With scorn and disdain!</p>
+
+<p>Come <span class="pagenum"><a id="page385" name="page385"></a>(p. 385)</span> close to the bar, boys,<br>
+We'll drink all around.<br>
+We'll drink to the pure,<br>
+If any be found;<br>
+We'll drink to the single,<br>
+For I wish them success;<br>
+Likewise to the married,<br>
+For I wish them no less.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">LIFE IN A HALF-BREED SHACK <span class="pagenum"><a id="page386" name="page386"></a>(p. 386)</span></p>
+
+<p>'Tis life in a half-breed shack,<br>
+The rain comes pouring down;<br>
+"Drip" drops the mud through the roof,<br>
+And the wind comes through the wall.<br>
+A tenderfoot cursed his luck<br>
+And feebly cried out "yah!"</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">Refrain:<br>
+  Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma!<br>
+  Yah! Yah! this bloomin' country's a fraud!<br>
+  Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma!</p>
+
+<p>He tries to kindle a fire<br>
+When it's forty-five below;<br>
+He aims to chop at a log<br>
+And amputates his toe;<br>
+He hobbles back to the shack<br>
+And feebly cries out "yah"!</p>
+
+<p>He gets on a bucking cayuse<br>
+And thinks to flourish around,<br>
+But the buzzard-head takes to bucking<br>
+And lays him flat out on the ground.<br>
+As he picks himself up with a curse,<br>
+He feebly cries out "yah"!</p>
+
+<p>He <span class="pagenum"><a id="page387" name="page387"></a>(p. 387)</span> buys all the town lots he can get<br>
+In the wrong end of Calgary,<br>
+And he waits and he waits for the boom<br>
+Until he's dead broke like me.<br>
+He couldn't get any tick<br>
+So he feebly cries out "yah"!</p>
+
+<p>He couldn't do any work<br>
+And he wouldn't know how if he could;<br>
+So the police run him for a vag<br>
+And set him to bucking wood.<br>
+As he sits in the guard room cell,<br>
+He feebly cries out "yah"!</p>
+
+<p>Come all ye tenderfeet<br>
+And listen to what I say,<br>
+If you can't get a government job<br>
+You had better remain where you be.<br>
+Then you won't curse your luck<br>
+And cry out feebly "yah"!</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE ROAD TO COOK'S PEAK <span class="pagenum"><a id="page388" name="page388"></a>(p. 388)</span></p>
+
+<p>If you'll listen a while I'll sing you a song,<br>
+And as it is short it won't take me long.<br>
+There are some things of which I will speak<br>
+Concerning the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+Concerning the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the morning at eight-forty-five,<br>
+I was hooking up all ready to drive<br>
+Out where the miners for minerals seek,<br>
+With two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak&mdash;<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+With two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.</p>
+
+<p>With my two little mules I jog along<br>
+And try to cheer them with ditty and song;<br>
+O'er the wide prairie where coyotes sneak,<br>
+While driving the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+While driving the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes I have to haul heavy freight,<br>
+Then it is I get home very late.<br>
+In <span class="pagenum"><a id="page389" name="page389"></a>(p. 389)</span> rain or shine, six days in the week,<br>
+'Tis the same little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+'Tis the same little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.</p>
+
+<p>And when with the driving of stage I am through<br>
+I will to my two little mules bid adieu.<br>
+And hope that those creatures, so gentle and meek,<br>
+Will have a good friend on the road to Cook's Peak.<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+Will have a good friend on the road to Cook's Peak.</p>
+
+<p>Now all kind friends that travel about,<br>
+Come take a trip on the Wallis stage route.<br>
+With a plenty of grit, they never get weak,&mdash;<br>
+Those two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+On the road to Cook's Peak,&mdash;<br>
+Those two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">ARAPHOE, OR BUCKSKIN JOE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page390" name="page390"></a>(p. 390)</span></p>
+
+<p>'Twas a calm and peaceful evening in a camp called Araphoe,<br>
+And the whiskey was a running with a soft and gentle flow,<br>
+The music was a-ringing in a dance hall cross the way,<br>
+And the dancers was a-swinging just as close as they could lay.</p>
+
+<p>People gathered round the tables, a-betting with their wealth,<br>
+And near by stood a stranger who had come there for his health.<br>
+He was a peaceful little stranger though he seemed to be unstrung;<br>
+For just before he'd left his home he'd separated with one lung.</p>
+
+<p>Nearby at a table sat a man named Hankey Dean,<br>
+A tougher man says Hankey, buckskin chaps had never seen.<br>
+But Hankey was a gambler and he was plum sure to lose;<br>
+For he had just departed with a sun-dried stack of blues.</p>
+
+<p>He <span class="pagenum"><a id="page391" name="page391"></a>(p. 391)</span> rose from the table, on the floor his last chip flung,<br>
+And cast his fiery glimmers on the man with just one lung.<br>
+"No wonder I've been losing every bet I made tonight<br>
+When a sucker and a tenderfoot was between me and the light.</p>
+
+<p>Look here, little stranger, do you know who I am?"<br>
+"Yes, and I don't care a copper colored damn."<br>
+The dealers stopped their dealing and the players held their breath;<br>
+For words like those to Hankey were a sudden flirt with death.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, gentle stranger, I'll read my pedigree:<br>
+I'm known on handling tenderfeet and worser men than thee;<br>
+The lions on the mountains, I've drove them to their lairs;<br>
+The wild-cats are my playmates, and I've wrestled grizzly bears;</p>
+
+<p>"Why, the centipedes can't mar my tough old hide,<br>
+And rattle snakes have bit me and crawled off and died.<br>
+I'm as wild as the horse that roams the range;<br>
+The moss grows on my teeth and wild blood flows through my veins.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm <span class="pagenum"><a id="page392" name="page392"></a>(p. 392)</span> wild and woolly and full of fleas<br>
+And never curried below the knees.<br>
+Now, little stranger, if you'll give me your address,&mdash;<br>
+How would you like to go, by fast mail or express?"</p>
+
+<p>The little stranger who was leaning on the door<br>
+Picked up a hand of playing cards that were scattered on the floor.<br>
+Picking out the five of spades, he pinned it to the door<br>
+And then stepped back some twenty paces or more.</p>
+
+<p>He pulled out his life-preserver, and with a "one, two, three, four,"<br>
+Blotted out a spot with every shot;<br>
+For he had traveled with a circus and was a fancy pistol shot.<br>
+"I have one more left, kind sir, if you wish to call the play."</p>
+
+<p>Then Hanke stepped up to the stranger and made a neat apology,<br>
+"Why, the lions in the mountains,&mdash;that was nothing but a joke.<br>
+Never mind about the extra, you are a bad shooting man,<br>
+And I'm a meek little child and as harmless as a lamb."</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">ROUNDED UP IN GLORY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page393" name="page393"></a>(p. 393)</span></p>
+
+<p>I have been thinking to-day,<br>
+As my thoughts began to stray,<br>
+Of your memory to me worth more than gold.<br>
+As you ride across the plain,<br>
+'Mid the sunshine and the rain,&mdash;<br>
+You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye.</p>
+
+    <p class="add2em">Chorus:<br>
+    You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye,<br>
+    You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye,<br>
+    When the milling time is o'er<br>
+    And you will stampede no more,<br>
+    When he rounds you up within the Master's fold.</p>
+
+<p>As you ride across the plain<br>
+With the cowboys that have fame,<br>
+And the storms and the lightning flash by.<br>
+We shall meet to part no more<br>
+Upon the golden shore<br>
+When he rounds us up in glory bye and bye.</p>
+
+<p>May we lift our voices high<br>
+To that sweet bye and bye,<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page394" name="page394"></a>(p. 394)</span> be known by the brand of the Lord;<br>
+For his property we are,<br>
+And he will know us from afar<br>
+When he rounds us up in glory bye and bye.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE DRUNKARD'S HELL <span class="pagenum"><a id="page395" name="page395"></a>(p. 395)</span></p>
+
+<p>It was on a cold and stormy night<br>
+I saw and heard an awful sight;<br>
+The lightning flashed and thunder rolled<br>
+Around my poor benighted soul.</p>
+
+<p>I thought I heard a mournful sound<br>
+Among the groans still lower down,<br>
+That awful sight no tongue can tell<br>
+Is this,&mdash;the place called Drunkard's Hell.</p>
+
+<p>I thought I saw the gulf below<br>
+Where all the dying drunkards go.<br>
+I raised my hand and sad to tell<br>
+It was the place called Drunkard's Hell.</p>
+
+<p>I traveled on and got there at last<br>
+And started to take a social glass;<br>
+But every time I started,&mdash;well,<br>
+I thought about the Drunkard's Hell.</p>
+
+<p>I dashed it down to leave that place<br>
+And started to seek redeeming grace.<br>
+I felt like Paul, at once I'd pray<br>
+Till all my sins were washed away.</p>
+
+<p>I <span class="pagenum"><a id="page396" name="page396"></a>(p. 396)</span> then went home to change my life<br>
+And see my long neglected wife.<br>
+I found her weeping o'er the bed<br>
+Because her infant babe was dead.</p>
+
+<p>I told her not to mourn and weep<br>
+Because her babe had gone to sleep;<br>
+Its happy soul had fled away<br>
+To dwell with Christ till endless day.</p>
+
+<p>I taken her by her pale white hand,<br>
+She was so weak she could not stand;<br>
+I laid her down and breathed a prayer<br>
+That God might bless and save her there.</p>
+
+<p>I then went to the Temperance hall<br>
+And taken a pledge among them all.<br>
+They taken me in with a willing hand<br>
+And taken me in as a temperance man.</p>
+
+<p>So seven long years have passed away<br>
+Since first I bowed my knees to pray;<br>
+So now I live a sober life<br>
+With a happy home and a loving wife.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">RAMBLING BOY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page397" name="page397"></a>(p. 397)</span></p>
+
+<p>I am a wild and roving lad,<br>
+A wild and rambling lad I'll be;<br>
+For I do love a little girl<br>
+And she does love me.</p>
+
+<p>"O Willie, O Willie, I love you so,<br>
+I love you more than I do know;<br>
+And if my tongue could tell you so<br>
+I'd give the world to let you know."</p>
+
+<p>When Julia's old father came this to know,&mdash;<br>
+That Julia and Willie were loving so,&mdash;<br>
+He ripped and swore among them all,<br>
+And swore he'd use a cannon ball.</p>
+
+<p>She wrote Willie a letter with her right hand<br>
+And sent it to him in the western land.<br>
+"Oh, read these lines, sweet William dear.<br>
+For this is the last of me you will hear."</p>
+
+<p>He read those lines while he wept and cried,<br>
+"Ten thousand times I wish I had died",<br>
+He read those lines while he wept and said,<br>
+"Ten thousand times I wish I were dead."</p>
+
+<p>When <span class="pagenum"><a id="page398" name="page398"></a>(p. 398)</span> her old father came home that night<br>
+He called for Julia, his heart's delight,<br>
+He ran up stairs and her door he broke<br>
+And found her hanging by her own bed rope.</p>
+
+<p>And with his knife he cut her down,<br>
+And in her bosom this note he found<br>
+Saying, "Dig my grave both deep and wide<br>
+And bury sweet Willie by my side."</p>
+
+<p>They dug her grave both deep and wide<br>
+And buried sweet Willie by her side;<br>
+And on her grave set a turtle dove<br>
+To show the world they died for love.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">BRIGHAM YOUNG. I. <span class="pagenum"><a id="page399" name="page399"></a>(p. 399)</span></p>
+
+<p>I'll sing you a song that has often been sung<br>
+About an old Mormon they called Brigham Young.<br>
+Of wives he had many who were strong in the lungs,<br>
+Which Brigham found out by the length of their tongues.<br>
+Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, sad was the life of a Mormon to lead,<br>
+Yet Brigham adhered all his life to his creed.<br>
+He said 'twas such fun, and true, without doubt,<br>
+To see the young wives knock the old ones about.<br>
+Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.</p>
+
+<p>One day as old Brigham sat down to his dinner<br>
+He saw a young wife who was not getting thinner;<br>
+When the elders cried out, one after the other,<br>
+By the holy, she wants to go home to her mother.<br>
+Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.</p>
+
+<p>Old Brigham replied, which can't be denied,<br>
+He couldn't afford to lose such a bride.<br>
+Then do not be jealous but banish your fears;<br>
+For the tree is well known by the fruit that it bears.<br>
+Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.</p>
+
+<p>That <span class="pagenum"><a id="page400" name="page400"></a>(p. 400)</span> I love one and all you very well know,<br>
+Then do not provoke me or my anger will show.<br>
+What must be our fate if found here in a row,<br>
+If Uncle Sam comes with his row-de-dow-dow.<br>
+Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.</p>
+
+<p>Then cease all your quarrels and do not despair,<br>
+To meet Uncle Sam I will quickly prepare.<br>
+Hark! I hear Yankee Doodle played over the hills!<br>
+Ah! here's the enemy with their powder and pills.<br>
+Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">BRIGHAM YOUNG. II. <span class="pagenum"><a id="page401" name="page401"></a>(p. 401)</span></p>
+
+<p>Now Brigham Young is a Mormon bold,<br>
+And a leader of the roaring rams,<br>
+And shepherd of a lot of fine tub sheep<br>
+And a lot of pretty little lambs.<br>
+Oh, he lives with his five and forty wives,<br>
+In the city of the Great Salt Lake,<br>
+Where they breed and swarm like hens on a farm<br>
+And cackle like ducks to a drake.</p>
+
+    <p class="add1em"><span class="add1em">Chorus:&mdash;</span><br>
+  Oh Brigham, Brigham Young,<br>
+  It's a miracle how you survive,<br>
+  With your roaring rams and your pretty little lambs<br>
+  And your five and forty wives.</p>
+
+<p>Number forty-five is about sixteen,<br>
+Number one is sixty and three;<br>
+And they make such a riot, how he keeps them quiet<br>
+Is a downright mystery to me.<br>
+For they clatter and they chaw and they jaw, jaw, jaw,<br>
+And each has a different desire;<br>
+It would aid the renown of the best shop in town<br>
+To supply them with half they desire.</p>
+
+<p>Now, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page402" name="page402"></a>(p. 402)</span> Brigham Young was a stout man once,<br>
+And now he is thin and old;<br>
+And I am sorry to state he is bald on the pate,<br>
+Which once had a covering of gold.<br>
+For his oldest wives won't have white wool,<br>
+And his young ones won't have red,<br>
+So, with tearing it out, and taking turn about,<br>
+They have torn all the hair off his head.</p>
+
+<p>Now, the oldest wives sing songs all day,<br>
+And the young ones all sing songs;<br>
+And amongst such a crowd he has it pretty loud,&mdash;<br>
+They're as noisy as Chinese gongs.<br>
+And when they advance for a Mormon dance<br>
+He is filled with the direst alarms;<br>
+For they are sure to end the night in a tabernacle fight<br>
+To see who has the fairest charms.</p>
+
+<p>Now, if any man here envies Brigham Young<br>
+Let him go to the Great Salt Lake;<br>
+And if he has the leisure to enjoy his pleasure,<br>
+He'll find it a great mistake.<br>
+One wife at a time, so says my rhyme,<br>
+Is enough,&mdash;there's no denial;&mdash;<br>
+So, before you strive to be lord of forty-five,<br>
+Take two for a month on trial.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE OLD GRAY MULE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page403" name="page403"></a>(p. 403)</span></p>
+
+<p>I am an old man some sixty years old<br>
+And that you can plain-li see,<br>
+But when I was a young man ten years old<br>
+They made a stable boy of me.</p>
+
+<p>I have seen the fastest horses<br>
+That made the fastest time,<br>
+But I never saw one in all my life<br>
+Like that old gray mule of mine.</p>
+
+<p>On a Sunday morn I dress myself,<br>
+A-goin' out to ride;<br>
+Now, my old mule is as gray as a bird,<br>
+Then he is full of his pride.</p>
+
+<p>He never runs away with you,<br>
+Never cuts up any shine;<br>
+For the only friend I have on earth<br>
+Is this old gray mule of mine.</p>
+
+<p>Now my old gray mule is dead and gone,<br>
+Gone to join the heavenly band,<br>
+With silver shoes upon his feet<br>
+To dance on the golden strand.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE FOOLS OF FORTY-NINE <span class="pagenum"><a id="page404" name="page404"></a>(p. 404)</span></p>
+
+<p>When gold was found in forty-eight the people thought 'twas gas,<br>
+And some were fools enough to think the lumps were only brass.<br>
+But soon they all were satisfied and started off to mine;<br>
+They bought their ships, came round the Horn, in the days of forty-nine.</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">Refrain:<br>
+  Then they thought of what they'd been told<br>
+  When they started after gold,&mdash;<br>
+  That they never in the world would make a pile.</p>
+
+<p>The people all were crazy then, they didn't know what to do.<br>
+They sold their farms for just enough to pay their passage through.<br>
+They bid their friends a long farewell, said, "Dear wife, don't you cry,<br>
+I'll send you home the yellow lumps a piano for to buy."</p>
+
+<p>The poor, the old, and the rotten scows were advertised to sail<br>
+From <span class="pagenum"><a id="page405" name="page405"></a>(p. 405)</span> New Orleans with passengers, but they must pump and bail.<br>
+The ships were crowded more than full, and some hung on behind,<br>
+And others dived off from the wharf and swam till they were blind.</p>
+
+<p>With rusty pork and stinking beef and rotten, wormy bread!<br>
+The captains, too, that never were up as high as the main mast head!<br>
+The steerage passengers would rave and swear that they'd paid their passage<br>
+And wanted something more to eat beside bologna sausage.</p>
+
+<p>They then began to cross the plain with oxen, hollowing "haw."<br>
+And steamers then began to run as far as Panama.<br>
+And there for months the people staid, that started after gold,<br>
+And some returned disgusted with the lies that had been told.</p>
+
+<p>The people died on every route, they sickened and died like sheep;<br>
+And those at sea before they died were launched into the deep;<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page406" name="page406"></a>(p. 406)</span> those that died while crossing the plains fared not so well as that,<br>
+For a hole was dug and they thrown in along the miserable Platte.</p>
+
+<p>The ships at last began to arrive and the people began to inquire.<br>
+They say that flour is a dollar a pound, do you think it will be any higher?<br>
+And to carry their blankets and sleep outdoors, it seemed so very droll!<br>
+Both tired and mad, without a cent, they damned the lousy hole.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">A RIPPING TRIP<a id="footnotetag13" name="footnotetag13"></a><a href="#footnote13">[13]</a> <span class="pagenum"><a id="page407" name="page407"></a>(p. 407)</span></p>
+
+<p>You go aboard a leaky boat<br>
+And sail for San Francisco,<br>
+You've got to pump to keep her afloat,<br>
+You've got that, by jingo!<br>
+The engine soon begins to squeak,<br>
+But nary a thing to oil her;<br>
+Impossible to stop the leak,&mdash;<br>
+Rip, goes the boiler.</p>
+
+<p>The captain on the promenade<br>
+Looking very savage;<br>
+Steward and the cabin maid<br>
+Fightin' 'bout the cabbage;<br>
+All about the cabin floor<br>
+Passengers lie sea-sick;<br>
+Steamer bound to go ashore,&mdash;<br>
+Rip, goes the physic.</p>
+
+<p>Pork and beans they can't afford,<br>
+The second cabin passengers;<br>
+The cook has tumbled overboard<br>
+With fifty pounds of sassengers;<br>
+The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page408" name="page408"></a>(p. 408)</span> engineer, a little tight,<br>
+Bragging on the Mail Line,<br>
+Finally gets into a fight,&mdash;<br>
+Rip, goes the engine.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE HAPPY MINER <span class="pagenum"><a id="page409" name="page409"></a>(p. 409)</span></p>
+
+<p>I'm a happy miner,<br>
+I love to sing and dance.<br>
+I wonder what my love would say<br>
+If she could see my pants<br>
+With canvas patches on my knees<br>
+And one upon the stern?<br>
+I'll wear them when I'm digging here<br>
+And home when I return.</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">Refrain:<br>
+  So I get in a jovial way,<br>
+  I spend my money free.<br>
+  And I've got plenty!<br>
+  Will you drink lager beer with me?</p>
+
+<p>She writes about her poodle dog;<br>
+But never thinks to say,<br>
+"Oh, do come home, my honey dear,<br>
+I'm pining all away."<br>
+I'll write her half a letter,<br>
+Then give the ink a tip.<br>
+If that don't bring her to her milk<br>
+I'll coolly let her rip.</p>
+
+<p>They wish to know if I can cook<br>
+And what I have to eat,<br>
+And <span class="pagenum"><a id="page410" name="page410"></a>(p. 410)</span> tell me should I take a cold<br>
+Be sure and soak my feet.<br>
+But when they talk of cooking<br>
+I'm mighty hard to beat,<br>
+I've made ten thousand loaves of bread<br>
+The devil couldn't eat.</p>
+
+<p>I like a lazy partner<br>
+So I can take my ease,<br>
+Lay down and talk of golden home,<br>
+As happy as you please;<br>
+Without a thing to eat or drink,<br>
+Away from care and grief,&mdash;<br>
+I'm fat and sassy, ragged, too,<br>
+And tough as Spanish beef.</p>
+
+<p>No matter whether rich or poor,<br>
+I'm happy as a clam.<br>
+I wish my friends at home could look<br>
+And see me as I am.<br>
+With woolen shirt and rubber boots,<br>
+In mud up to my knees,<br>
+And lice as large as chili beans<br>
+Fighting with the fleas.</p>
+
+<p>I'll mine for half an ounce a day,<br>
+Perhaps a little less;<br>
+But when it comes to China pay<br>
+I cannot stand the press.<br>
+Like thousands there, I'll make a pile,<br>
+If I make one at all,<br>
+About the time the allied forces<br>
+Take Sepasterpol.</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">THE CALIFORNIA STAGE COMPANY <span class="pagenum"><a id="page411" name="page411"></a>(p. 411)</span></p>
+
+<p>There's no respect for youth or age<br>
+On board the California stage,<br>
+But pull and haul about the seats<br>
+As bed-bugs do about the sheets.</p>
+
+  <p class="add1em">Refrain:<br>
+  They started as a thieving line<br>
+  In eighteen hundred and forty-nine;<br>
+  All opposition they defy,<br>
+  So the people must root hog or die.</p>
+
+<p>You're crowded in with Chinamen,<br>
+As fattening hogs are in a pen;<br>
+And what will more a man provoke<br>
+Is musty plug tobacco smoke.</p>
+
+<p>The ladies are compelled to sit<br>
+With dresses in tobacco spit;<br>
+The gentlemen don't seem to care,<br>
+But talk on politics and swear.</p>
+
+<p>The dust is deep in summer time,<br>
+The mountains very hard to climb,<br>
+And drivers often stop and yell,<br>
+"Get out, all hands, and push up hill."</p>
+
+<p>The <span class="pagenum"><a id="page412" name="page412"></a>(p. 412)</span> drivers, when they feel inclined,<br>
+Will have you walking on behind,<br>
+And on your shoulders lug a pole<br>
+To help them out some muddy hole.</p>
+
+<p>They promise when your fare you pay,<br>
+"You'll have to walk but half the way";<br>
+Then add aside, with cunning laugh,<br>
+"You'll have to push the other half."</p>
+
+
+<p class="tit-song">NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM <span class="pagenum"><a id="page413" name="page413"></a>(p. 413)</span></p>
+
+<p>My country, 'tis of thee,<br>
+Land where things used to be<br>
+So cheap, we croak.<br>
+Land of the mavericks,<br>
+Land of the puncher's tricks,<br>
+Thy culture-inroad pricks<br>
+The hide of this peeler-bloke.</p>
+
+<p>Some of the punchers swear<br>
+That what they eat and wear<br>
+Takes all their calves.<br>
+Others vow that they<br>
+Eat only once a day<br>
+Jerked beef and prairie hay<br>
+Washed down with tallow salves.</p>
+
+<p>These salty-dogs<a id="footnotetag14" name="footnotetag14"></a><a href="#footnote14">[14]</a> but crave<br>
+To pull them out the grave<br>
+Just one Kiowa spur.<br>
+They know they still will dine<br>
+On flesh and beef the time;<br>
+But give us, Lord divine,<br>
+One "hen-fruit stir."<a id="footnotetag15" name="footnotetag15"></a><a href="#footnote15">[15]</a></p>
+
+<p>Our father's land, with thee, <span class="pagenum"><a id="page414" name="page414"></a>(p. 414)</span><br>
+Best trails of liberty,<br>
+We chose to stop.<br>
+We don't exactly like<br>
+So soon to henceward hike,<br>
+But hell, we'll take the pike<br>
+If this don't stop.</p>
+
+<hr class="small">
+
+<p><a id="footnote1" name="footnote1"></a>
+<b>Footnote 1:</b> In this song, as in several others, the chorus should come
+in after each stanza. The arrangement followed has been adopted
+to illustrate versions current in different sections.<a href="#footnotetag1">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote2" name="footnote2"></a>
+<b>Footnote 2:</b> Sung to the air of <i>My Bonnie Lies Over the
+Ocean</i>.<a href="#footnotetag2">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote3" name="footnote3"></a>
+<b>Footnote 3:</b> Attributed to James Barton Adams.<a href="#footnotetag3">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote4" name="footnote4"></a>
+<b>Footnote 4:</b> Printed as a fugitive ballad in <i>Grandon of Sierra</i>, by Charles
+E. Winter.<a href="#footnotetag4">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote5" name="footnote5"></a>
+<b>Footnote 5:</b> A song current in Arizona, probably written by Berton Braley.
+Cowboys and miners often take verses that please them and fit
+them to music.<a href="#footnotetag5">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote6" name="footnote6"></a>
+<b>Footnote 6:</b> These verses are used in many parts of the West as a dance
+song. Sung to waltz music the song takes the place of "Home,
+Sweet Home" at the conclusion of a cowboy ball. The "fiddle"
+is silenced and the entire company sing as they dance.<a href="#footnotetag6">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote7" name="footnote7"></a>
+<b>Footnote 7:</b> A lumber jack song adopted by the cowboys.<a href="#footnotetag7">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote8" name="footnote8"></a>
+<b>Footnote 8:</b> This poem, one of the best in Larry Chittenden's <i>Ranch
+Verses</i>, published by G.P. Putnam's Sons, New York, has been set
+to music by the cowboys and its phraseology slightly changed, as
+this copy will show, by oral transmission. I have heard it in
+New Mexico and it has been sent to me from various places,&mdash;always
+as a song. None of those who sent in the song knew
+that it was already in print.<a href="#footnotetag8">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote9" name="footnote9"></a>
+<b>Footnote 9:</b> "set" means settler.<a href="#footnotetag9">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote10" name="footnote10"></a>
+<b>Footnote 10:</b> snake, bad steer.<a href="#footnotetag10">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote11" name="footnote11"></a>
+<b>Footnote 11:</b> Dolly welter, rope tied all around the saddle.<a href="#footnotetag11">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote12" name="footnote12"></a>
+<b>Footnote 12:</b> rim-fire saddle, without flank girth.<a href="#footnotetag12">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote13" name="footnote13"></a>
+<b>Footnote 13:</b> To tune of <i>Pop Goes the Weasel</i>.<a href="#footnotetag13">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote14" name="footnote14"></a>
+<b>Footnote 14:</b> Cowboy Dude.<a href="#footnotetag14">(Back)</a></p>
+
+<p><a id="footnote15" name="footnote15"></a>
+<b>Footnote 15:</b> Pancake.<a href="#footnotetag15">(Back)</a></p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cowboy Songs, by Various
+
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+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/21300-h/finale/cowboy.mus b/21300-h/finale/cowboy.mus
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..93bc898
--- /dev/null
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diff --git a/21300-h/finale/daysof49.mus b/21300-h/finale/daysof49.mus
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d727239
--- /dev/null
+++ b/21300-h/finale/daysof49.mus
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..91679da
--- /dev/null
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diff --git a/21300-h/finale/drearylife.mus b/21300-h/finale/drearylife.mus
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6132e08
--- /dev/null
+++ b/21300-h/finale/drearylife.mus
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b9fb5e1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/21300-h/finale/dyingcowboy.mus
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4000508
--- /dev/null
+++ b/21300-h/finale/dyingranger.mus
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6ec233d
--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a9c5a36
--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d90b218
--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1c9bef6
--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f278a8b
--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4b64bf6
--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..53c010e
--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..831c4a6
--- /dev/null
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diff --git a/21300-h/finale/sambass.mus b/21300-h/finale/sambass.mus
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..413549c
--- /dev/null
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diff --git a/21300-h/finale/texascowboy.mus b/21300-h/finale/texascowboy.mus
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2bf2208
--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7056068
--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..89d6b3d
--- /dev/null
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diff --git a/21300-h/images/cowboy_tb.png b/21300-h/images/cowboy_tb.png
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2feb960
--- /dev/null
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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new file mode 100644
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cowboy Songs, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Cowboy Songs
+       and Other Frontier Ballads
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: May 4, 2007 [EBook #21300]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COWBOY SONGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net. Music transcribed by Linda Cantoni,
+Joyce Wilson, Espe (Nada Prodanovic), and the PG Finale
+Project Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Transcriber's notes:
+-Page vii: The word following "view of what Owen" was unclear,
+and may not be the "Writes" which has been chosen.
+-(Mus. Not.) following a title means that the original book contains
+musical notation for that song.]
+
+
+
+
+                             COWBOY SONGS
+
+                       AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS
+
+
+
+
+                    What keeps the herd from running,
+                    Stampeding far and wide?
+                    The cowboy's long, low whistle,
+                    And singing by their side.
+
+
+
+
+                              COWBOY SONGS
+
+                      AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS
+
+
+
+
+                              COLLECTED BY
+
+
+                          JOHN A. LOMAX, M.A.
+
+
+                        THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS
+         SHELDON FELLOW FOR THE INVESTIGATION OF AMERICAN BALLADS,
+                          HARVARD UNIVERSITY
+
+
+
+
+                        WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
+                             BARRETT WENDELL
+
+
+
+                               _New York_
+                        THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
+                                 1929
+
+                        _All rights reserved_
+
+
+                        COPYRIGHT, 1910, 1916,
+                     By STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY.
+
+          Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1910.
+                 Reprinted April, 1911; January, 1915.
+
+         New Edition with additions, March, 1916; April, 1917;
+                      December, 1918; July, 1919.
+
+           Reissued January, 1927. Reprinted February, 1929.
+
+
+                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
+                         BY BERWICK & SMITH CO.
+
+
+
+
+
+                                  _To_
+
+                          MR. THEODORE ROOSEVELT
+
+                 WHO WHILE PRESIDENT WAS NOT TOO BUSY TO
+               TURN ASIDE--CHEERFULLY AND EFFECTIVELY--AND
+                  AID WORKERS IN THE FIELD OF AMERICAN
+                   BALLADRY, THIS VOLUME IS GRATEFULLY
+                                DEDICATED
+
+
+
+
+                                                   Cheyenne
+                                                   Aug 28th 1910
+
+Dear Mr. Lomax,
+
+    You have done a work emphatically worth doing and one which should
+    appeal to the people of all our country, but particularly to the
+    people of the west and southwest. Your subject is not only
+    exceedingly interesting to the student of literature, but also to
+    the student of the general history of the west. There is something
+    very curious in the reproduction here on this new continent of
+    essentially the conditions of ballad-growth which obtained in
+    mediaeval England; including, by the way, sympathy for the outlaw,
+    Jesse James taking the place of Robin Hood. Under modern conditions
+    however, the native ballad is speedily killed by competition with the
+    music hall songs; the cowboys becoming ashamed to sing the crude
+    homespun ballads in view of what Owen Writes calls the "ill-smelling
+    saloon cleverness" of the far less interesting compositions
+    of the music-hall singers. It is therefore a work of real importance
+    to preserve permanently this unwritten ballad literature of the back
+    country and the frontier.
+                            With all good wishes,
+                                 I am
+                                     very truly yours
+                                                    Theodore Roosevelt
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+                                                  PAGE
+
+ARAPHOE, OR BUCKSKIN JOE                           390
+
+ARIZONA BOYS AND GIRLS, THE                        211
+
+BILL PETERS, THE STAGE DRIVER                      100
+
+BILLY THE KID                                      344
+
+BILLY VENERO                                       299
+
+BOB STANFORD                                       265
+
+BONNIE BLACK BESS                                  194
+
+BOOZER, THE                                        304
+
+BOSTON BURGLAR, THE                                147
+
+BRIGHAM YOUNG, I                                   399
+
+BRIGHAM YOUNG, II                                  401
+
+BRONC PEELER'S SONG                                377
+
+BUCKING BRONCHO                                    367
+
+BUENA VISTA BATTLEFIELD                             34
+
+BUFFALO HUNTERS                                    185
+
+BUFFALO SKINNERS, THE                              158
+
+BULL WHACKER, THE                                   69
+
+BY MARKENTURA'S FLOWERY MARGE                      224
+
+CALIFORNIA JOE                                     139
+
+CALIFORNIA STAGE COMPANY                           411
+
+CALIFORNIA TRAIL                                   375
+
+CAMP FIRE HAS GONE OUT, THE                        322
+
+CHARLIE RUTLAGE                                    267
+
+CHOPO                                              371
+
+COLE YOUNGER                                       106
+
+CONVICT, THE                                       290
+
+COW CAMP ON THE RANGE, A                           358
+
+COWBOY, THE                                         96
+
+COWBOY AT CHURCH, THE                              246
+
+COWBOY AT WORK, THE                                352
+
+COWBOY'S CHRISTMAS BALL, THE                       335
+
+COWBOY'S DREAM, THE                                 18
+
+COWBOY'S LAMENT, THE                                74
+
+COWBOY'S LIFE, THE                                  20
+
+COWBOY'S MEDITATION, THE                           297
+
+COWGIRL, THE                                       251
+
+COWMAN'S PRAYER, THE                                24
+
+CROOKED TRAIL TO HOLBROOK, THE                     121
+
+DAN TAYLOR                                          51
+
+DAYS OF FORTY-NINE, THE                              9
+
+DEER HUNT, A                                       379
+
+DESERTED ADOBE, THE                                350
+
+DISHEARTENED RANGER, THE                           261
+
+DOGIE SONG                                         303
+
+DOWN SOUTH ON THE RIO GRANDE                       331
+
+DREARY BLACK HILLS, THE                            177
+
+DREARY, DREARY LIFE, THE                           233
+
+DRINKING SONG                                      305
+
+DRUNKARD'S HELL, THE                               395
+
+DYING COWBOY, THE                                    3
+
+DYING RANGER, THE                                  214
+
+FAIR FANNIE MOORE                                  219
+
+FOOLS OF FORTY-NINE, THE                           404
+
+FOREMAN MONROE                                     174
+
+FRECKLES, A FRAGMENT                               360
+
+FULLER AND WARREN                                  126
+
+FRAGMENT, A                                        306
+
+FRAGMENT, A                                        309
+
+FREIGHTING FROM WILCOX TO GLOBE                    207
+
+GAL I LEFT BEHIND ME, THE                          342
+
+GOL-DARNED WHEEL, THE                              190
+
+GREAT ROUND-UP, THE                                282
+
+GREER COUNTY                                       278
+
+HABIT, THE                                         327
+
+HAPPY MINER, THE                                   409
+
+HARD TIMES                                         103
+
+HARRY BALE                                         172
+
+HELL IN TEXAS                                      222
+
+HELL-BOUND TRAIN, THE                              345
+
+HERE'S TO THE RANGER                               354
+
+HER WHITE BOSOM BARE                               271
+
+HOME ON THE RANGE, A                                39
+
+HORSE WRANGLER, THE                                136
+
+I'M A GOOD OLD REBEL                                94
+
+JACK DONAHOO                                        64
+
+JACK O' DIAMONDS                                   292
+
+JERRY, GO ILE THAT CAR                             112
+
+JESSE JAMES                                         27
+
+JIM FARROW                                         237
+
+JOE BOWERS                                          15
+
+JOHN GARNER'S TRAIL HERD                           114
+
+JOLLY COWBOY, THE                                  284
+
+JUAN MURRAY                                        276
+
+KANSAS LINE, THE                                    22
+
+LACKEY BILL                                         83
+
+LAST LONGHORN, THE                                 197
+
+LIFE IN A HALF-BREED SHACK                         386
+
+LITTLE JOE, THE WRANGLER                           167
+
+LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY, THE                         187
+
+LONE BUFFALO HUNTER, THE                           119
+
+LONE STAR TRAIL, THE                               310
+
+LOVE IN DISGUISE                                    77
+
+MCCAFFIE'S CONFESSION                              164
+
+MAN NAMED HODS, A                                  307
+
+MELANCHOLY COWBOY, THE                             263
+
+METIS SONG OF THE BUFFALO HUNTERS                   72
+
+MINER'S SONG, THE                                   25
+
+MISSISSIPPI GIRLS                                  108
+
+MORMON SONG                                        182
+
+MORMON BISHOP'S LAMENT, THE                         47
+
+MUSTANG GRAY                                        79
+
+MUSTER OUT THE RANGER                              356
+
+NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM                                413
+
+NIGHT-HERDING SONG                                 324
+
+OLD CHISHOLM TRAIL, THE                             58
+
+OLD GRAY MULE, THE                                 403
+
+OLD MAN UNDER THE HILL, THE                        110
+
+OLD PAINT                                          329
+
+OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT, THE                            117
+
+OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT, THE                            348
+
+OLD TIME COWBOY                                    365
+
+ONLY A COWBOY                                      124
+
+PECOS QUEEN, THE                                   369
+
+PINTO                                              340
+
+POOR LONESOME COWBOY                                32
+
+PRISONER FOR LIFE, A                               200
+
+RAILROAD CORRAL, THE                               318
+
+RAMBLING BAY                                       397
+
+RAMBLING COWBOY, THE                               244
+
+RANGE RIDERS, THE                                  269
+
+RATTLESNAKE--A RANCH HAYING SONG                   315
+
+RIPPING TRIP, A                                    407
+
+ROAD TO COOK'S PEAK                                388
+
+ROOT HOG OR DIE                                    254
+
+ROSIN THE BOW                                      280
+
+ROUNDED UP IN GLORY                                393
+
+SAM BASS                                           149
+
+SHANTY BOY, THE                                    252
+
+SILVER JACK                                        332
+
+SIOUX INDIANS                                       56
+
+SKEW-BALL BLACK, THE                               243
+
+SONG OF THE "METIS" TRAPPER, THE                   320
+
+STATE OF ARKANSAW, THE                             226
+
+SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE                              258
+
+TAIL PIECE                                         326
+
+TEXAS COWBOY, THE                                  229
+
+TOP HAND                                           373
+
+TEXAS RANGERS                                       44
+
+TRAIL TO MEXICO, THE                               132
+
+U.S.A. RECRUIT, THE                                249
+
+UTAH CARROLL                                        66
+
+WARS OF GERMANY, THE                               204
+
+WAY DOWN IN MEXICO                                 314
+
+WESTWARD HO                                         37
+
+WHEN THE WORK IS DONE THIS FALL                     53
+
+WHOOPEE-TI-YI-YO, GIT ALONG LITTLE DOGIES           87
+
+WHOSE OLD COW                                      362
+
+WILD ROVERS                                        383
+
+WINDY BILL                                         381
+
+U-S-U RANGE                                         92
+
+YOUNG CHARLOTTIE                                   239
+
+YOUNG COMPANIONS                                    81
+
+ZEBRA DUN, THE                                     154
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+It is now four or five years since my attention was called to the
+collection of native American ballads from the Southwest, already
+begun by Professor Lomax. At that time, he seemed hardly to appreciate
+their full value and importance. To my colleague, Professor G.L.
+Kittredge, probably the most eminent authority on folk-song in
+America, this value and importance appeared as indubitable as it
+appeared to me. We heartily joined in encouraging the work, as a real
+contribution both to literature and to learning. The present volume is
+the first published result of these efforts.
+
+The value and importance of the work seems to me double. One phase of
+it is perhaps too highly special ever to be popular. Whoever has begun
+the inexhaustibly fascinating study of popular song and literature--of
+the nameless poetry which vigorously lives through the centuries--must
+be perplexed by the necessarily conjectural opinions concerning its
+origin and development held by various and disputing scholars. When
+songs were made in times and terms which for centuries have been not
+living facts but facts of remote history or tradition, it is impossible
+to be sure quite how they begun, and by quite what means they sifted
+through the centuries into the forms at last securely theirs,
+in the final rigidity of print. In this collection of American
+ballads, almost if not quite uniquely, it is possible to trace the
+precise manner in which songs and cycles of song--obviously analogous
+to those surviving from older and antique times--have come into being.
+The facts which are still available concerning the ballads of our own
+Southwest are such as should go far to prove, or to disprove, many of
+the theories advanced concerning the laws of literature as evinced in
+the ballads of the old world.
+
+Such learned matter as this, however, is not so surely within my
+province, who have made no technical study of literary origins, as is
+the other consideration which made me feel, from my first knowledge of
+these ballads, that they are beyond dispute valuable and important. In
+the ballads of the old world, it is not historical or philological
+considerations which most readers care for. It is the wonderful,
+robust vividness of their artless yet supremely true utterance; it is
+the natural vigor of their surgent, unsophisticated human rhythm. It
+is the sense, derived one can hardly explain how, that here is
+expression straight from the heart of humanity; that here is something
+like the sturdy root from which the finer, though not always more
+lovely, flowers of polite literature have sprung. At times when we
+yearn for polite grace, ballads may seem rude; at times when polite
+grace seems tedious, sophisticated, corrupt, or mendacious, their very
+rudeness refreshes us with a new sense of brimming life. To
+compare the songs collected by Professor Lomax with the immortalities
+of olden time is doubtless like comparing the literature of America
+with that of all Europe together. Neither he nor any of us would
+pretend these verses to be of supreme power and beauty. None the less,
+they seem to me, and to many who have had a glimpse of them,
+sufficiently powerful, and near enough beauty, to give us some such
+wholesome and enduring pleasure as comes from work of this kind proved
+and acknowledged to be masterly.
+
+What I mean may best be implied, perhaps, by a brief statement of
+fact. Four or five years ago, Professor Lomax, at my request, read
+some of these ballads to one of my classes at Harvard, then engaged in
+studying the literary history of America. From that hour to the
+present, the men who heard these verses, during the cheerless progress
+of a course of study, have constantly spoken of them and written of
+them, as of something sure to linger happily in memory. As such I
+commend them to all who care for the native poetry of America.
+
+                                             BARRETT WENDELL.
+Nahant, Massachusetts,
+July 11, 1910.
+
+
+
+
+COLLECTOR'S NOTE
+
+
+Out in the wild, far-away places of the big and still unpeopled
+west,--in the canons along the Rocky Mountains, among the mining camps
+of Nevada and Montana, and on the remote cattle ranches of Texas, New
+Mexico, and Arizona,--yet survives the Anglo-Saxon ballad spirit that
+was active in secluded districts in England and Scotland even after
+the coming of Tennyson and Browning. This spirit is manifested both in
+the preservation of the English ballad and in the creation of local
+songs. Illiterate people, and people cut off from newspapers and
+books, isolated and lonely,--thrown back on primal resources for
+entertainment and for the expression of emotion,--utter themselves
+through somewhat the same character of songs as did their forefathers
+of perhaps a thousand years ago. In some such way have been made and
+preserved the cowboy songs and other frontier ballads contained in
+this volume. The songs represent the operation of instinct and
+tradition. They are chiefly interesting to the present generation,
+however, because of the light they throw on the conditions of pioneer
+life, and more particularly because of the information they contain
+concerning that unique and romantic figure in modern civilization, the
+American cowboy.
+
+The profession of cow-punching, not yet a lost art in a group
+of big western states, reached its greatest prominence during the
+first two decades succeeding the Civil War. In Texas, for example,
+immense tracts of open range, covered with luxuriant grass, encouraged
+the raising of cattle. One person in many instances owned thousands.
+To care for the cattle during the winter season, to round them up in
+the spring and mark and brand the yearlings, and later to drive from
+Texas to Fort Dodge, Kansas, those ready for market, required large
+forces of men. The drive from Texas to Kansas came to be known as
+"going up the trail," for the cattle really made permanent, deep-cut
+trails across the otherwise trackless hills and plains of the long
+way. It also became the custom to take large herds of young steers
+from Texas as far north as Montana, where grass at certain seasons
+grew more luxuriant than in the south. Texas was the best breeding
+ground, while the climate and grass of Montana developed young cattle
+for the market.
+
+A trip up the trail made a distinct break in the monotonous life of
+the big ranches, often situated hundreds of miles from where the
+conventions of society were observed. The ranch community consisted
+usually of the boss, the straw-boss, the cowboys proper, the horse
+wrangler, and the cook--often a negro. These men lived on terms of
+practical equality. Except in the case of the boss, there was little
+difference in the amounts paid each for his services. Society,
+then, was here reduced to its lowest terms. The work of the men, their
+daily experiences, their thoughts, their interests, were all in
+common. Such a community had necessarily to turn to itself for
+entertainment. Songs sprang up naturally, some of them tender and
+familiar lays of childhood, others original compositions, all genuine,
+however crude and unpolished. Whatever the most gifted man could
+produce must bear the criticism of the entire camp, and agree with the
+ideas of a group of men. In this sense, therefore, any song that came
+from such a group would be the joint product of a number of them,
+telling perhaps the story of some stampede they had all fought to
+turn, some crime in which they had all shared equally, some comrade's
+tragic death which they had all witnessed. The song-making did not
+cease as the men went up the trail. Indeed the songs were here
+utilized for very practical ends. Not only were sharp, rhythmic
+yells--sometimes beaten into verse--employed to stir up lagging
+cattle, but also during the long watches the night-guards, as they
+rode round and round the herd, improvised cattle lullabies which
+quieted the animals and soothed them to sleep. Some of the best of the
+so-called "dogie songs" seem to have been created for the purpose of
+preventing cattle stampedes,--such songs coming straight from the
+heart of the cowboy, speaking familiarly to his herd in the stillness
+of the night.
+
+The long drives up the trail occupied months, and called for
+sleepless vigilance and tireless activity both day and night. When at
+last a shipping point was reached, the cattle marketed or loaded on
+the cars, the cowboys were paid off. It is not surprising that the
+consequent relaxation led to reckless deeds. The music, the dancing,
+the click of the roulette ball in the saloons, invited; the lure of
+crimson lights was irresistible. Drunken orgies, reactions from months
+of toil, deprivation, and loneliness on the ranch and on the trail,
+brought to death many a temporarily crazed buckaroo. To match this
+dare-deviltry, a saloon man in one frontier town, as a sign for his
+business, with psychological ingenuity painted across the broad front
+of his building in big black letters this challenge to God, man, and
+the devil: _The Road to Ruin_. Down this road, with swift and eager
+footsteps, has trod many a pioneer viking of the West. Quick to resent
+an insult real or fancied, inflamed by unaccustomed drink, the ready
+pistol always at his side, the tricks of the professional gambler to
+provoke his sense of fair play, and finally his own wild recklessness
+to urge him on,--all these combined forces sometimes brought him into
+tragic conflict with another spirit equally heedless and daring. Not
+nearly so often, however, as one might suppose, did he die with his
+boots on. Many of the most wealthy and respected citizens now living
+in the border states served as cowboys before settling down to quiet
+domesticity.
+
+A cow-camp in the seventies generally contained several types of
+men. It was not unusual to find a negro who, because of his ability to
+handle wild horses or because of his skill with a lasso, had been
+promoted from the chuck-wagon to a place in the ranks of the cowboys.
+Another familiar figure was the adventurous younger son of some
+British family, through whom perhaps became current the English
+ballads found in the West. Furthermore, so considerable was the number
+of men who had fled from the States because of grave imprudence or
+crime, it was bad form to inquire too closely about a person's real
+name or where he came from. Most cowboys, however, were bold young
+spirits who emigrated to the West for the same reason that their
+ancestors had come across the seas. They loved roving; they loved
+freedom; they were pioneers by instinct; an impulse set their faces
+from the East, put the tang for roaming in their veins, and sent them
+ever, ever westward.
+
+That the cowboy was brave has come to be axiomatic. If his life of
+isolation made him taciturn, it at the same time created a spirit of
+hospitality, primitive and hearty as that found in the mead-halls of
+Beowulf. He faced the wind and the rain, the snow of winter, the
+fearful dust-storms of alkali desert wastes, with the same uncomplaining
+quiet. Not all his work was on the ranch and the trail. To the cowboy,
+more than to the goldseekers, more than to Uncle Sam's soldiers, is
+due the conquest of the West. Along his winding cattle trails the
+Forty-Niners found their way to California. The cowboy has fought
+back the Indians ever since ranching became a business and as long as
+Indians remained to be fought. He played his part in winning the great
+slice of territory that the United States took away from Mexico. He
+has always been on the skirmish line of civilization. Restless,
+fearless, chivalric, elemental, he lived hard, shot quick and true,
+and died with his face to his foe. Still much misunderstood, he is
+often slandered, nearly always caricatured, both by the press and by
+the stage. Perhaps these songs, coming direct from the cowboy's
+experience, giving vent to his careless and his tender emotions, will
+afford future generations a truer conception of what he really was
+than is now possessed by those who know him only through highly
+colored romances.
+
+The big ranches of the West are now being cut up into small farms. The
+nester has come, and come to stay. Gone is the buffalo, the Indian
+warwhoop, the free grass of the open plain;--even the stinging lizard,
+the horned frog, the centipede, the prairie dog, the rattlesnake, are
+fast disappearing. Save in some of the secluded valleys of southern
+New Mexico, the old-time round-up is no more; the trails to Kansas and
+to Montana have become grass-grown or lost in fields of waving grain;
+the maverick steer, the regal longhorn, has been supplanted by his
+unpoetic but more beefy and profitable Polled Angus, Durham, and
+Hereford cousins from across the seas. The changing and romantic
+West of the early days lives mainly in story and in song. The last
+figure to vanish is the cowboy, the animating spirit of the vanishing
+era. He sits his horse easily as he rides through a wide valley,
+enclosed by mountains, clad in the hazy purple of coming night,--with
+his face turned steadily down the long, long road, "the road that the
+sun goes down." Dauntless, reckless, without the unearthly purity of
+Sir Galahad though as gentle to a pure woman as King Arthur, he is
+truly a knight of the twentieth century. A vagrant puff of wind shakes
+a corner of the crimson handkerchief knotted loosely at his throat;
+the thud of his pony's feet mingling with the jingle of his spurs is
+borne back; and as the careless, gracious, lovable figure disappears
+over the divide, the breeze brings to the ears, faint and far yet
+cheery still, the refrain of a cowboy song:
+
+  Whoopee ti yi, git along, little dogies;
+    It's my misfortune and none of your own.
+  Whoopee ti yi, git along, little dogies;
+    For you know Wyoming will be your new home.
+
+As for the songs of this collection, I have violated the ethics of
+ballad-gatherers, in a few instances, by selecting and putting together
+what seemed to be the best lines from different versions, all telling
+the same story. Frankly, the volume is meant to be popular. The songs
+have been arranged in some such haphazard way as they were
+collected,--jotted down on a table in the rear of saloons, scrawled on
+an envelope while squatting about a campfire, caught behind the scenes
+of a broncho-busting outfit. Later, it is hoped that enough interest
+will be aroused to justify printing all the variants of these songs,
+accompanied by the music and such explanatory notes as may be useful;
+the negro folk-songs, the songs of the lumber jacks, the songs of the
+mountaineers, and the songs of the sea, already partially collected,
+being included in the final publication. The songs of this collection,
+never before in print, as a rule have been taken down from oral
+recitation. In only a few instances have I been able to discover the
+authorship of any song. They seem to have sprung up as quietly and
+mysteriously as does the grass on the plains. All have been popular
+with the range riders, several being current all the way from Texas to
+Montana, and quite as long as the old Chisholm Trail stretching between
+these states. Some of the songs the cowboy certainly composed; all of
+them he sang. Obviously, a number of the most characteristic cannot be
+printed for general circulation. To paraphrase slightly what Sidney
+Lanier said of Walt Whitman's poetry, they are raw collops slashed
+from the rump of Nature, and never mind the gristle. Likewise some of
+the strong adjectives and nouns have been softened,--Jonahed, as
+George Meredith would have said. There is, however, a Homeric
+quality about the cowboy's profanity and vulgarity that pleases rather
+than repulses. The broad sky under which he slept, the limitless
+plains over which he rode, the big, open, free life he lived near to
+Nature's breast, taught him simplicity, calm, directness. He spoke out
+plainly the impulses of his heart. But as yet so-called polite society
+is not quite willing to hear.
+
+It is entirely impossible to acknowledge the assistance I have
+received from many persons. To Professors Barrett Wendell and G.L.
+Kittredge, of Harvard, I must gratefully acknowledge constant and
+generous encouragement. Messrs. Jeff Hanna, of Meridian, Texas; John
+B. Jones, a student of the Agricultural and Mechanical College of
+Texas; H. Knight, Sterling City, Texas; John Lang Sinclair, San
+Antonio; A.H. Belo & Co., Dallas; Tom Hight, of Mangum, Oklahoma; R.
+Bedichek, of Deming, N.M.; Benjamin Wyche, Librarian of the Carnegie
+Library, San Antonio; Mrs. M.B. Wight, of Ft. Thomas, Arizona; Dr.
+L.W. Payne, Jr., and Dr. Morgan Callaway, Jr., of the University of
+Texas; and my brother, R.C. Lomax, Austin;--have rendered me
+especially helpful service in furnishing material, for which I also
+render grateful thanks.
+
+Among the negroes, rivermen, miners, soldiers, seamen, lumbermen,
+railroad men, and ranchmen of the United States and Canada there are
+many indigenous folk-songs not included in this volume. Of some
+of them I have traces, and I shall surely run them down. I beg
+the co-operation of all who are interested in this vital, however
+humble, expression of American literature.
+
+                                           J.A.L.
+Deming, New Mexico,
+August 8, 1910.
+
+
+
+
+COWBOY SONGS
+
+AND OTHER FRONTIER BALLADS
+
+
+
+
+THE DYING COWBOY[1]
+
+
+  "O bury me not on the lone prairie,"
+  These words came low and mournfully
+  From the pallid lips of a youth who lay
+  On his dying bed at the close of day.
+
+  He had wailed in pain till o'er his brow
+  Death's shadows fast were gathering now;
+  He thought of his home and his loved ones nigh
+  As the cowboys gathered to see him die.
+
+    "O bury me not on the lone prairie
+    Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,
+    In a narrow grave just six by three,
+    O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+  "In fancy I listen to the well known words
+  Of the free, wild winds and the song of the birds;
+  I think of home and the cottage in the bower
+  And the scenes I loved in my childhood's hour.
+
+  "It matters not, I've oft been told,
+  Where the body lies when the heart grows cold;
+  Yet grant, Oh grant this wish to me,
+  O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+    "O then bury me not on the lone prairie,
+    In a narrow grave six foot by three,
+    Where the buffalo paws o'er a prairie sea,
+    O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+  "I've always wished to be laid when I died
+  In the little churchyard on the green hillside;
+  By my father's grave, there let mine be,
+  And bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+  "Let my death slumber be where my mother's prayer
+  And a sister's tear will mingle there,
+  Where my friends can come and weep o'er me;
+  O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+    "O bury me not on the lone prairie
+    In a narrow grave just six by three,
+    Where the buzzard waits and the wind blows free;
+    Then bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+  "There is another whose tears may be shed
+  For one who lies on a prairie bed;
+  It pained me then and it pains me now;--
+  She has curled these locks, she has kissed this brow.
+
+  "These locks she has curled, shall the rattlesnake kiss?
+  This brow she has kissed, shall the cold grave press?
+  For the sake of the loved ones that will weep for me
+  O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+    "O bury me not on the lone prairie
+    Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,
+    Where the buzzard beats and the wind goes free,
+    O bury me not on the lone prairie.
+
+  "O bury me not," and his voice failed there,
+  But we took no heed of his dying prayer;
+  In a narrow grave just six by three
+  We buried him there on the lone prairie.
+
+  Where the dew-drops glow and the butterflies rest,
+  And the flowers bloom o'er the prairie's crest;
+  Where the wild cayote and winds sport free
+  On a wet saddle blanket lay a cowboy-ee.
+
+    "O bury me not on the lone prairie
+    Where the wild cayotes will howl o'er me,
+    Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the crow flies free
+    O bury me not on the lone prairie."
+
+  O we buried him there on the lone prairie
+  Where the wild rose blooms and the wind blows free,
+  O his pale young face nevermore to see,--
+  For we buried him there on the lone prairie.
+
+  Yes, we buried him there on the lone prairie
+  Where the owl all night hoots mournfully,
+  And the blizzard beats and the winds blow free
+  O'er his lowly grave on the lone prairie.
+
+  And the cowboys now as they roam the plain,--
+  For they marked the spot where his bones were lain,--
+  Fling a handful of roses o'er his grave,
+  With a prayer to Him who his soul will save.
+
+    "O bury me not on the lone prairie
+    Where the wolves can howl and growl o'er me;
+    Fling a handful of roses o'er my grave
+    With a prayer to Him who my soul will save."
+
+
+[Footnote 1: In this song, as in several others, the chorus should
+come in after each stanza. The arrangement followed has been adopted
+to illustrate versions current in different sections.]
+
+
+
+The Dying Cowboy (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  "O bu-ry me not on the lone prai-rie,"
+  These words came low ... and mourn-ful-ly ...
+  From the pal-lid lips of a youth who lay
+  On his dy-ing bed at the close of day.
+
+
+
+
+THE DAYS OF FORTY-NINE
+
+
+  We are gazing now on old Tom Moore,
+  A relic of bygone days;
+  'Tis a bummer, too, they call me now,
+  But what cares I for praise?
+  It's oft, says I, for the days gone by,
+  It's oft do I repine
+  For the days of old when we dug out the gold
+  In those days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  My comrades they all loved me well,
+  The jolly, saucy crew;
+  A few hard cases, I will admit,
+  Though they were brave and true.
+  Whatever the pinch, they ne'er would flinch;
+  They never would fret nor whine,
+  Like good old bricks they stood the kicks
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  There's old "Aunt Jess," that hard old cuss,
+  Who never would repent;
+  He never missed a single meal,
+  Nor never paid a cent.
+  But old "Aunt Jess," like all the rest,
+  At death he did resign,
+  And in his bloom went up the flume
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  There is Ragshag Jim, the roaring man,
+  Who could out-roar a buffalo, you bet,
+  He roared all day and he roared all night,
+  And I guess he is roaring yet.
+  One night Jim fell in a prospect hole,--
+  It was a roaring bad design,--
+  And in that hole Jim roared out his soul
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  There is Wylie Bill, the funny man,
+  Who was full of funny tricks,
+  And when he was in a poker game
+  He was always hard as bricks.
+  He would ante you a stud, he would play you a draw,
+  He'd go you a hatful blind,--
+  In a struggle with death Bill lost his breath
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  There was New York Jake, the butcher boy,
+  Who was fond of getting tight.
+  And every time he got on a spree
+  He was spoiling for a fight.
+  One night Jake rampaged against a knife
+  In the hands of old Bob Sine,
+  And over Jake they held a wake
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  There was Monte Pete, I'll ne'er forget
+  The luck he always had,
+  He would deal for you both day and night
+  Or as long as he had a scad.
+  It was a pistol shot that lay Pete out,
+  It was his last resign,
+  And it caught Pete dead sure in the door
+  In the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+  Of all the comrades that I've had
+  There's none that's left to boast,
+  And I am left alone in my misery
+  Like some poor wandering ghost.
+  And as I pass from town to town,
+  They call me the rambling sign,
+  Since the days of old and the days of gold
+  And the days of Forty-Nine.
+
+
+
+Days of Forty-Nine (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  You are gaz-ing now on old Tom Moore, A
+  rel-ic of by-gone days; 'Tis a bum-mer now they
+  call me. But what cares I for praise; It is
+  oft, says I, for days gone by, It's oft do I repine
+  For those days of old when we dug out the gold, In the
+  days of For-ty-nine, In those days of old when we
+  dug out the gold, In the days of For-ty-nine.
+
+
+
+
+JOE BOWERS
+
+
+  My name is Joe Bowers,
+  I've got a brother Ike,
+  I came here from Missouri,
+  Yes, all the way from Pike.
+  I'll tell you why I left there
+  And how I came to roam,
+  And leave my poor old mammy,
+  So far away from home.
+
+  I used to love a gal there,
+  Her name was Sallie Black,
+  I asked her for to marry me,
+  She said it was a whack.
+  She says to me, "Joe Bowers,
+  Before you hitch for life,
+  You ought to have a little home
+  To keep your little wife."
+
+  Says I, "My dearest Sallie,
+  O Sallie, for your sake,
+  I'll go to California
+  And try to raise a stake."
+  Says she to me, "Joe Bowers,
+  You are the chap to win,
+  Give me a kiss to seal the bargain,"--
+  And I throwed a dozen in.
+
+  I'll never forget my feelings
+  When I bid adieu to all.
+  Sal, she cotched me round the neck
+  And I began to bawl.
+  When I begun they all commenced,
+  You never heard the like,
+  How they all took on and cried
+  The day I left old Pike.
+
+  When I got to this here country
+  I hadn't nary a red,
+  I had such wolfish feelings
+  I wished myself most dead.
+  At last I went to mining,
+  Put in my biggest licks,
+  Came down upon the boulders
+  Just like a thousand bricks.
+
+  I worked both late and early
+  In rain and sun and snow,
+  But I was working for my Sallie
+  So 'twas all the same to Joe.
+  I made a very lucky strike
+  As the gold itself did tell,
+  For I was working for my Sallie,
+  The girl I loved so well.
+
+  But one day I got a letter
+  From my dear, kind brother Ike;
+  It came from old Missouri,
+  Yes, all the way from Pike.
+  It told me the goldarndest news
+  That ever you did hear,
+  My heart it is a-bustin'
+  So please excuse this tear.
+
+  I'll tell you what it was, boys,
+  You'll bust your sides I know;
+  For when I read that letter
+  You ought to seen poor Joe.
+  My knees gave 'way beneath me,
+  And I pulled out half my hair;
+  And if you ever tell this now,
+  You bet you'll hear me swear.
+
+  It said my Sallie was fickle,
+  Her love for me had fled,
+  That she had married a butcher,
+  Whose hair was awful red;
+  It told me more than that,
+  It's enough to make me swear,--
+  It said that Sallie had a baby
+  And the baby had red hair.
+
+  Now I've told you all that I can tell
+  About this sad affair,
+  'Bout Sallie marrying the butcher
+  And the baby had red hair.
+  But whether it was a boy or girl
+  The letter never said,
+  It only said its cussed hair
+  Was inclined to be red.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY'S DREAM[2]
+
+
+  Last night as I lay on the prairie,
+  And looked at the stars in the sky,
+  I wondered if ever a cowboy
+  Would drift to that sweet by and by.
+
+    Roll on, roll on;
+    Roll on, little dogies, roll on, roll on,
+    Roll on, roll on;
+    Roll on, little dogies, roll on.
+
+  The road to that bright, happy region
+  Is a dim, narrow trail, so they say;
+  But the broad one that leads to perdition
+  Is posted and blazed all the way.
+
+  They say there will be a great round-up,
+  And cowboys, like dogies, will stand,
+  To be marked by the Riders of Judgment
+  Who are posted and know every brand.
+
+  I know there's many a stray cowboy
+  Who'll be lost at the great, final sale,
+  When he might have gone in the green pastures
+  Had he known of the dim, narrow trail.
+
+  I wonder if ever a cowboy
+  Stood ready for that Judgment Day,
+  And could say to the Boss of the Riders,
+  "I'm ready, come drive me away."
+
+  For they, like the cows that are locoed,
+  Stampede at the sight of a hand,
+  Are dragged with a rope to the round-up,
+  Or get marked with some crooked man's brand.
+
+  And I'm scared that I'll be a stray yearling,--
+  A maverick, unbranded on high,--
+  And get cut in the bunch with the "rusties"
+  When the Boss of the Riders goes by.
+
+  For they tell of another big owner
+  Whose ne'er overstocked, so they say,
+  But who always makes room for the sinner
+  Who drifts from the straight, narrow way.
+
+  They say he will never forget you,
+  That he knows every action and look;
+  So, for safety, you'd better get branded,
+  Have your name in the great Tally Book.
+
+[Footnote 2: Sung to the air of _My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean_.]
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY'S LIFE[3]
+
+
+  The bawl of a steer,
+  To a cowboy's ear,
+  Is music of sweetest strain;
+  And the yelping notes
+  Of the gray cayotes
+  To him are a glad refrain.
+
+  And his jolly songs
+  Speed him along,
+  As he thinks of the little gal
+  With golden hair
+  Who is waiting there
+  At the bars of the home corral.
+
+  For a kingly crown
+  In the noisy town
+  His saddle he wouldn't change;
+  No life so free
+  As the life we see
+  Way out on the Yaso range.
+
+  His eyes are bright
+  And his heart as light
+  As the smoke of his cigarette;
+  There's never a care
+  For his soul to bear,
+  No trouble to make him fret.
+
+  The rapid beat
+  Of his broncho's feet
+  On the sod as he speeds along,
+  Keeps living time
+  To the ringing rhyme
+  Of his rollicking cowboy song.
+
+  Hike it, cowboys,
+  For the range away
+  On the back of a bronc of steel,
+  With a careless flirt
+  Of the raw-hide quirt
+  And a dig of a roweled heel!
+
+  The winds may blow
+  And the thunder growl
+  Or the breezes may safely moan;--
+  A cowboy's life
+  Is a royal life,
+  His saddle his kingly throne.
+
+  Saddle up, boys,
+  For the work is play
+  When love's in the cowboy's eyes,--
+  When his heart is light
+  As the clouds of white
+  That swim in the summer skies.
+
+[Footnote 3: Attributed to James Barton Adams.]
+
+
+
+
+THE KANSAS LINE
+
+
+  Come all you jolly cowmen, don't you want to go
+  Way up on the Kansas line?
+  Where you whoop up the cattle from morning till night
+  All out in the midnight rain.
+
+    The cowboy's life is a dreadful life,
+    He's driven through heat and cold;
+    I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes,
+    A-ridin' through heat and cold.
+
+  I've been where the lightnin', the lightnin' tangled in my eyes,
+  The cattle I could scarcely hold;
+  Think I heard my boss man say:
+  "I want all brave-hearted men who ain't afraid to die
+  To whoop up the cattle from morning till night,
+  Way up on the Kansas line."
+
+  Speaking of your farms and your shanty charms,
+  Speaking of your silver and gold,--
+  Take a cowman's advice, go and marry you a true and lovely little wife,
+  Never to roam, always stay at home;
+  That's a cowman's, a cowman's advice,
+  Way up on the Kansas line.
+
+  Think I heard the noisy cook say,
+  "Wake up, boys, it's near the break of day,"--
+  Way up on the Kansas line,
+  And slowly we will rise with the sleepy feeling eyes,
+  Way up on the Kansas line.
+
+    The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
+    All out in the midnight rain;
+    I'm almost froze with the water on my clothes,
+    Way up on the Kansas line.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWMAN'S PRAYER
+
+
+  Now, O Lord, please lend me thine ear,
+  The prayer of a cattleman to hear,
+  No doubt the prayers may seem strange,
+  But I want you to bless our cattle range.
+
+  Bless the round-ups year by year,
+  And don't forget the growing steer;
+  Water the lands with brooks and rills
+  For my cattle that roam on a thousand hills.
+
+  Prairie fires, won't you please stop?
+  Let thunder roll and water drop.
+  It frightens me to see the smoke;
+  Unless it's stopped, I'll go dead broke.
+
+  As you, O Lord, my herd behold,
+  It represents a sack of gold;
+  I think at least five cents a pound
+  Will be the price of beef the year around.
+
+  One thing more and then I'm through,--
+  Instead of one calf, give my cows two.
+  I may pray different from other men
+  But I've had my say, and now, Amen.
+
+
+
+
+THE MINER'S SONG[4]
+
+
+  In a rusty, worn-out cabin sat a broken-hearted leaser,
+  His singlejack was resting on his knee.
+  His old "buggy" in the corner told the same old plaintive tale,
+  His ore had left in all his poverty.
+  He lifted his old singlejack, gazed on its battered face,
+  And said: "Old boy, I know we're not to blame;
+  Our gold has us forsaken, some other path it's taken,
+  But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.
+
+    "We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same,
+    Although it's gone into some other's claim.
+    My dear old boy don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it,
+    And we'll drill and shoot and find it just the same.
+
+  "For forty years I've hammered steel and tried to make a strike,
+  I've burned twice the powder Custer ever saw.
+  I've made just coin enough to keep poorer than a snake.
+  My jack's ate all my books on mining law.
+  I've worn gunny-sacks for overalls, and 'California socks,'
+  I've burned candles that would reach from here to Maine,
+  I've lived on powder, smoke, and bacon, that's no lie, boy, I'm not
+      fakin',
+  But I still believe we'll strike it just the same.
+
+  "Last night as I lay sleeping in the midst of all my dream
+  My assay ran six ounces clear in gold,
+  And the silver it ran clean sixteen ounces to the seam,
+  And the poor old miner's joy could scarce be told.
+  I lay there, boy, I could not sleep, I had a feverish brow,
+  Got up, went back, and put in six holes more.
+  And then, boy, I was chokin' just to see the ground I'd broken;
+  But alas! alas! the miner's dream was o'er.
+
+    "We'll strike it, yes, we'll strike it just the same,
+    Although it's gone into some other's claim.
+    My dear old boy, don't mind it, we won't starve if we don't find it,
+    And I still believe I'll strike it just the same."
+
+[Footnote 4: Printed as a fugitive ballad in _Grandon of Sierra_, by
+Charles E. Winter.]
+
+
+
+
+JESSE JAMES
+
+
+  Jesse James was a lad that killed a-many a man;
+  He robbed the Danville train.
+  But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard
+  Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.
+
+      Poor Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life,
+      Three children, they were brave.
+      But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard
+      Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.
+
+  It was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward,
+  I wonder how he does feel,
+  For he ate of Jesse's bread and he slept in Jesse's bed,
+  Then laid poor Jesse in his grave.
+
+  Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor,
+  He never would see a man suffer pain;
+  And with his brother Frank he robbed the Chicago bank,
+  And stopped the Glendale train.
+
+  It was his brother Frank that robbed the Gallatin bank,
+  And carried the money from the town;
+  It was in this very place that they had a little race,
+  For they shot Captain Sheets to the ground.
+
+  They went to the crossing not very far from there,
+  And there they did the same;
+  With the agent on his knees, he delivered up the keys
+  To the outlaws, Frank and Jesse James.
+
+  It was on Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright,
+  They robbed the Glendale train;
+  The people they did say, for many miles away,
+  It was robbed by Frank and Jesse James.
+
+  It was on Saturday night, Jesse was at home
+  Talking with his family brave,
+  Robert Ford came along like a thief in the night
+  And laid poor Jesse in his grave.
+
+  The people held their breath when they heard of Jesse's death,
+  And wondered how he ever came to die.
+  It was one of the gang called little Robert Ford,
+  He shot poor Jesse on the sly.
+
+  Jesse went to his rest with his hand on his breast;
+  The devil will be upon his knee.
+  He was born one day in the county of Clay
+  And came from a solitary race.
+
+  This song was made by Billy Gashade,
+  As soon as the news did arrive;
+  He said there was no man with the law in his hand
+  Who could take Jesse James when alive.
+
+
+
+Jesse James (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Jes-se James was a lad that killed a-ma-ny a
+  man; He robbed the Dan-ville train; But that
+  dirt-y lit-tle cow-ard that shot Mis-ter
+  How-ard Has laid poor Jes-se in the grave.
+
+  REFRAIN.
+
+  Poor Jes-se had a wife to mourn for his life.
+  Three chil-dren, they were brave; But that
+  dir-ty lit-tle cow-ard That shot Mis-ter
+  How-ard Has laid poor Jes-se in the grave.
+
+
+
+
+POOR LONESOME COWBOY
+
+
+  I ain't got no father,
+  I ain't got no father,
+  I ain't got no father,
+  To buy the clothes I wear.
+
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy
+      And a long ways from home.
+
+  I ain't got no mother,
+  I ain't got no mother,
+  I ain't got no mother
+  To mend the clothes I wear.
+
+  I ain't got no sister,
+  I ain't got no sister,
+  I ain't got no sister
+  To go and play with me.
+
+  I ain't got no brother,
+  I ain't got no brother,
+  I ain't got no brother
+  To drive the steers with me.
+
+  I ain't got no sweetheart,
+  I ain't got no sweetheart,
+  I ain't got no sweetheart
+  To sit and talk with me.
+
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy,
+      I'm a poor, lonesome cowboy
+      And a long ways from home.
+
+
+
+
+BUENA VISTA BATTLEFIELD
+
+
+  On Buena Vista battlefield
+  A dying soldier lay,
+  His thoughts were on his mountain home
+  Some thousand miles away.
+  He called his comrade to his side,
+  For much he had to say,
+  In briefest words to those who were
+  Some thousand miles away.
+
+  "My father, comrade, you will tell
+  About this bloody fray;
+  My country's flag, you'll say to him,
+  Was safe with me to-day.
+  I make a pillow of it now
+  On which to lay my head,
+  A winding sheet you'll make of it
+  When I am with the dead.
+
+  "I know 'twill grieve his inmost soul
+  To think I never more
+  Will sit with him beneath the oak
+  That shades the cottage door;
+  But tell that time-worn patriot,
+  That, mindful of his fame,
+  Upon this bloody battlefield
+  I sullied not his name.
+
+  "My mother's form is with me now,
+  Her will is in my ear,
+  And drop by drop as flows my blood
+  So flows from her the tear.
+  And oh, when you shall tell to her
+  The tidings of this day,
+  Speak softly, comrade, softly speak
+  What you may have to say.
+
+  "Speak not to her in blighting words
+  The blighting news you bear,
+  The cords of life might snap too soon,
+  So, comrade, have a care.
+  I am her only, cherished child,
+  But tell her that I died
+  Rejoicing that she taught me young
+  To take my country's side.
+
+  "But, comrade, there's one more,
+  She's gentle as a fawn;
+  She lives upon the sloping hill
+  That overlooks the lawn,
+  The lawn where I shall never more
+  Go forth with her in merry mood
+  To gather wild-wood flowers.
+
+  "Tell her when death was on my brow
+  And life receding fast,
+  Her looks, her form was with me then,
+  Were with me to the last.
+  On Buena Vista's bloody field
+  Tell her I dying lay,
+  And that I knew she thought of me
+  Some thousand miles away."
+
+
+
+
+WESTWARD HO
+
+
+  I love not Colorado
+  Where the faro table grows,
+  And down the desperado
+  The rippling Bourbon flows;
+
+  Nor seek I fair Montana
+  Of bowie-lunging fame;
+  The pistol ring of fair Wyoming
+  I leave to nobler game.
+
+  Sweet poker-haunted Kansas
+  In vain allures the eye;
+  The Nevada rough has charms enough
+  Yet its blandishments I fly.
+
+  Shall Arizona woo me
+  Where the meek Apache bides?
+  Or New Mexico where natives grow
+  With arrow-proof insides?
+
+  Nay, 'tis where the grizzlies wander
+  And the lonely diggers roam,
+  And the grim Chinese from the squatter flees
+  That I'll make my humble home.
+
+  I'll chase the wild tarantula
+  And the fierce cayote I'll dare,
+  And the locust grim, I'll battle him
+  In his native wildwood lair.
+
+  Or I'll seek the gulch deserted
+  And dream of the wild Red man,
+  And I'll build a cot on a corner lot
+  And get rich as soon as I can.
+
+
+
+
+A HOME ON THE RANGE
+
+
+  Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam,
+  Where the deer and the antelope play,
+  Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
+  And the skies are not cloudy all day.
+
+    Home, home on the range,
+    Where the deer and the antelope play;
+    Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
+    And the skies are not cloudy all day.
+
+  Where the air is so pure, the zephyrs so free,
+  The breezes so balmy and light,
+  That I would not exchange my home on the range
+  For all of the cities so bright.
+
+  The red man was pressed from this part of the West,
+  He's likely no more to return
+  To the banks of Red River where seldom if ever
+  Their flickering camp-fires burn.
+
+  How often at night when the heavens are bright
+  With the light from the glittering stars,
+  Have I stood here amazed and asked as I gazed
+  If their glory exceeds that of ours.
+
+  Oh, I love these wild flowers in this dear land of ours,
+  The curlew I love to hear scream,
+  And I love the white rocks and the antelope flocks
+  That graze on the mountain-tops green.
+
+  Oh, give me a land where the bright diamond sand
+  Flows leisurely down the stream;
+  Where the graceful white swan goes gliding along
+  Like a maid in a heavenly dream.
+
+  Then I would not exchange my home on the range,
+  Where the deer and the antelope play;
+  Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
+  And the skies are not cloudy all day.
+
+    Home, home on the range,
+    Where the deer and the antelope play;
+    Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
+    And the skies are not cloudy all day.
+
+
+
+Home on the Range (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Oh, give me a home where the buf-fa-lo roam,
+  Where the deer and the an-te-lope play;...
+  Where sel-dom is heard a dis-cour-ag-ing word
+  And the skies are not cloud-y all day.
+  Home, home on the range, Where the deer and the antelope play;
+  Where sel-dom is heard a dis-cour-ag-ing word
+  And the skies are not cloud-y all day.
+
+
+
+
+TEXAS RANGERS
+
+
+  Come, all you Texas rangers, wherever you may be,
+  I'll tell you of some troubles that happened unto me.
+  My name is nothing extra, so it I will not tell,--
+  And here's to all you rangers, I am sure I wish you well.
+
+  It was at the age of sixteen that I joined the jolly band,
+  We marched from San Antonio down to the Rio Grande.
+  Our captain he informed us, perhaps he thought it right,
+  "Before we reach the station, boys, you'll surely have to fight."
+
+  And when the bugle sounded our captain gave command,
+  "To arms, to arms," he shouted, "and by your horses stand."
+  I saw the smoke ascending, it seemed to reach the sky;
+  The first thought that struck me, my time had come to die.
+
+  I saw the Indians coming, I heard them give the yell;
+  My feelings at that moment, no tongue can ever tell.
+  I saw the glittering lances, their arrows round me flew,
+  And all my strength it left me and all my courage too.
+
+  We fought full nine hours before the strife was o'er,
+  The like of dead and wounded I never saw before.
+  And when the sun was rising and the Indians they had fled,
+  We loaded up our rifles and counted up our dead.
+
+  And all of us were wounded, our noble captain slain,
+  And the sun was shining sadly across the bloody plain.
+  Sixteen as brave rangers as ever roamed the West
+  Were buried by their comrades with arrows in their breast.
+
+  'Twas then I thought of mother, who to me in tears did say,
+  "To you they are all strangers, with me you had better stay."
+  I thought that she was childish, the best she did not know;
+  My mind was fixed on ranging and I was bound to go.
+
+  Perhaps you have a mother, likewise a sister too,
+  And maybe you have a sweetheart to weep and mourn for you;
+  If that be your situation, although you'd like to roam,
+  I'd advise you by experience, you had better stay at home.
+
+  I have seen the fruits of rambling, I know its hardships well;
+  I have crossed the Rocky Mountains, rode down the streets of hell;
+  I have been in the great Southwest where the wild Apaches roam,
+  And I tell you from experience you had better stay at home.
+
+  And now my song is ended; I guess I have sung enough;
+  The life of a ranger I am sure is very tough.
+  And here's to all you ladies, I am sure I wish you well,
+  I am bound to go a-ranging, so ladies, fare you well.
+
+
+
+
+THE MORMON BISHOP'S LAMENT
+
+
+  I am a Mormon bishop and I will tell you what I know.
+  I joined the confraternity some forty years ago.
+  I then had youth upon my brow and eloquence my tongue,
+  But I had the sad misfortune then to meet with Brigham Young.
+
+  He said, "Young man, come join our band and bid hard work farewell,
+  You are too smart to waste your time in toil by hill and dell;
+  There is a ripening harvest and our hooks shall find the fool
+  And in the distant nations we shall train them in our school."
+
+  I listened to his preaching and I learned all the role,
+  And the truth of Mormon doctrines burned deep within my soul.
+  I married sixteen women and I spread my new belief,
+  I was sent to preach the gospel to the pauper and the thief.
+
+  'Twas in the glorious days when Brigham was our only Lord and King,
+  And his wild cry of defiance from the Wasatch tops did ring,
+  'Twas when that bold Bill Hickman and that Porter Rockwell led,
+  And in the blood atonements the pits received the dead.
+
+  They took in Dr. Robertson and left him in his gore,
+  And the Aiken brothers sleep in peace on Nephi's distant shore.
+  We marched to Mountain Meadows and on that glorious field
+  With rifle and with hatchet we made man and woman yield.
+
+  'Twas there we were victorious with our legions fierce and brave.
+  We left the butchered victims on the ground without a grave.
+  We slew the load of emigrants on Sublet's lonely road
+  And plundered many a trader of his then most precious load.
+
+  Alas for all the powers that were in the by-gone time.
+  What we did as deeds of glory are condemned as bloody crime.
+  No more the blood atonements keep the doubting one in fear,
+  While the faithful were rewarded with a wedding once a year.
+
+  As the nation's chieftain president says our days of rule are o'er
+  And his marshals with their warrants are on watch at every door,
+  Old John he now goes skulking on the by-roads of our land,
+  Or unknown he keeps in hiding with the faithful of our band.
+
+  Old Brigham now is stretched beneath the cold and silent clay,
+  And the chieftains now are fallen that were mighty in their day;
+  Of the six and twenty women that I wedded long ago
+  There are two now left to cheer me in these awful hours of woe.
+  The rest are scattered where the Gentile's flag's unfurled
+  And two score of my daughters are now numbered with the world.
+
+  Oh, my poor old bones are aching and my head is turning gray;
+  Oh, the scenes were black and awful that I've witnessed in
+      my day.
+  Let my spirit seek the mansion where old Brigham's gone to dwell,
+  For there's no place for Mormons but the lowest pits of hell.
+
+
+
+
+DAN TAYLOR
+
+
+  Dan Taylor is a rollicking cuss,
+  A frisky son of a gun,
+  He loves to court the maidens
+  And he savies how it's done.
+
+  He used to be a cowboy
+  And they say he wasn't slow,
+  He could ride the bucking bronco
+  And swing the long lasso.
+
+  He could catch a maverick by the head
+  Or heel him on the fly,
+  He could pick up his front ones
+  Whenever he chose to try.
+
+  He used to ride most anything;
+  Now he seldom will.
+  He says they cut some caper in the air
+  Of which he's got his fill.
+
+  He is done and quit the business,
+  Settled down to quiet life,
+  And he's hunting for some maiden
+  Who will be his little wife,--
+
+  One who will wash and patch his britches
+  And feed the setting hen,
+  Milk old Blue and Brindy,
+  And tend to baby Ben.
+
+  Then he'll build a cozy cottage
+  And furnish it complete,
+  He'll decorate the walls inside
+  With pictures new and sweet.
+
+  He will leave off riding broncos
+  And be a different man;
+  He will do his best to please his wife
+  In every way he can.
+
+  Then together in double harness
+  They will trot along down the line,
+  Until death shall call them over
+  To a bright and sunny clime.
+
+  May your joys be then completed
+  And your sorrows have amend,
+  Is the fondest wish of the writer,--
+  Your true and faithful friend.
+
+
+
+
+WHEN WORK IS DONE THIS FALL
+
+
+  A group of jolly cowboys, discussing plans at ease,
+  Says one, "I'll tell you something, boys, if you will listen, please.
+  I am an old cow-puncher and here I'm dressed in rags,
+  And I used to be a tough one and take on great big jags.
+
+  "But I've got a home, boys, a good one, you all know,
+  Although I have not seen it since long, long ago.
+  I'm going back to Dixie once more to see them all;
+  Yes, I'm going to see my mother when the work's all done this fall.
+
+  "After the round-ups are over and after the shipping is done,
+  I am going right straight home, boys, ere all my money is gone.
+  I have changed my ways, boys, no more will I fall;
+  And I am going home, boys, when work is done this fall.
+
+  "When I left home, boys, my mother for me cried,
+  Begged me not to go, boys, for me she would have died;
+  My mother's heart is breaking, breaking for me, that's all,
+  And with God's help I'll see her when the work's all done this fall."
+
+  That very night this cowboy went out to stand his guard;
+  The night was dark and cloudy and storming very hard;
+  The cattle they got frightened and rushed in wild stampede,
+  The cowboy tried to head them, riding at full speed.
+
+  While riding in the darkness so loudly did he shout,
+  Trying his best to head them and turn the herd about,
+  His saddle horse did stumble and on him did fall,
+  The poor boy won't see his mother when the work's all done this fall.
+
+  His body was so mangled the boys all thought him dead,
+  They picked him up so gently and laid him on a bed;
+  He opened wide his blue eyes and looking all around
+  He motioned to his comrades to sit near him on the ground.
+
+  "Boys, send mother my wages, the wages I have earned,
+  For I'm afraid, boys, my last steer I have turned.
+  I'm going to a new range, I hear my Master's call,
+  And I'll not see my mother when the work's all done this fall.
+
+  "Fred, you take my saddle; George, you take my bed;
+  Bill, you take my pistol after I am dead,
+  And think of me kindly when you look upon them all,
+  For I'll not see my mother when work is done this fall."
+
+  Poor Charlie was buried at sunrise, no tombstone at his head,
+  Nothing but a little board and this is what it said,
+  "Charlie died at daybreak, he died from a fall,
+  And he'll not see his mother when the work's all done this fall."
+
+
+
+
+SIOUX INDIANS
+
+
+  I'll sing you a song, though it may be a sad one,
+  Of trials and troubles and where they first begun;
+  I left my dear kindred, my friends, and my home,
+  Across the wild deserts and mountains to roam.
+
+  I crossed the Missouri and joined a large train
+  Which bore us over mountain and valley and plain;
+  And often of evenings out hunting we'd go
+  To shoot the fleet antelope and wild buffalo.
+
+  We heard of Sioux Indians all out on the plains
+  A-killing poor drivers and burning their trains,--
+  A-killing poor drivers with arrows and bow,
+  When captured by Indians no mercy they show.
+
+  We traveled three weeks till we came to the Platte
+  And pitched out our tents at the end of the flat,
+  We spread down our blankets on the green grassy ground,
+  While our horses and mules were grazing around.
+
+  While taking refreshment we heard a low yell,
+  The whoop of Sioux Indians coming up from the dell;
+  We sprang to our rifles with a flash in each eye,
+  "Boys," says our brave leader, "we'll fight till we die."
+
+  They made a bold dash and came near to our train
+  And the arrows fell around us like hail and like rain,
+  But with our long rifles we fed them cold lead
+  Till many a brave warrior around us lay dead.
+
+  We shot their bold chief at the head of his band.
+  He died like a warrior with a gun in his hand.
+  When they saw their bold chief lying dead in his gore,
+  They whooped and they yelled and we saw them no more.
+
+  With our small band,--there were just twenty-four,--
+  And the Sioux Indians there were five hundred or more,--
+  We fought them with courage; we spoke not a word,
+  Till the end of the battle was all that was heard.
+
+  We hitched up our horses and we started our train;
+  Three more bloody battles this trip on the plain;
+  And in our last battle three of our brave boys fell,
+  And we left them to rest in a green, shady dell.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD CHISHOLM TRAIL
+
+
+  Come along, boys, and listen to my tale,
+  I'll tell you of my troubles on the old Chisholm trail.
+
+      Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya,
+      Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya.
+
+  I started up the trail October twenty-third,
+  I started up the trail with the 2-U herd.
+
+  Oh, a ten dollar hoss and a forty dollar saddle,--
+  And I'm goin' to punchin' Texas cattle.
+
+  I woke up one morning on the old Chisholm trail,
+  Rope in my hand and a cow by the tail.
+
+  I'm up in the mornin' afore daylight
+  And afore I sleep the moon shines bright.
+
+  Old Ben Bolt was a blamed good boss,
+  But he'd go to see the girls on a sore-backed hoss.
+
+  Old Ben Bolt was a fine old man
+  And you'd know there was whiskey wherever he'd land.
+
+  My hoss throwed me off at the creek called Mud,
+  My hoss throwed me off round the 2-U herd.
+
+  Last time I saw him he was going cross the level
+  A-kicking up his heels and a-running like the devil.
+
+  It's cloudy in the West, a-looking like rain,
+  And my damned old slicker's in the wagon again.
+
+  Crippled my hoss, I don't know how,
+  Ropin' at the horns of a 2-U cow.
+
+  We hit Caldwell and we hit her on the fly,
+  We bedded down the cattle on the hill close by.
+
+  No chaps, no slicker, and it's pouring down rain,
+  And I swear, by god, I'll never night-herd again.
+
+  Feet in the stirrups and seat in the saddle,
+  I hung and rattled with them long-horn cattle.
+
+  Last night I was on guard and the leader broke the ranks,
+  I hit my horse down the shoulders and I spurred him in the flanks.
+
+  The wind commenced to blow, and the rain began to fall,
+  Hit looked, by grab, like we was goin' to loss 'em all.
+
+  I jumped in the saddle and grabbed holt the horn,
+  Best blamed cow-puncher ever was born.
+
+  I popped my foot in the stirrup and gave a little yell,
+  The tail cattle broke and the leaders went to hell.
+
+  I don't give a damn if they never do stop;
+  I'll ride as long as an eight-day clock.
+
+  Foot in the stirrup and hand on the horn,
+  Best damned cowboy ever was born.
+
+  I herded and I hollered and I done very well,
+  Till the boss said, "Boys, just let 'em go to hell."
+
+  Stray in the herd and the boss said kill it,
+  So I shot him in the rump with the handle of the skillet.
+
+  We rounded 'em up and put 'em on the cars,
+  And that was the last of the old Two Bars.
+
+  Oh it's bacon and beans most every day,--
+  I'd as soon be a-eatin' prairie hay.
+
+  I'm on my best horse and I'm goin' at a run,
+  I'm the quickest shootin' cowboy that ever pulled a gun.
+
+  I went to the wagon to get my roll,
+  To come back to Texas, dad-burn my soul.
+
+  I went to the boss to draw my roll,
+  He had it figgered out I was nine dollars in the hole.
+
+  I'll sell my outfit just as soon as I can,
+  I won't punch cattle for no damned man.
+
+  Goin' back to town to draw my money,
+  Goin' back home to see my honey.
+
+  With my knees in the saddle and my seat in the sky,
+  I'll quit punching cows in the sweet by and by.
+
+      Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya,
+      Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya.
+
+
+
+The Old Chisholm Trail (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Come a-long, boys, and list-en to my tale, I'll
+  tell you of my trou-bles on the old Chisholm trail.
+
+  REFRAIN
+
+  Co-ma ti yi you-pe, you-pe ya, you-pe ya,
+  Co-ma ti yi you-pe, you-pe ya.
+
+
+
+
+JACK DONAHOO
+
+
+  Come, all you bold, undaunted men,
+  You outlaws of the day,
+  It's time to beware of the ball and chain
+  And also slavery.
+  Attention pay to what I say,
+  And verily if you do,
+  I will relate you the actual fate
+  Of bold Jack Donahoo.
+
+  He had scarcely landed, as I tell you,
+  Upon Australia's shore,
+  Than he became a real highwayman,
+  As he had been before.
+  There was Underwood and Mackerman,
+  And Wade and Westley too,
+  These were the four associates
+  Of bold Jack Donahoo.
+
+  Jack Donahoo, who was so brave,
+  Rode out that afternoon,
+  Knowing not that the pain of death
+  Would overtake him soon.
+  So quickly then the horse police
+  From Sidney came to view;
+  "Begone from here, you cowardly dogs,"
+  Says bold Jack Donahoo.
+
+  The captain and the sergeant
+  Stopped then to decide.
+  "Do you intend to fight us
+  Or unto us resign?"
+  "To surrender to such cowardly dogs
+  Is more than I will do,
+  This day I'll fight if I lose my life,"
+  Says bold Jack Donahoo.
+
+  The captain and the sergeant
+  The men they did divide;
+  They fired from behind him
+  And also from each side;
+  It's six police he did shoot down
+  Before the fatal ball
+  Did pierce the heart of Donahoo
+  And cause bold Jack to fall.
+
+  And when he fell, he closed his eyes,
+  He bid the world adieu;
+  Come, all you boys, and sing the song
+  Of bold Jack Donahoo.
+
+
+
+
+UTAH CARROLL
+
+
+  And as, my friend, you ask me what makes me sad and still,
+  And why my brow is darkened like the clouds upon the hill;
+  Run in your pony closer and I'll tell to you the tale
+  Of Utah Carroll, my partner, and his last ride on the trail.
+
+  'Mid the cactus and the thistles of Mexico's fair lands,
+  Where the cattle roam in thousands, a-many a herd and brand,
+  There is a grave with neither headstone, neither date nor name,--
+  There lies my partner sleeping in the land from which I came.
+
+  We rode the range together and had rode it side by side;
+  I loved him as a brother, I wept when Utah died;
+  We were rounding up one morning, our work was almost done,
+  When on the side the cattle started on a mad and fearless run.
+
+  The boss man's little daughter was holding on that side.
+  She rushed; the cattle saw the blanket, they charged with
+      maddened fear.
+  And little Varro, seeing the danger, turned her pony a pace
+  And leaning in the saddle, tied the blanket in its place.
+
+  In leaning, she lost her balance and fell in front of that wild tide.
+  Utah's voice controlled the round-up. "Lay still, little Varro," he
+      cried.
+  His only hope was to raise her, to catch her at full speed,
+  And oft-times he had been known to catch the trail rope off his steed.
+
+  His pony reached the maiden with a firm and steady bound;
+  Utah swung out from the saddle to catch her from the ground.
+  He swung out from the saddle, I thought her safe from harm,
+  As he swung in his saddle to raise her in his arm.
+
+  But the cinches of his saddle had not been felt before,
+  And his back cinch snapt asunder and he fell by the side of Varro.
+  He picked up the blanket and swung it over his head
+  And started across the prairie; "Lay still, little Varro," he said.
+
+  Well, he got the stampede turned and saved little Varro, his
+      friend.
+  Then he turned to face the cattle and meet his fatal end.
+  His six-shooter from his pocket, from the scabbard he quickly drew,--
+  He was bound to die defended as all young cowboys do.
+
+  His six-shooter flashed like lightning, the report rang loud and clear;
+  As the cattle rushed in and killed him he dropped the leading steer.
+  And when we broke the circle where Utah's body lay,
+  With many a wound and bruise his young life ebbed away.
+
+  "And in some future morning," I heard the preacher say,
+  "I hope we'll all meet Utah at the round-up far away."
+  Then we wrapped him in a blanket sent by his little friend,
+  And it was that very red blanket that brought him to his end.
+
+
+
+
+THE BULL-WHACKER
+
+
+  I'm a lonely bull-whacker
+  On the Red Cloud line,
+  I can lick any son of a gun
+  That will yoke an ox of mine.
+  And if I can catch him,
+  You bet I will or try,
+  I'd lick him with an ox-bow,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  It's out on the road
+  With a very heavy load,
+  With a very awkward team
+  And a very muddy road,
+  You may whip and you may holler,
+  But if you cuss it's on the sly;
+  Then whack the cattle on, boys,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  It's out on the road
+  These sights are to be seen,
+  The antelope and buffalo,
+  The prairie all so green,--
+  The antelope and buffalo,
+  The rabbit jumps so high;
+  It's whack the cattle on, boys,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  It's every day at twelve
+  There's something for to do;
+  And if there's nothing else,
+  There's a pony for to shoe;
+  I'll throw him down,
+  And still I'll make him lie;
+  Little pig, big pig,
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  Now perhaps you'd like to know
+  What we have to eat,
+  A little piece of bread
+  And a little dirty meat,
+  A little black coffee,
+  And whiskey on the sly;
+  It's whack the cattle on, boys,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  There's hard old times on Bitter Creek
+  That never can be beat,
+  It was root hog or die
+  Under every wagon sheet;
+  We cleaned up all the Indians,
+  Drank all the alkali,
+  And it's whack the cattle on, boys,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  There was good old times in Salt Lake
+  That never can pass by,
+  It was there I first spied
+  My China girl called Wi.
+  She could smile, she could chuckle,
+  She could roll her hog eye;
+  Then it's whack the cattle on, boys,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+  Oh, I'm going home
+  Bull-whacking for to spurn,
+  I ain't got a nickel,
+  And I don't give a dern.
+  'Tis when I meet a pretty girl,
+  You bet I will or try,
+  I'll make her my little wife,--
+  Root hog or die.
+
+
+
+
+THE "METIS" SONG OF THE BUFFALO HUNTERS
+
+BY ROBIDEAU
+
+
+  Hurrah for the buffalo hunters!
+      Hurrah for the cart brigade!
+  That creak along on its winding way,
+      While we dance and sing and play.
+  Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade!
+
+  Hurrah for the Pembinah hunters!
+      Hurrah for its cart brigade!
+  For with horse and gun we roll along
+      O'er mountain and hill and plain.
+  Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade!
+
+  We whipped the Sioux and scalped them too,
+      While on the western plain,
+  And rode away on our homeward way
+      With none to say us nay,--
+  Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade! Hurrah!
+
+  Mon ami, mon ami, hurrah for our black-haired girls!
+      That braved the Sioux and fought them too,
+  While on Montana's plains.
+      We'll hold them true and love them too,
+  While on the trail of the Pembinah, hurrah!
+      Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade of Pembinah!
+
+  We have the skins and the meat so sweet.
+      And we'll sit by the fire in the lodge so neat,
+  While the wind blows cold and the snow is deep.
+      Then roll in our robes and laugh as we sleep.
+  Hurrah, hurrah for the cart brigade! Hurrah!
+              Hurrah! Hurrah!
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY'S LAMENT
+
+
+  As I walked out in the streets of Laredo,
+  As I walked out in Laredo one day,
+  I spied a poor cowboy wrapped up in white linen,
+  Wrapped up in white linen as cold as the clay.
+
+    "Oh, beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly,
+    Play the Dead March as you carry me along;
+    Take me to the green valley, there lay the sod o'er me,
+    For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.
+
+  "I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy,"
+  These words he did say as I boldly stepped by.
+  "Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story;
+  I was shot in the breast and I know I must die.
+
+    "Let sixteen gamblers come handle my coffin,
+    Let sixteen cowboys come sing me a song,
+    Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o'er me,
+    For I'm a poor cowboy and I know I've done wrong.
+
+  "My friends and relations, they live in the Nation,
+  They know not where their boy has gone.
+  He first came to Texas and hired to a ranchman,
+  Oh, I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.
+
+  "Go write a letter to my gray-haired mother,
+  And carry the same to my sister so dear;
+  But not a word of this shall you mention
+  When a crowd gathers round you my story to hear.
+
+    "Then beat your drum lowly and play your fife slowly,
+    Beat the Dead March as you carry me along;
+    We all love our cowboys so young and so handsome,
+    We all love our cowboys although they've done wrong.
+
+  "There is another more dear than a sister,
+  She'll bitterly weep when she hears I am gone.
+  There is another who will win her affections,
+  For I'm a young cowboy and they say I've done wrong.
+
+  "Go gather around you a crowd of young cowboys,
+  And tell them the story of this my sad fate;
+  Tell one and the other before they go further
+  To stop their wild roving before 'tis too late.
+
+    "Oh, muffle your drums, then play your fifes merrily;
+    Play the Dead March as you go along.
+    And fire your guns right over my coffin;
+    There goes an unfortunate boy to his home.
+
+  "It was once in the saddle I used to go dashing,
+  It was once in the saddle I used to go gay;
+  First to the dram-house, then to the card-house,
+  Got shot in the breast, I am dying to-day.
+
+  "Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin;
+  Get six pretty maidens to bear up my pall.
+  Put bunches of roses all over my coffin,
+  Put roses to deaden the clods as they fall.
+
+    "Then swing your rope slowly and rattle your spurs lowly,
+    And give a wild whoop as you carry me along;
+    And in the grave throw me and roll the sod o'er me,
+    For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong.
+
+  "Go bring me a cup, a cup of cold water,
+  To cool my parched lips," the cowboy said;
+  Before I turned, the spirit had left him
+  And gone to its Giver,--the cowboy was dead.
+
+    We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly,
+    And bitterly wept as we bore him along;
+    For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young, and handsome,
+    We all loved our comrade although he'd done wrong.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE IN DISGUISE
+
+
+  As William and Mary stood by the seashore
+  Their last farewell to take,
+  Returning no more, little Mary she said,
+  "Why surely my heart will break."
+  "Oh, don't be dismayed, little Mary," he said,
+  As he pressed the dear girl to his side,
+  "In my absence don't mourn, for when I return
+  I'll make little Mary my bride."
+
+  Three years passed on without any news.
+  One day as she stood by the door
+  A beggar passed by with a patch on his eye,
+  "I'm home, oh, do pity, my love;
+  Have compassion on me, your friend I will be.
+  Your fortune I'll tell besides.
+  The lad you mourn will never return
+  To make little Mary his bride."
+
+  She startled and trembled and then she did say,
+  "All the fortune I have I freely give
+  If what I ask you will tell unto me,--
+  Say, does young William yet live?"
+  "He lives and is true and poverty poor,
+  And shipwreck has suffered beside;
+  He'll return no more, because he is poor,
+  To make little Mary his bride."
+
+  "No tongue can tell the joy I do feel
+  Although his misfortune I mourn,
+  And he's welcome to me though poverty poor,
+  His jacket all tattered and torn.
+  I love him so dear, so true and sincere,
+  I'll have no other beside;
+  Those with riches enrobed and covered with gold
+  Can't make little Mary their bride."
+
+  The beggar then tore the patch from his eye,
+  His crutches he laid by his side,
+  Coat, jacket and bundle; cheeks red as a rose,
+  'Twas William that stood by her side.
+  "Then excuse me, dear maid," to her he said,
+  "It was only your love I tried."
+  So he hastened away at the close of the day
+  To make little Mary his bride.
+
+
+
+
+MUSTANG GRAY
+
+
+  There once was a noble ranger,
+  They called him Mustang Gray;
+  He left his home when but a youth,
+  Went ranging far away.
+
+    But he'll go no more a-ranging,
+    The savage to affright;
+    He has heard his last war-whoop,
+    And fought his last fight.
+
+  He ne'er would sleep within a tent,
+  No comforts would he know;
+  But like a brave old Tex-i-an,
+  A-ranging he would go.
+
+  When Texas was invaded
+  By a mighty tyrant foe,
+  He mounted his noble war-horse
+  And a-ranging he did go.
+
+  Once he was taken prisoner,
+  Bound in chains upon the way,
+  He wore the yoke of bondage
+  Through the streets of Monterey.
+
+  A senorita loved him,
+  And followed by his side;
+  She opened the gates and gave to him
+  Her father's steed to ride.
+
+  God bless the senorita,
+  The belle of Monterey,
+  She opened wide the prison door
+  And let him ride away.
+
+  And when this veteran's life was spent,
+  It was his last command
+  To bury him on Texas soil
+  On the banks of the Rio Grande;
+
+  And there the lonely traveler,
+  When passing by his grave,
+  Will shed a farewell tear
+  O'er the bravest of the brave.
+
+    And he'll go no more a-ranging,
+    The savage to affright;
+    He has heard his last war-whoop,
+    And fought his last fight.
+
+
+
+
+YOUNG COMPANIONS
+
+
+  Come all you young companions
+  And listen unto me,
+  I'll tell you a story
+  Of some bad company.
+
+  I was born in Pennsylvania
+  Among the beautiful hills
+  And the memory of my childhood
+  Is warm within me still.
+
+  I did not like my fireside,
+  I did not like my home;
+  I had in view far rambling,
+  So far away did roam.
+
+  I had a feeble mother,
+  She oft would plead with me;
+  And the last word she gave me
+  Was to pray to God in need.
+
+  I had two loving sisters,
+  As fair as fair could be,
+  And oft beside me kneeling
+  They oft would plead with me.
+
+  I bid adieu to loved ones,
+  To my home I bid farewell,
+  And I landed in Chicago
+  In the very depth of hell.
+
+  It was there I took to drinking,
+  I sinned both night and day,
+  And there within my bosom
+  A feeble voice would say:
+
+  "Then fare you well, my loved one,
+  May God protect my boy,
+  And blessings ever with him
+  Throughout his manhood joy."
+
+  I courted a fair young maiden,
+  Her name I will not tell,
+  For I should ever disgrace her
+  Since I am doomed for hell.
+
+  It was on one beautiful evening,
+  The stars were shining bright,
+  And with a fatal dagger
+  I bid her spirit flight.
+
+  So justice overtook me,
+  You all can plainly see,
+  My soul is doomed forever
+  Throughout eternity.
+
+  It's now I'm on the scaffold,
+  My moments are not long;
+  You may forget the singer
+  But don't forget the song.
+
+
+
+
+LACKEY BILL
+
+
+  Come all you good old boys and listen to my rhymes,
+  We are west of Eastern Texas and mostly men of crimes;
+  Each with a hidden secret well smothered in his breast,
+  Which brought us out to Mexico, way out here in the West.
+
+  My parents raised me tenderly, they had no child but me,
+  Till I began to ramble and with them could never agree.
+  My mind being bent on rambling did grieve their poor hearts sore,
+  To leave my aged parents them to see no more.
+
+  I was borned and raised in Texas, though never come to fame,
+  A cowboy by profession, C.W. King, by name.
+  Oh, when the war was ended I did not like to work,
+  My brothers were not happy, for I had learned to shirk.
+
+  In fact I was not able, my health was very bad,
+  I had no constitution, I was nothing but a lad.
+  I had no education, I would not go to school,
+  And living off my parents I thought it rather cool.
+
+  So I set a resolution to travel to the West,
+  My parents they objected, but still I thought it best.
+  It was out on the Seven Rivers all out on the Pecos stream,
+  It was there I saw a country I thought just suited me.
+
+  I thought I would be no stranger and lead a civil life,
+  In order to be happy would choose myself a wife.
+  On one Sabbath evening in the merry month of May
+  To a little country singing I happened there to stray.
+
+  It was there I met a damsel I never shall forget,
+  The impulse of that moment remains within me yet.
+  We soon became acquainted, I thought she would fill the bill,
+  She seemed to be good-natured, which helps to climb the hill.
+
+  She was a handsome figure though not so very tall;
+  Her hair was red as blazes, I hate it worst of all.
+  I saw her home one evening in the presence of her pap,
+  I bid them both good evening with a note left in her lap.
+
+  And when I got an answer I read it with a rush,
+  I found she had consented, my feelings was a hush.
+  But now I have changed my mind, boys, I am sure I wish her well.
+  Here's to that precious jewel, I'm sure I wish her well.
+
+  This girl was Miss Mollie Walker who fell in love with me,
+  She was a lovely Western girl, as lovely as could be,
+  She was so tall, so handsome, so charming and so fair,
+  There is not a girl in this whole world with her I could compare.
+
+  She said my pockets would be lined with gold, hard work then I'd
+      leave o'er
+  If I'd consent to live with her and say I'd roam no more.
+  My mind began to ramble and it grieved my poor heart sore,
+  To leave my darling girl, her to see no more.
+
+  I asked if it made any difference if I crossed o'er the plains;
+  She said it made no difference if I returned again.
+  So we kissed, shook hands, and parted, I left that girl behind.
+  She said she'd prove true to me till death proved her unkind.
+
+  I rode in the town of Vagus, all in the public square;
+  The mail coach had arrived, the post boy met me there.
+  He handed me a letter that gave me to understand
+  That the girl I loved in Texas had married another man.
+
+  So I read a little farther and found those words were true.
+  I turned myself all around, not knowing what to do.
+  I'll sell my horse, saddle, and bridle, cow-driving I'll resign,
+  I'll search this world from town to town for the girl I left behind.
+
+  Here the gold I find in plenty, the girls to me are kind,
+  But my pillow is haunted with the girl I left behind.
+  It's trouble and disappointment is all that I can see,
+  For the dearest girl in all the world has gone square back on me.
+
+
+
+
+WHOOPEE TI YI YO, GIT ALONG LITTLE DOGIES
+
+
+  As I walked out one morning for pleasure,
+  I spied a cow-puncher all riding alone;
+  His hat was throwed back and his spurs was a jingling,
+  As he approached me a-singin' this song,
+
+    Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies,
+    It's your misfortune, and none of my own.
+    Whoopee ti yi yo, git along little dogies,
+    For you know Wyoming will be your new home.
+
+  Early in the spring we round up the dogies,
+  Mark and brand and bob off their tails;
+  Round up our horses, load up the chuck-wagon,
+  Then throw the dogies upon the trail.
+
+  It's whooping and yelling and driving the dogies;
+  Oh how I wish you would go on;
+  It's whooping and punching and go on little dogies,
+  For you know Wyoming will be your new home.
+
+  Some boys goes up the trail for pleasure,
+  But that's where you get it most awfully wrong;
+  For you haven't any idea the trouble they give us
+  While we go driving them all along.
+
+  When the night comes on and we hold them on the bedground,
+  These little dogies that roll on so slow;
+  Roll up the herd and cut out the strays,
+  And roll the little dogies that never rolled before.
+
+  Your mother she was raised way down in Texas,
+  Where the jimson weed and sand-burrs grow;
+  Now we'll fill you up on prickly pear and cholla
+  Till you are ready for the trail to Idaho.
+
+  Oh, you'll be soup for Uncle Sam's Injuns;
+  "It's beef, heap beef," I hear them cry.
+  Git along, git along, git along little dogies
+  You're going to be beef steers by and by.
+
+
+
+Whoopee Ti Yi Yo, Git Along Little Dogies (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  As I was a-walk-ing one morn-ing for pleasure,
+  I spied   a cow-punch-er all rid-ing a-lone;
+  His hat was throw'd back and his spurs was a-jing-lin',
+  As he ap-proach'd me a-sing-in' this song:
+
+  REFRAIN.
+
+  Whoopee ti yi yo, git a-long little dog-ies,
+  Its your mis-for-tune and none of my own.
+  Whoop-ee ti yi yo, git a-long lit-tie dog-ies,
+  For you know Wy-o-ming will be your new home.
+
+
+
+
+THE U-S-U RANGE
+
+
+  O come cowboys and listen to my song,
+  I'm in hopes I'll please you and not keep you long;
+  I'll sing you of things you may think strange
+  About West Texas and the U-S-U range.
+
+  You may go to Stamford and there see a man
+  Who wears a white shirt and is asking for hands;
+  You may ask him for work and he'll answer you short,
+  He will hurry you up, for he wants you to start.
+  He will put you in a wagon and be off in the rain,
+  You will go up on Tongue River on the U-S-U range.
+
+  You will drive up to the ranch and there you will stop.
+  It's a little sod house with dirt all on top.
+  You will ask what it is and they will tell you out plain
+  That it's the ranch house on the U-S-U range.
+
+  You will go in the house and he will begin to explain;
+  You will see some blankets rolled up on the floor;
+  You may ask what it is and they will tell you out plain
+  That it is the bedding on the U-S-U range.
+
+  You are up in the morning at the daybreak
+  To eat cold beef and U-S-U steak,
+  And out to your work no matter if it's rain,--
+  And that is the life on the U-S-U range.
+
+  You work hard all day and come in at night,
+  And turn your horse loose, for they say it's all right,
+  And set down to supper and begin to complain
+  Of the chuck that you eat on the U-S-U range.
+
+  The grub that you get is beans and cold rice
+  And U-S-U steak cooked up very nice;
+  And if you don't like that you needn't complain,
+  For that's what you get on the U-S-U range.
+
+  Now, kind friends, I must leave you, I no longer can remain,
+  I hope I have pleased you and given you no pain.
+  But when I am gone, don't think me strange,
+  For I have been a cow-puncher on the U-S-U range.
+
+
+
+
+I'M A GOOD OLD REBEL
+
+
+  Oh, I'm a good old rebel, that's what I am;
+  And for this land of freedom, I don't care a damn,
+  I'm glad I fought agin her, I only wish we'd won,
+  And I don't axe any pardon for anything I've done.
+
+  I served with old Bob Lee, three years about,
+  Got wounded in four places and starved at Point Lookout;
+  I caught the rheumatism a-campin' in the snow,
+  But I killed a _chance_ of Yankees and wish I'd killed some mo'.
+
+      For I'm a good old rebel, etc.
+
+  I hate the constitooshin, this great republic too;
+  I hate the mouty eagle, an' the uniform so blue;
+  I hate their glorious banner, an' all their flags an' fuss,
+  Those lyin', thievin' Yankees, I hate 'em wuss an' wuss.
+
+      For I'm a good old rebel, etc.
+
+  I won't be re-constructed! I'm better now than them;
+  And for a carpet-bagger, I don't give a damn;
+  So I'm off for the frontier, soon as I can go,
+  I'll prepare me a weapon and start for Mexico.
+
+      For I'm a good old rebel, etc.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY
+
+
+  All day long on the prairies I ride,
+  Not even a dog to trot by my side;
+  My fire I kindle with chips gathered round,
+  My coffee I boil without being ground.
+
+  I wash in a pool and wipe on a sack;
+  I carry my wardrobe all on my back;
+  For want of an oven I cook bread in a pot,
+  And sleep on the ground for want of a cot.
+
+  My ceiling is the sky, my floor is the grass,
+  My music is the lowing of the herds as they pass;
+  My books are the brooks, my sermons the stones,
+  My parson is a wolf on his pulpit of bones.
+
+  And then if my cooking is not very complete
+  You can't blame me for wanting to eat.
+  But show me a man that sleeps more profound
+  Than the big puncher-boy who stretches himself on the ground.
+
+  My books teach me ever consistence to prize,
+  My sermons, that small things I should not despise;
+  My parson remarks from his pulpit of bones
+  That fortune favors those who look out for their own.
+
+  And then between me and love lies a gulf very wide.
+  Some lucky fellow may call her his bride.
+  My friends gently hint I am coming to grief,
+  But men must make money and women have beef.
+
+  But Cupid is always a friend to the bold,
+  And the best of his arrows are pointed with gold.
+  Society bans me so savage and dodge
+  That the Masons would ball me out of their lodge.
+
+  If I had hair on my chin, I might pass for the goat
+  That bore all the sins in the ages remote;
+  But why it is I can never understand,
+  For each of the patriarchs owned a big brand.
+
+  Abraham emigrated in search of a range,
+  And when water was scarce he wanted a change;
+  Old Isaac owned cattle in charge of Esau,
+  And Jacob punched cows for his father-in-law.
+
+  He started in business way down at bed rock,
+  And made quite a streak at handling stock;
+  Then David went from night-herding to using a sling;
+  And, winning the battle, he became a great king.
+  Then the shepherds, while herding the sheep on a hill,
+  Got a message from heaven of peace and goodwill.
+
+
+
+
+The Cowboy (Mus. Not.)
+
+Music by the "Kid"
+
+
+  All day on the prai-rie in the sad-dle I ride,
+  Not e-ven a dog, boys, to trot by my side.
+  My fire I must kin-dle with chips gathered round,
+  And boil my own cof-fee with-out be-ing ground.
+  I wash in a pool and I wipe on a sack,
+  I car-ry my ward-robe all on my back.
+
+
+
+
+BILL PETERS, THE STAGE DRIVER
+
+
+  Bill Peters was a hustler
+  From Independence town;
+  He warn't a college scholar
+  Nor man of great renown,
+  But Bill had a way o' doing things
+  And doin' 'em up brown.
+
+  Bill driv the stage from Independence
+  Up to the Smokey Hill;
+  And everybody knowed him thar
+  As Independence Bill,--
+  Thar warn't no feller on the route
+  That driv with half the skill.
+
+  Bill driv four pair of horses,
+  Same as you'd drive a team,
+  And you'd think you was a-travelin'
+  On a railroad driv by steam;
+  And he'd git thar on time, you bet,
+  Or Bill 'u'd bust a seam.
+
+  He carried mail and passengers,
+  And he started on the dot,
+  And them teams o' his'n, so they say,
+  Was never known to trot;
+  But they went it in a gallop
+  And kept their axles hot.
+
+  When Bill's stage 'u'd bust a tire,
+  Or something 'u'd break down,
+  He'd hustle round and patch her up
+  And start off with a bound;
+  And the wheels o' that old shack o' his
+  Scarce ever touched the ground.
+
+  And Bill didn't low no foolin',
+  And when Inguns hove in sight
+  And bullets rattled at the stage,
+  He druv with all his might;
+  He'd holler, "Fellers, give 'em hell,
+  I ain't got time to fight."
+
+  Then the way them wheels 'u'd rattle,
+  And the way the dust 'u'd fly,
+  You'd think a million cattle,
+  Had stampeded and gone by;
+  But the mail 'u'd get thar just the same,
+  If the horses had to die.
+
+  He driv that stage for many a year
+  Along the Smokey Hill,
+  And a pile o' wild Comanches
+  Did Bill Peters have to kill,--
+  And I reckon if he'd had good luck
+  He'd been a drivin' still.
+
+  But he chanced one day to run agin
+  A bullet made o' lead,
+  Which was harder than he bargained for
+  And now poor Bill is dead;
+  And when they brung his body home
+  A barrel of tears was shed.
+
+
+
+
+HARD TIMES
+
+
+  Come listen a while and I'll sing you a song
+  Concerning the times--it will not be long--
+  When everybody is striving to buy,
+  And cheating each other, I cannot tell why,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  From father to mother, from sister to brother,
+  From cousin to cousin, they're cheating each other.
+  Since cheating has grown to be so much the fashion,
+  I believe to my soul it will run the whole Nation,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  Now there is the talker, by talking he eats,
+  And so does the butcher by killing his meats.
+  He'll toss the steelyards, and weigh it right down,
+  And swear it's just right if it lacks forty pounds,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there is the merchant, as honest, we're told.
+  Whatever he sells you, my friend, you are sold;
+  Believe what I tell you, and don't be surprised
+  To find yourself cheated half out of your eyes,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there is the lawyer you plainly will see,
+  He will plead your case for a very large fee,
+  He'll law you and tell you the wrong side is right,
+  And make you believe that a black horse is white,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there is the doctor, I like to forgot,
+  I believe to my soul he's the worst of the lot;
+  He'll tell you he'll cure you for half you possess,
+  And when you're buried he'll take all the rest,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there's the old bachelor, all hated with scorn,
+  He's like an old garment all tattered and torn,
+  The girls and the widows all toss him a sigh,
+  And think it quite right, and so do I,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there's the young widow, coquettish and shy,
+  With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye,
+  But when she gets married she'll cut quite a dash,
+  She'll give him the reins and she'll handle the cash,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there's the young lady I like to have missed,
+  And I believe to my soul she'd like to be kissed;
+  She'll tell you she loves you with all pretence
+  And ask you to call again some time hence,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+  And there's the young man, the worst of the whole.
+  Oh, he will tell you with all of his soul,
+  He'll tell you he loves you and for you will die,
+  And when he's away he will swear it's a lie,--
+  And it's hard, hard times.
+
+
+
+
+COLE YOUNGER
+
+
+  Am one of a band of highwaymen, Cole Younger is my name;
+  My crimes and depredations have brought my friends to shame;
+  The robbing of the Northfield Bank, the same I can't deny,
+  For now I am a prisoner, in the Stillwater jail I lie.
+
+  'Tis of a bold, high robbery, a story to you I'll tell,
+  Of a California miner who unto us befell;
+  We robbed him of his money and bid him go his way,
+  For which I will be sorry until my dying day.
+
+  And then we started homeward, when brother Bob did say:
+  "Now, Cole, we will buy fast horses and on them ride away.
+  We will ride to avenge our father's death and try to win the prize;
+  We will fight those anti-guerrillas until the day we die."
+
+  And then we rode towards Texas, that good old Lone Star State,
+  But on Nebraska's prairies the James boys we did meet;
+  With knives, guns, and revolvers we all sat down to play,
+  A-drinking of good whiskey to pass the time away.
+
+  A Union Pacific railway train was the next we did surprise,
+  And the crimes done by our bloody hands bring tears into my eyes.
+  The engineerman and fireman killed, the conductor escaped alive,
+  And now their bones lie mouldering beneath Nebraska's skies.
+
+  Then we saddled horses, northwestward we did go,
+  To the God-forsaken country called Min-ne-so-te-o;
+  I had my eye on the Northfield bank when brother Bob did say,
+  "Now, Cole, if you undertake the job, you will surely curse the day."
+
+  But I stationed out my pickets and up to the bank did go,
+  And there upon the counter I struck my fatal blow.
+  "Just hand us over your money and make no further delay,
+  We are the famous Younger brothers, we spare no time to pray."
+
+
+
+
+MISSISSIPPI GIRLS
+
+
+  Come, all you Mississippi girls, and listen to my noise,
+  If you happen to go West, don't you marry those Texian boys;
+  For if you do, your fortune will be
+  Cold jonny-cake and beefsteak, that's all that you will see,--
+  Cold jonny-cake and beefsteak, that's all that you will see.
+
+  When they go courting, here's what they wear:
+  An old leather coat, and it's all ripped and tore;
+  And an old brown hat with the brim tore down,
+  And a pair of dirty socks, they've worn the winter round.
+
+  When one comes in, the first thing you hear
+  Is, "Madam, your father has killed a deer";
+  And the next thing they say when they sit down
+  Is, "Madam, the jonny-cake is too damned brown."
+
+  They live in a hut with hewed log wall,
+  But it ain't got any windows at all;
+  With a clap-board roof and a puncheon floor,
+  And that's the way all Texas o'er.
+
+  They will take you out on a live-oak hill
+  And there they will leave you much against your will.
+  They will leave you on the prairie, starve you on the plains,
+  For that is the way with the Texians,--
+  For that is the way with the Texians.
+
+  When they go to preaching let me tell you how they dress;
+  Just an old black shirt without any vest,
+  Just an old straw hat more brim than crown
+  And an old sock leg that they wear the winter round,--
+  And an old sock leg that they wear the winter round.
+
+  For your wedding supper, there'll be beef and cornbread;
+  There it is to eat when the ceremony's said.
+  And when you go to milk you'll milk into a gourd;
+  And set it in the corner and cover it with a board;
+  Some gets little and some gets none,
+  For that is the way with the Texians,--
+  For that is the way with the Texians.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MAN UNDER THE HILL
+
+
+  There was an old man who lived under the hill,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, lived under the hill,
+  And if he ain't dead he's living there still,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, living there still.
+
+  One day the old man went out to plow,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, went out to plow;
+  'Tis good-bye the old fellow, and how are you now,
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, and how are you now.
+
+  And then another came to his house,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, came to his house;
+  "There's one of your family I've got to have now,
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, got to have now.
+
+  "It's neither you nor your oldest son,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, nor your oldest son."
+  "Then take my old woman and take her for fun,
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, take her for fun."
+
+  He takened her all upon his back,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, upon his back,
+  And like an old rascal went rickity rack,
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, went rickity rack.
+
+  But when he got half way up the road,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, up the road,
+  Says he, "You old lady, you're sure a load,"
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, you're sure a load.
+
+  He set her down on a stump to rest,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, stump to rest;
+  She up with a stick and hit him her best.
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, hit him her best.
+
+  He taken her on to hell's old gate,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, hell's old gate,
+  But when he got there he got there too late,
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, got there too late.
+
+  And so he had to keep his wife,
+  Chir-u-ra-wee, had to keep his wife,
+  And keep her he did for the rest of his life.
+  Sing chir-u-ra-wee, for the rest of his life.
+
+
+
+
+JERRY, GO ILE THAT CAR
+
+
+  Come all ye railroad section men an' listen to my song,
+  It is of Larry O'Sullivan who now is dead and gone.
+  For twinty years a section boss, he niver hired a tar--
+  Oh, it's "j'int ahead and cinter back,
+  An' Jerry, go ile that car!"
+
+    For twinty years a section boss, he niver hired a tar,
+    But it's "j'int ahead an cinter back,
+    An' Jerry, go ile that car-r-r!"
+
+  For twinty years a section boss, he worked upon the track,
+  And be it to his cred-i-it he niver had a wrack.
+  For he kept every j'int right up to the p'int wid the tap of the
+      tampin-bar-r-r;
+  And while the byes was a-swimmin' up the ties,
+  It's "Jerry, wud yez ile that car-r-r!"
+
+  God rest ye, Larry O'Sullivan, to me ye were kind and good;
+  Ye always made the section men go out and chop me wood;
+  An' fetch me wather from the well an' chop me kindlin' fine;
+  And any man that wouldn't lind a hand, 'twas Larry give
+      him his Time.
+
+  And ivery Sunday morni-i-ing unto the gang he'd say:
+  "Me byes, prepare--yez be aware the ould lady goes to church the day.
+  Now, I want ivery man to pump the best he can, for the distance it
+      is far-r-r;
+  An' we have to get in ahead of number tin--
+  So, Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
+
+  'Twas in November in the winter time and the ground all covered
+      wid snow,
+  "Come put the hand-car-r-r on the track an' over the section go!"
+  Wid his big soger coat buttoned up to his t'roat, all weathers he
+      would dare--
+  An' it's "Paddy Mack, will yez walk the track,
+  An' Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
+
+  "Give my respects to the roadmas-ther," poor Larry he did cry,
+  "An lave me up that I may see the ould hand-car before I die.
+  Come, j'int ahead an' cinter back,
+  An' Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
+
+    Then lay the spike maul upon his chist, the gauge, and the ould
+         claw-bar-r-r,
+    And while the byes do be fillin' up his grave,
+    "Oh, Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!"
+
+
+
+
+JOHN GARNER'S TRAIL HERD
+
+
+  Come all you old timers and listen to my song;
+  I'll make it short as possible and I'll not keep you long;
+  I'll relate to you about the time you all remember well
+  When we, with old Joe Garner, drove a beef herd up the trail.
+
+  When we left the ranch it was early in the spring,
+  We had as good a corporal as ever rope did swing,
+  Good hands and good horses, good outfit through and through,--
+  We went well equipped, we were a jolly crew.
+
+  We had no little herd--two thousand head or more--
+  And some as wild a brush beeves as you ever saw before.
+  We swung to them all the way and sometimes by the tail,--
+  Oh, you know we had a circus as we all went up the trail.
+
+  All things went on well till we reached the open ground,
+  And then them cattle turned in and they gave us merry hell.
+  They stampeded every night that came and did it without
+      fail,--
+  Oh, you know we had a circus as we all went up the trail.
+
+  We would round them up at morning and the boss would make a count,
+  And say, "Look here, old punchers, we are out quite an amount;
+  You must make all losses good and do it without fail
+  Or you will never get another job of driving up the trail."
+
+  When we reached Red River we gave the Inspector the dodge.
+  He swore by God Almighty, in jail old John should lodge.
+  We told him if he'd taken our boss and had him locked in jail,
+  We would shore get his scalp as we all came down the trail.
+
+  When we reached the Reservation, how squirmish we did feel,
+  Although we had tried old Garner and knew him true as steel.
+  And if we would follow him and do as he said do,
+  That old bald-headed cow-thief would surely take us through.
+
+  When we reached Dodge City we drew our four months' pay.
+  Times was better then, boys, that was a better day.
+  The way we drank and gambled and threw the girls around,--
+  "Say, a crowd of Texas cowboys has come to take our town."
+
+  The cowboy sees many hardships although he takes them well;
+  The fun we had upon that trip, no human tongue can tell.
+  The cowboy's life is a dreary life, though his mind it is no load,
+  And he always spends his money like he found it in the road.
+
+  If ever you meet old Garner, you must meet him on the square,
+  For he is the biggest cow-thief that ever tramped out there.
+  But if you want to hear him roar and spin a lively tale,
+  Just ask him about the time we all went up the trail.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT
+
+
+  Come all of you, my brother scouts,
+  And join me in my song;
+  Come, let us sing together
+  Though the shadows fall so long.
+
+  Of all the old frontiersmen
+  That used to scour the plain,
+  There are but very few of them
+  That with us yet remain.
+
+  Day after day they're dropping off,
+  They're going one by one;
+  Our clan is fast decreasing,
+  Our race is almost run.
+
+  There were many of our number
+  That never wore the blue,
+  But, faithfully, they did their part,
+  As brave men, tried and true.
+
+  They never joined the army,
+  But had other work to do
+  In piloting the coming folks,
+  To help them safely through.
+
+  But, brothers, we are falling,
+  Our race is almost run;
+  The days of elk and buffalo
+  And beaver traps are gone.
+
+  Oh, the days of elk and buffalo!
+  It fills my heart with pain
+  To know these days are past and gone
+  To never come again.
+
+  We fought the red-skin rascals
+  Over valley, hill, and plain;
+  We fought him in the mountain top,
+  And fought him down again.
+
+  These fighting days are over;
+  The Indian yell resounds
+  No more along the border;
+  Peace sends far sweeter sounds.
+
+  But we found great joy, old comrades,
+  To hear, and make it die;
+  We won bright homes for gentle ones,
+  And now, our West, good-bye.
+
+
+
+
+THE LONE BUFFALO HUNTER
+
+
+  It's of those Texas cowboys, a story I'll tell;
+  No name I will mention though in Texas they do dwell.
+  Go find them where you will, they are all so very brave,
+  And when in good society they seldom misbehave.
+
+  When the fall work is all over in the line-camp they'll be found,
+  For they have to ride those lonesome lines the long winter round;
+  They prove loyal to a comrade, no matter what's to do;
+  And when in love with a fair one they seldom prove untrue.
+
+  But springtime comes at last and finds them glad and gay;
+  They ride out to the round-up about the first of May;
+  About the first of August they start up the trail,
+  They have to stay with the cattle, no matter rain or hail.
+
+  But when they get to the shipping point, then they receive their tens,
+  Straightway to the bar-room and gently blow them in;
+  It's the height of their ambition, so I've been truly told,
+  To ride good horses and saddles and spend the silver and gold.
+
+  Those last two things I've mentioned, it is their heart's desire,
+  And when they leave the shipping point, their eyes are like balls
+      of fire.
+  It's of those fighting cattle, they seem to have no fear,
+  A-riding bucking broncos oft is their heart's desire.
+
+  They will ride into the branding pen, a rope within their hands,
+  They will catch them by each forefoot and bring them to the sands;
+  It's altogether in practice with a little bit of sleight,
+  A-roping Texas cattle, it is their heart's delight.
+
+  But now comes the rising generation to take the cowboy's place,
+  Likewise the corn-fed granger, with his bold and cheeky face;
+  It's on those plains of Texas a lone buffalo hunter does stand
+  To tell the fate of the cowboy that rode at his right hand.
+
+
+
+
+THE CROOKED TRAIL TO HOLBROOK
+
+
+  Come all you jolly cowboys that follow the bronco steer,
+  I'll sing to you a verse or two your spirits for to cheer;
+  It's all about a trip, a trip that I did undergo
+  On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.
+
+  It's on the seventeenth of February, our herd it started out,
+  It would have made your hearts shudder to hear them bawl and shout,
+  As wild as any buffalo that ever rode the Platte,
+  Those dogies we were driving, and every one was fat.
+
+  We crossed the Mescal Mountains on the way to Gilson Flats,
+  And when we got to Gilson Flats, Lord, how the wind did blow;
+  It blew so hard, it blew so fierce, we knew not where to go,
+  But our spirits never failed us as onward we did go,--
+  On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.
+
+  That night we had a stampede; Christ, how the cattle run!
+  We made it to our horses; I tell you, we had no fun;
+  Over the prickly pear and catclaw brush we quickly made our way;
+  We thought of our long journey and the girls we'd left one day.
+
+  It's long by Sombserva we slowly punched along,
+  While each and every puncher would sing a hearty song
+  To cheer up his comrade as onward we did go,
+  On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.
+
+  We crossed the Mongollen Mountains where the tall pines do grow,
+  Grass grows in abundance, and rippling streams do flow;
+  Our packs were always turning, of course our gait was slow,
+  On that crooked trail to Holbrook, in Arizona oh.
+
+  At last we got to Holbrook, a little gale did blow;
+  It blew up sand and pebble stones and it didn't blow them slow.
+  We had to drink the water from that muddy little stream
+  And swallowed a peck of dirt when we tried to eat a bean.
+
+  But the cattle now are shipped and homeward we are bound
+  With a lot of as tired horses as ever could be found;
+  Across the reservation no danger did we fear,
+  But thought of wives and sweethearts and the ones we love so dear.
+  Now we are back in Globe City, our friendship there to share;
+  Here's luck to every puncher that follows the bronco steer.
+
+
+
+
+ONLY A COWBOY
+
+
+  Away out in old Texas, that great lone star state,
+  Where the mocking bird whistles both early and late;
+  It was in Western Texas on the old N A range
+  The boy fell a victim on the old staked plains.
+
+    He was only a cowboy gone on before,
+    He was only a cowboy, we will never see more;
+    He was doing his duty on the old N A range
+    But now he is sleeping on the old staked plains.
+
+  His crew they were numbered twenty-seven or eight,
+  The boys were like brothers, their friendship was great,
+  When "O God, have mercy" was heard from behind,--
+  The cattle were left to drift on the line.
+
+  He leaves a dear wife and little ones, too,
+  To earn them a living, as fathers oft do;
+  For while he was working for the loved ones so dear
+  He was took without warning or one word of cheer.
+
+  And while he is sleeping where the sun always shines,
+  The boys they go dashing along on the line;
+  The look on their faces it speaks to us all
+  Of one who departed to the home of the soul.
+
+  He was only a cowboy gone on before,
+  He was only a cowboy, we will never see more;
+  He was doing his duty on the old N A range
+  But now he is sleeping on the old staked plains.
+
+
+
+
+FULLER AND WARREN
+
+
+  Ye sons of Columbia, your attention I do crave,
+  While a sorrowful story I do tell,
+  Which happened of late, in the Indiana state,
+  And a hero not many could excel;
+  Like Samson he courted, made choice of the fair,
+  And intended to make her his wife;
+  But she, like Delilah, his heart did ensnare,
+  Which cost him his honor and his life.
+
+  A gold ring he gave her in token of his love,
+  On the face was the image of the dove;
+  They mutually agreed to get married with speed
+  And were promised by the powers above.
+  But the fickle-minded maiden vowed again to wed
+  To young Warren who lived in that place;
+  It was a fatal blow that caused his overthrow
+  And added to her shame and disgrace.
+
+  When Fuller came to hear he was deprived of his dear
+  Whom he vowed by the powers to wed,
+  With his heart full of woe unto Warren he did go,
+  And smilingly unto him he said:
+  "Young man, you have injured me to gratify your cause
+  By reporting that I left a prudent wife;
+  Acknowledge now that you have wronged me, for although
+      I break the laws,
+  Young Warren, I'll deprive you of your life."
+
+  Then Warren, he replied: "Your request must be denied,
+  For your darling to my heart she is bound;
+  And further I can say that this is our wedding day,
+  In spite of all the heroes in town."
+  Then Fuller in the passion of his love and anger bound,--
+  Alas! it caused many to cry,--
+  At one fatal shot killed Warren on the spot,
+  And smilingly said, "I'm ready now to die."
+
+  The time was drawing nigh when Fuller had to die;
+  He bid the audience adieu.
+  Like an angel he did stand, for he was a handsome man,
+  On his breast he had a ribbon of blue.
+  Ten thousand spectators did smite him on the breast,
+  And the guards dropped a tear from the eye,
+  Saying, "Cursed be she who caused this misery,
+  Would to God in his stead she had to die."
+
+  The gentle god of Love looked with anger from above
+  And the rope flew asunder like the sand.
+  Two doctors for the pay they murdered him, they say,
+  They hung him by main strength of hand.
+  But the corpse it was buried and the doctors lost their prey,
+  Oh, that harlot was bribed, I do believe;
+  Bad women to a certainty are the downfall of men,
+  As Adam was beguiled by Eve.
+
+
+
+
+Fuller and Warren (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Ye sons of Co-lum-bia, your at-ten-tion I do crave,
+  While a sor-ri-ful sto-ry I do tell,
+  Which hap-pened of late in the In-di-an-a state,
+  And a he-ro ... not ma-ny could ex-cel.
+  Like Sam-son he court-ed, made choice of the fair,
+  And in-tend-ed ... to make her his wife;
+  But she, like De-li-la,... his heart did en-snare,
+  Which cost him his hon-or and his life.
+
+
+
+
+THE TRAIL TO MEXICO
+
+
+  I made up my mind to change my way
+  And quit my crowd that was so gay,
+  To leave my native home for a while
+  And to travel west for many a mile.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  'Twas all in the merry month of May
+  When I started for Texas far away,
+  I left my darling girl behind,--
+  She said her heart was only mine.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  Oh, it was when I embraced her in my arms
+  I thought she had ten thousand charms;
+  Her caresses were soft, her kisses were sweet,
+  Saying, "We will get married next time we meet."
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  It was in the year of eighty-three
+  That A.J. Stinson hired me.
+  He says, "Young fellow, I want you to go
+  And drive this herd to Mexico."
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  The first horse they gave me was an old black
+  With two big set-fasts on his back;
+  I padded him with gunny-sacks and my bedding all;
+  He went up, then down, and I got a fall.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  The next they gave me was an old gray,
+  I'll remember him till my dying day.
+  And if I had to swear to the fact,
+  I believe he was worse off than the black.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  Oh, it was early in the year
+  When I went on trail to drive the steer.
+  I stood my guard through sleet and snow
+  While on the trail to Mexico.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  Oh, it was a long and lonesome go
+  As our herd rolled on to Mexico;
+  With laughter light and the cowboy's song
+  To Mexico we rolled along.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  When I arrived in Mexico
+  I wanted to see my love but could not go;
+  So I wrote a letter, a letter to my dear,
+  But not a word from her could I hear.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  When I arrived at the once loved home
+  I called for the darling of my own;
+  They said she had married a richer life,
+  Therefore, wild cowboy, seek another wife.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  Oh, the girl she is married I do adore,
+  And I cannot stay at home any more;
+  I'll cut my way to a foreign land
+  Or I'll go back west to my cowboy band.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  I'll go back to the Western land,
+  I'll hunt up my old cowboy band,--
+  Where the girls are few and the boys are true
+  And a false-hearted love I never knew.
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  "O Buddie, O Buddie, please stay at home,
+  Don't be forever on the roam.
+  There is many a girl more true than I,
+  So pray don't go where the bullets fly."
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+  "It's curse your gold and your silver too,
+  God pity a girl that won't prove true;
+  I'll travel West where the bullets fly,
+  I'll stay on the trail till the day I die."
+
+  Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo.
+
+
+
+
+THE HORSE WRANGLER
+
+
+  I thought one spring just for fun
+  I'd see how cow-punching was done,
+  And when the round-ups had begun
+  I tackled the cattle-king.
+  Says he, "My foreman is in town,
+  He's at the plaza, and his name is Brown,
+  If you'll see him, he'll take you down."
+  Says I, "That's just the thing."
+
+  We started for the ranch next day;
+  Brown augured me most all the way.
+  He said that cow-punching was nothing but play,
+  That it was no work at all,--
+  That all you had to do was ride,
+  And only drifting with the tide;
+  The son of a gun, oh, how he lied.
+  Don't you think he had his gall?
+
+  He put me in charge of a cavyard,
+  And told me not to work too hard,
+  That all I had to do was guard
+  The horses from getting away;
+  I had one hundred and sixty head,
+  I sometimes wished that I was dead;
+  When one got away, Brown's head turned red,
+  And there was the devil to pay.
+
+  Sometimes one would make a break,
+  Across the prairie he would take,
+  As if running for a stake,--
+  It seemed to them but play;
+  Sometimes I could not head them at all,
+  Sometimes my horse would catch a fall
+  And I'd shoot on like a cannon ball
+  Till the earth came in my way.
+
+  They saddled me up an old gray hack
+  With two set-fasts on his back,
+  They padded him down with a gunny sack
+  And used my bedding all.
+  When I got on he quit the ground,
+  Went up in the air and turned around,
+  And I came down and busted the ground,--
+  I got one hell of a fall.
+
+  They took me up and carried me in
+  And rubbed me down with an old stake pin.
+  "That's the way they all begin;
+  You're doing well," says Brown.
+  "And in the morning, if you don't die,
+  I'll give you another horse to try."
+  "Oh say, can't I walk?" says I.
+  Says he, "Yes, back to town."
+
+  I've traveled up and I've traveled down,
+  I've traveled this country round and round,
+  I've lived in city and I've lived in town,
+  But I've got this much to say:
+  Before you try cow-punching, kiss your wife,
+  Take a heavy insurance on your life,
+  Then cut your throat with a barlow knife,--
+  For it's easier done that way.
+
+
+
+
+CALIFORNIA JOE
+
+
+  Well, mates, I don't like stories;
+  Or am I going to act
+  A part around the campfire
+  That ain't a truthful fact?
+  So fill your pipes and listen,
+  I'll tell you--let me see--
+  I think it was in fifty,
+  From that till sixty-three.
+
+  You've all heard tell of Bridger;
+  I used to run with Jim,
+  And many a hard day's scouting
+  I've done longside of him.
+  Well, once near old Fort Reno,
+  A trapper used to dwell;
+  We called him old Pap Reynolds,
+  The scouts all knew him well.
+
+  One night in the spring of fifty
+  We camped on Powder River,
+  And killed a calf of buffalo
+  And cooked a slice of liver.
+  While eating, quite contented,
+  I heard three shots or four;
+  Put out the fire and listened,--
+  We heard a dozen more.
+
+  We knew that old man Reynolds
+  Had moved his traps up here;
+  So picking up our rifles
+  And fixing on our gear
+  We moved as quick as lightning,
+  To save was our desire.
+  Too late, the painted heathens
+  Had set the house on fire.
+
+  We hitched our horses quickly
+  And waded up the stream;
+  While down close beside the waters
+  I heard a muffled scream.
+  And there among the bushes
+  A little girl did lie.
+  I picked her up and whispered,
+  "I'll save you or I'll die."
+
+  Lord, what a ride! Old Bridger
+  Had covered my retreat;
+  Sometimes that child would whisper
+  In voice low and sweet,
+  "Poor Papa, God will take him
+  To Mama up above;
+  There is no one left to love me,
+  There is no one left to love."
+
+  The little one was thirteen
+  And I was twenty-two;
+  I says, "I'll be your father
+  And love you just as true."
+  She nestled to my bosom,
+  Her hazel eyes so bright,
+  Looked up and made me happy,--
+  The close pursuit that night.
+
+  One month had passed and Maggie,
+  We called her Hazel Eye,
+  In truth was going to leave me,
+  Was going to say good-bye.
+  Her uncle, Mad Jack Reynolds,
+  Reported long since dead,
+  Had come to claim my angel,
+  His brother's child, he said.
+
+  What could I say? We parted,
+  Mad Jack was growing old;
+  I handed him a bank note
+  And all I had in gold.
+  They rode away at sunrise,
+  I went a mile or two,
+  And parting says, "We will meet again;
+  May God watch over you."
+
+  By a laughing, dancing brook
+  A little cabin stood,
+  And weary with a long day's scout,
+  I spied it in the wood.
+  The pretty valley stretched beyond,
+  The mountains towered above,
+  And near its willow banks I heard
+  The cooing of a dove.
+
+  'Twas one grand pleasure;
+  The brook was plainly seen,
+  Like a long thread of silver
+  In a cloth of lovely green;
+  The laughter of the water,
+  The cooing of the dove,
+  Was like some painted picture,
+  Some well-told tale of love.
+
+  While drinking in the country
+  And resting in the saddle,
+  I heard a gentle rippling
+  Like the dipping of a paddle,
+  And turning to the water,
+  A strange sight met my view,--
+  A lady with her rifle
+  In a little bark canoe.
+
+  She stood up in the center,
+  With her rifle to her eye;
+  I thought just for a second
+  My time had come to die.
+  I doffed my hat and told her,
+  If it was just the same,
+  To drop her little shooter,
+  For I was not her game.
+
+  She dropped the deadly weapon
+  And leaped from the canoe.
+  Says she, "I beg your pardon;
+  I thought you was a Sioux.
+  Your long hair and your buckskin
+  Looked warrior-like and rough;
+  My bead was spoiled by sunshine,
+  Or I'd have killed you sure enough."
+
+  "Perhaps it would've been better
+  If you'd dropped me then," says I;
+  "For surely such an angel
+  Would bear me to the sky."
+  She blushingly dropped her eyelids,
+  Her cheeks were crimson red;
+  One half-shy glance she gave me
+  And then hung down her head.
+
+  I took her little hand in mine;
+  She wondered what it meant,
+  And yet she drew it not away,
+  But rather seemed content.
+  We sat upon the mossy bank,
+  Her eyes began to fill;
+  The brook was rippling at our feet,
+  The dove was cooing still.
+
+  'Tis strong arms were thrown around her.
+  "I'll save you or I'll die."
+  I clasped her to my bosom,
+  My long lost Hazel Eye.
+  The rapture of that moment
+  Was almost heaven to me;
+  I kissed her 'mid the tear-drops,
+  Her merriment and glee.
+
+  Her heart near mine was beating
+  When sobbingly she said,
+  "My dear, my brave preserver,
+  They told me you were dead.
+  But oh, those parting words, Joe,
+  Have never left my mind,
+  You said, 'We'll meet again, Mag,'
+  Then rode off like the wind.
+
+  "And oh, how I have prayed, Joe,
+  For you who saved my life,
+  That God would send an angel
+  To guide you through all strife.
+  The one who claimed me from you,
+  My Uncle, good and true,
+  Is sick in yonder cabin;
+  Has talked so much of you.
+
+  "'If Joe were living darling,'
+  He said to me last night,
+  'He would care for you, Maggie,
+  When God puts out my light.'"
+  We found the old man sleeping.
+  "Hush, Maggie, let him rest."
+  The sun was slowly setting
+  In the far-off, glowing West.
+
+  And though we talked in whispers
+  He opened wide his eyes:
+  "A dream, a dream," he murmured;
+  "Alas, a dream of lies."
+  She drifted like a shadow
+  To where the old man lay.
+  "You had a dream, dear Uncle,
+  Another dream to-day?"
+
+  "Oh yes, I saw an angel
+  As pure as mountain snow,
+  And near her at my bedside
+  Stood California Joe."
+  "I'm sure I'm not an angel,
+  Dear Uncle, that you know;
+  These hands that hold your hand, too,
+  My face is not like snow.
+
+  "Now listen while I tell you,
+  For I have news to cheer;
+  Hazel Eye is happy,
+  For Joe is truly here."
+  It was but a few days after
+  The old man said to me,
+  "Joe, boy, she is an angel,
+  And good as angels be.
+
+  "For three long months she hunted,
+  And trapped and nursed me too;
+  God bless you, boy, I believe it,
+  She's safe along with you."
+  The sun was slowly sinking,
+  When Maggie, my wife, and I
+  Went riding through the valley,
+  The tear-drops in her eye.
+
+  "One year ago to-day, Joe,
+  I saw the mossy grave;
+  We laid him neath the daisies,
+  My Uncle, good and brave."
+  And comrade, every springtime
+  Is sure to find me there;
+  There is something in the valley
+  That is always fresh and fair.
+
+  Our love is always kindled
+  While sitting by the stream,
+  Where two hearts were united
+  In love's sweet happy dream.
+
+
+
+
+THE BOSTON BURGLAR
+
+
+  I was born in Boston City, a city you all know well,
+  Brought up by honest parents, the truth to you I'll tell,
+  Brought up by honest parents and raised most tenderly,
+  Till I became a roving man at the age of twenty-three.
+
+  My character was taken then, and I was sent to jail.
+  My friends they found it was in vain to get me out on bail.
+  The jury found me guilty, the clerk he wrote it down,
+  The judge he passed me sentence and I was sent to Charleston town.
+
+  You ought to have seen my aged father a-pleading at the bar,
+  Also my dear old mother a-tearing of her hair,
+  Tearing of her old gray locks as the tears came rolling down,
+  Saying, "Son, dear son, what have you done, that you are sent to
+      Charleston town?"
+
+  They put me aboard an eastbound train one cold December day,
+  And every station that we passed, I'd hear the people say,
+  "There goes a noted burglar, in strong chains he'll be bound,--
+  For the doing of some crime or other he is sent to Charleston town."
+
+  There is a girl in Boston, she is a girl that I love well,
+  And if I ever gain my liberty, along with her I'll dwell;
+  And when I regain my liberty, bad company I will shun,
+  Night-walking, gambling, and also drinking rum.
+
+  Now, you who have your liberty, pray keep it if you can,
+  And don't go around the streets at night to break the laws of man;
+  For if you do you'll surely rue and find yourself like me,
+  A-serving out my twenty-one years in the penitentiary.
+
+
+
+
+SAM BASS
+
+
+  Sam Bass was born in Indiana, it was his native home,
+  And at the age of seventeen young Sam began to roam.
+  Sam first came out to Texas a cowboy for to be,--
+  A kinder-hearted fellow you seldom ever see.
+
+  Sam used to deal in race stock, one called the Denton mare,
+  He matched her in scrub races, and took her to the Fair.
+  Sam used to coin the money and spent it just as free,
+  He always drank good whiskey wherever he might be.
+
+  Sam left the Collin's ranch in the merry month of May
+  With a herd of Texas cattle the Black Hills for to see,
+  Sold out in Custer City and then got on a spree,--
+  A harder set of cowboys you seldom ever see.
+
+  On their way back to Texas they robbed the U.P. train,
+  And then split up in couples and started out again.
+  Joe Collins and his partner were overtaken soon,
+  With all their hard-earned money they had to meet their doom.
+
+  Sam made it back to Texas all right side up with care;
+  Rode into the town of Denton with all his friends to share.
+  Sam's life was short in Texas; three robberies did he do,
+  He robbed all the passenger, mail, and express cars too.
+
+  Sam had four companions--four bold and daring lads--
+  They were Richardson, Jackson, Joe Collins, and Old Dad;
+  Four more bold and daring cowboys the rangers never knew,
+  They whipped the Texas rangers and ran the boys in blue.
+
+  Sam had another companion, called Arkansas for short,
+  Was shot by a Texas ranger by the name of Thomas Floyd;
+  Oh, Tom is a big six-footer and thinks he's mighty fly,
+  But I can tell you his racket,--he's a deadbeat on the sly.
+
+  Jim Murphy was arrested, and then released on bail;
+  He jumped his bond at Tyler and then took the train for
+     Terrell;
+  But Mayor Jones had posted Jim and that was all a stall,
+  'Twas only a plan to capture Sam before the coming fall.
+
+  Sam met his fate at Round Rock, July the twenty-first,
+  They pierced poor Sam with rifle balls and emptied out his purse.
+  Poor Sam he is a corpse and six foot under clay,
+  And Jackson's in the bushes trying to get away.
+
+  Jim had borrowed Sam's good gold and didn't want to pay,
+  The only shot he saw was to give poor Sam away.
+  He sold out Sam and Barnes and left their friends to mourn,--
+  Oh, what a scorching Jim will get when Gabriel blows his horn.
+
+  And so he sold out Sam and Barnes and left their friends to mourn,
+  Oh, what a scorching Jim will get when Gabriel blows his horn.
+  Perhaps he's got to heaven, there's none of us can say,
+  But if I'm right in my surmise he's gone the other way.
+
+
+
+Sam Bass (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Sam Bass was born in In-di-an-a, It
+  was his na-tive home;   And at the age of
+  sev-en-teen, Young Sam be-gan to roam. Sam
+  first came out to Tex-as,   A cow-boy for to be; A
+  kind-er-heart-ed fel-low You sel-dom ev-er see.
+
+
+
+
+THE ZEBRA DUN
+
+
+  We were camped on the plains at the head of the Cimarron
+  When along came a stranger and stopped to arger some.
+  He looked so very foolish that we began to look around,
+  We thought he was a greenhorn that had just 'scaped from town.
+
+  We asked if he had been to breakfast; he hadn't had a smear,
+  So we opened up the chuck-box and bade him have his share.
+  He took a cup of coffee and some biscuits and some beans,
+  And then began to talk and tell about foreign kings and queens,--
+
+  About the Spanish war and fighting on the seas
+  With guns as big as steers and ramrods big as trees,--
+  And about old Paul Jones, a mean, fighting son of a gun,
+  Who was the grittiest cuss that ever pulled a gun.
+
+  Such an educated feller his thoughts just came in herds,
+  He astonished all them cowboys with them jaw-breaking words.
+  He just kept on talking till he made the boys all sick,
+  And they began to look around just how to play a trick.
+
+  He said he had lost his job upon the Santa Fe
+  And was going across the plains to strike the 7-D.
+  He didn't say how come it, some trouble with the boss,
+  But said he'd like to borrow a nice fat saddle hoss.
+
+  This tickled all the boys to death, they laughed way down in their
+      sleeves,--
+  "We will lend you a horse just as fresh and fat as you please."
+  Shorty grabbed a lariat and roped the Zebra Dun
+  And turned him over to the stranger and waited for the fun.
+
+  Old Dunny was a rocky outlaw that had grown so awful wild
+  That he could paw the white out of the moon every jump for a mile.
+  Old Dunny stood right still,--as if he didn't know,--
+  Until he was saddled and ready for to go.
+
+  When the stranger hit the saddle, old Dunny quit the earth
+  And traveled right straight up for all that he was worth.
+  A-pitching and a-squealing, a-having wall-eyed fits,
+  His hind feet perpendicular, his front ones in the bits.
+
+  We could see the tops of the mountains under Dunny every jump,
+  But the stranger he was growed there just like the camel's hump;
+  The stranger sat upon him and curled his black mustache
+  Just like a summer boarder waiting for his hash.
+
+  He thumped him in the shoulders and spurred him when he whirled,
+  To show them flunky punchers that he was the wolf of the world.
+  When the stranger had dismounted once more upon the ground,
+  We knew he was a thoroughbred and not a gent from town;
+
+  The boss who was standing round watching of the show,
+  Walked right up to the stranger and told him he needn't go,--
+  "If you can use the lasso like you rode old Zebra Dun,
+  You are the man I've been looking for ever since the year one."
+
+  Oh, he could twirl the lariat and he didn't do it slow,
+  He could catch them fore feet nine out of ten for any kind of dough.
+  And when the herd stampeded he was always on the spot
+  And set them to nothing, like the boiling of a pot.
+
+  There's one thing and a shore thing I've learned since I've been born,
+  That every educated feller ain't a plumb greenhorn.
+
+
+
+
+THE BUFFALO SKINNERS
+
+
+  Come all you jolly fellows and listen to my song,
+  There are not many verses, it will not detain you long;
+  It's concerning some young fellows who did agree to go
+  And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo.
+
+  It happened in Jacksboro in the spring of seventy-three,
+  A man by the name of Crego came stepping up to me,
+  Saying, "How do you do, young fellow, and how would you like to go
+  And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo?"
+
+  "It's me being out of employment," this to Crego I did say,
+  "This going out on the buffalo range depends upon the pay.
+  But if you will pay good wages and transportation too,
+  I think, sir, I will go with you to the range of the buffalo."
+
+  "Yes, I will pay good wages, give transportation too,
+  Provided you will go with me and stay the summer through;
+  But if you should grow homesick, come back to Jacksboro,
+  I won't pay transportation from the range of the buffalo."
+
+  It's now our outfit was complete--seven able-bodied men,
+  With navy six and needle gun--our troubles did begin;
+  Our way it was a pleasant one, the route we had to go,
+  Until we crossed Pease River on the range of the buffalo.
+
+  It's now we've crossed Pease River, our troubles have begun.
+  The first damned tail I went to rip, Christ! how I cut my thumb!
+  While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives wasn't a show,
+  For the Indians watched to pick us off while skinning the buffalo.
+
+  He fed us on such sorry chuck I wished myself most dead,
+  It was old jerked beef, croton coffee, and sour bread.
+  Pease River's as salty as hell fire, the water I could
+      never go,--
+  O God! I wished I had never come to the range of the buffalo.
+
+  Our meat it was buffalo hump and iron wedge bread,
+  And all we had to sleep on was a buffalo robe for a bed;
+  The fleas and gray-backs worked on us, O boys, it was not slow,
+  I'll tell you there's no worse hell on earth than the range of the
+      buffalo.
+
+  Our hearts were cased with buffalo hocks, our souls were cased with
+      steel,
+  And the hardships of that summer would nearly make us reel.
+  While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives they had no show,
+  For the Indians waited to pick us off on the hills of Mexico.
+
+  The season being near over, old Crego he did say
+  The crowd had been extravagant, was in debt to him that day,--
+  We coaxed him and we begged him and still it was no go,--
+  We left old Crego's bones to bleach on the range of the buffalo.
+
+  Oh, it's now we've crossed Pease River and homeward we are
+      bound,
+  No more in that hell-fired country shall ever we be found.
+  Go home to our wives and sweethearts, tell others not to go,
+  For God's forsaken the buffalo range and the damned old buffalo.
+
+
+
+Range of the Buffalo (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  'Twas in the town of Jacksbo-ro, In eigh-teen eigh-ty-
+  three, When a man by the name of Cre-go... Came
+  step-ping up to me; Say-ing, "How do you do, young
+  fel-low, And how would you like to go... And
+  spend one summer sea-son On the range of the Buf-fa-lo?"
+
+
+
+
+MACAFFIE'S CONFESSION
+
+
+  Now come young men and list to me,
+  A sad and mournful history;
+  And may you ne'er forgetful be
+  Of what I tell this day to thee.
+
+  Oh, I was thoughtless, young, and gay
+  And often broke the Sabbath day,
+  In wickedness I took delight
+  And sometimes done what wasn't right.
+
+  I'd scarcely passed my fifteenth year,
+  My mother and my father dear
+  Were silent in their deep, dark grave,
+  Their spirits gone to Him who gave.
+
+  'Twas on a pleasant summer day
+  When from my home I ran away
+  And took unto myself a wife,
+  Which step was fatal to my life.
+
+  Oh, she was kind and good to me
+  As ever woman ought to be,
+  And might this day have been alive no doubt,
+  Had I not met Miss Hatty Stout.
+
+  Ah, well I mind the fatal day
+  When Hatty stole my heart away;
+  'Twas love for her controlled my will
+  And did cause me my wife to kill.
+
+  'Twas on a brilliant summer's night
+  When all was still; the stars shone bright.
+  My wife lay still upon the bed
+  And I approached to her and said:
+
+  "Dear wife, here's medicine I've brought,
+  For you this day, my love, I've bought.
+  I know it will be good for you
+  For those vile fits,--pray take it, do."
+
+  She cast on me a loving look
+  And in her mouth the poison took;
+  Down by her infant on the bed
+  In her last, long sleep she laid her head.
+
+  Oh, who could tell a mother's thought
+  When first to her the news was brought;
+  The sheriff said her son was sought
+  And into prison must be brought.
+
+  Only a mother standing by
+  To hear them tell the reason why
+  Her son in prison, he must lie
+  Till on the scaffold he must die.
+
+  My father, sixty years of age,
+  The best of counsel did engage,
+  To see if something could be done
+  To save his disobedient son.
+
+  So, farewell, mother, do not weep,
+  Though soon with demons I will sleep,
+  My soul now feels its mental hell
+  And soon with demons I will dwell.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  The sheriff cut the slender cord,
+  His soul went up to meet its Lord;
+  The doctor said, "The wretch is dead,
+  His spirit from his body's fled."
+
+  His weeping mother cried aloud,
+  "O God, do save this gazing crowd,
+  That none may ever have to pay
+  For gambling on the Sabbath day."
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE JOE, THE WRANGLER
+
+
+  It's little Joe, the wrangler, he'll wrangle never more,
+  His days with the _remuda_ they are o'er;
+  'Twas a year ago last April when he rode into our camp,--
+  Just a little Texas stray and all alone,--
+  On a little Texas pony he called "Chaw."
+  With his brogan shoes and overalls, a tougher kid
+  You never in your life before had saw.
+
+  His saddle was a Texas "kak," built many years ago,
+  With an O.K. spur on one foot lightly swung;
+  His "hot roll" in a cotton sack so loosely tied behind,
+  And his canteen from his saddle-horn was swung.
+  He said that he had to leave his home, his pa had married twice;
+  And his new ma whipped him every day or two;
+  So he saddled up old Chaw one night and lit a shuck this way,
+  And he's now trying to paddle his own canoe.
+
+  He said if we would give him work, he'd do the best he could,
+  Though he didn't know straight up about a cow;
+  So the boss he cut him out a mount and kindly put him on,
+  For he sorta liked this little kid somehow.
+  Learned him to wrangle horses and to try to know them all,
+  And get them in at daylight if he could;
+  To follow the chuck-wagon and always hitch the team,
+  And to help the _cocinero_ rustle wood.
+
+  We had driven to the Pecos, the weather being fine;
+  We had camped on the south side in a bend;
+  When a norther commenced blowin', we had doubled up our guard,
+  For it taken all of us to hold them in.
+  Little Joe, the wrangler, was called out with the rest;
+  Though the kid had scarcely reached the herd,
+  When the cattle they stampeded, like a hailstorm long they fled,
+  Then we were all a-ridin' for the lead.
+
+  'Midst the streaks of lightin' a horse we could see in the lead,
+  'Twas Little Joe, the wrangler, in the lead;
+  He was riding Old Blue Rocket with a slicker o'er his head,
+  A tryin' to check the cattle in their speed.
+  At last we got them milling and kinda quieted down,
+  And the extra guard back to the wagon went;
+  But there was one a-missin' and we knew it at a glance,
+  'Twas our little Texas stray, poor Wrangling Joe.
+
+  The next morning just at day break, we found where Rocket fell,
+  Down in a washout twenty feet below;
+  And beneath the horse, mashed to a pulp,--his spur had rung the knell,--
+  Was our little Texas stray, poor Wrangling Joe.
+
+
+
+Little Joe, The Wrangler (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Lit-tle Joe, the wran-gler, He'll wran-gle nev-er-more,
+                              rode up to our herd
+  His days with the re--mu--da they are o'er;
+  On a lit-tle Tex-as Po-ny he call'd Chaw;
+  'Twas a year a-go last A-pril he rode in-to our herd;
+  With his bro-gan shoes and o-veralls, a tough-er look-in' kid
+  Just a lit-tle Tex-as stray, and all a-lone.
+  You nev-er in your life be-fore had saw.
+  It was late in the eve-ning he
+
+
+
+
+HARRY BALE
+
+
+  Come all kind friends and kindred dear and Christians young and old,
+  A story I'll relate to you, 'twill make your blood run cold;
+  'Tis all about an unfortunate boy who lived not far from here,
+  In the township of Arcade in the County of Lapeer.
+  It seems his occupation was a sawyer in a mill,
+  He followed it successfully two years, one month, until,
+  Until this fatal accident that caused many to weep and wail;
+  'Twas where this young man lost his life,--his name was Harry Bale.
+
+  On the 29th of April in the year of seventy-nine,
+  He went to work as usual, no fear did he design;
+  In lowering of the feed bar throwing the carriage into gear
+  It brought him down upon the saw and cut him quite severe;
+  It cut him through the collar-bone and half way down the back,
+  It threw him down upon the saw, the carriage coming back.
+  He started for the shanty, his strength was failing fast;
+  He said, "Oh, boys, I'm wounded: I fear it is my last."
+
+  His brothers they were sent for, likewise his sisters too,
+  The doctors came and dressed his wound, but kind words proved untrue.
+  Poor Harry had no father to weep beside his bed,
+  No kind and loving mother to sooth his aching head.
+  He was just as gallant a young man as ever you wished to know,
+  But he withered like a flower, it was his time to go.
+
+  They placed him in his coffin and laid him in his grave;
+  His brothers and sisters mourned the loss of a brother so true and brave.
+  They took him to the graveyard and laid him away to rest,
+  His body lies mouldering, his soul is among the blest.
+
+
+
+
+FOREMAN MONROE
+
+
+  Come all you brave young shanty boys, and list while I relate
+  Concerning a young shanty boy and his untimely fate;
+  Concerning a young river man, so manly, true and brave;
+  'Twas on a jam at Gerry's Rock he met his watery grave;
+
+  'Twas on a Sunday morning as you will quickly hear,
+  Our logs were piled up mountain high, we could not keep them clear.
+  Our foreman said, "Come on, brave boys, with hearts devoid of fear,
+  We'll break the jam on Gerry's Rock and for Agonstown we'll steer."
+
+  Now, some of them were willing, while others they were not,
+  All for to work on Sunday they did not think they ought;
+  But six of our brave shanty boys had volunteered to go
+  And break the jam on Gerry's Rock with their foreman, young Monroe.
+
+  They had not rolled off many logs 'till they heard his clear
+      voice say,
+  "I'd have you boys be on your guard, for the jam will soon give way."
+  These words he'd scarcely spoken when the jam did break and go,
+  Taking with it six of those brave boys and their foreman, young Monroe.
+
+  Now when those other shanty boys this sad news came to hear,
+  In search of their dead comrades to the river they did steer;
+  Six of their mangled bodies a-floating down did go,
+  While crushed and bleeding near the banks lay the foreman, young Monroe.
+
+  They took him from his watery grave, brushed back his raven hair;
+  There was a fair form among them whose cries did rend the air;
+  There was a fair form among them, a girl from Saginaw town.
+  Whose cries rose to the skies for her lover who'd gone down.
+
+  Fair Clara was a noble girl, the river-man's true friend;
+  She and her widowed mother lived at the river's bend;
+  And the wages of her own true love the boss to her did pay,
+  But the shanty boys for her made up a generous sum next day.
+
+  They buried him quite decently; 'twas on the first of May;
+  Come all you brave young shanty boys and for your comrade pray.
+  Engraved upon the hemlock tree that by the grave does grow
+  Is the aged date and the sad fate of the foreman, young Monroe.
+
+  Fair Clara did not long survive, her heart broke with her grief;
+  And less than three months afterwards Death came to her relief;
+  And when the time had come and she was called to go,
+  Her last request was granted, to be laid by young Monroe.
+
+  Come all you brave young shanty boys, I'd have you call and see
+  Two green graves by the river side where grows a hemlock tree;
+  The shanty boys cut off the wood where lay those lovers low,--
+  'Tis the handsome Clara Vernon and her true love, Jack Monroe.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREARY BLACK HILLS
+
+
+  Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale,
+  I am an object of pity, I am looking quite stale,
+  I gave up my trade selling Right's Patent Pills
+  To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills.
+
+    Don't go away, stay at home if you can,
+    Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,
+    For big Walipe or Comanche Bills
+    They will lift up your hair on the dreary Black Hills.
+
+  The round-house in Cheyenne is filled every night
+  With loafers and bummers of most every plight;
+  On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills,
+  Each day they keep starting for the dreary Black Hills.
+
+  I got to Cheyenne, no gold could I find,
+  I thought of the lunch route I'd left far behind;
+  Through rain, hail, and snow, frozen plumb to the gills,--
+  They call me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills.
+
+  Kind friend, to conclude, my advice I'll unfold,
+  Don't go to the Black Hills a-hunting for gold;
+  Railroad speculators their pockets you'll fill
+  By taking a trip to those dreary Black Hills.
+
+  Don't go away, stay at home if you can,
+  Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne,
+  For old Sitting Bull or Comanche Bills
+  They will take off your scalp on the dreary Black Hills.
+
+
+
+The Dreary Black Hills (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Kind friends, you must pit-y my hor-ri-ble tale,
+  I'm an ob-ject of pit-y, I'm look-ing quite stale;
+  I gave up my trade, Selling Right's Pat-ent Pills,
+  To go hunt-ing gold In the drear-y Black Hills.
+
+  REFRAIN
+
+  Don't go a-way, stay at home if you can;
+  Stay a-way from that cit-y they call it Chey-enne;
+  For big Wal-i-pee or Co-man-che Bills,
+  They will lift up your hair On the drear-y Black Hills.
+
+
+
+
+A MORMON SONG
+
+
+  I used to live on Cottonwood and owned a little farm,
+  I was called upon a mission that gave me much alarm;
+  The reason that they called me, I'm sure I do not know.
+  But to hoe the cane and cotton, straightway I must go.
+
+  I yoked up Jim and Baldy, all ready for the start;
+  To leave my farm and garden, it almost broke my heart;
+  But at last we got started, I cast a look behind,
+  For the sand and rocks of Dixie were running through my mind.
+
+  Now, when we got to Black Ridge, my wagon it broke down,
+  And I, being no carpenter and forty miles from town,--
+  I cut a clumsy cedar and rigged an awkward slide,
+  But the wagon ran so heavy poor Betsy couldn't ride.
+
+  While Betsy was out walking I told her to take care,
+  When all of a sudden she struck a prickly pear,
+  Then she began to hollow as loud as she could bawl,--
+  If I were back in Cottonwood, I wouldn't go at all.
+
+  Now, when we got to Sand Ridge, we couldn't go at all,
+  Old Jim and old Baldy began to puff and loll,
+  I cussed and swore a little, for I couldn't make the route,
+  For the team and I and Betsy were all of us played out.
+
+  At length we got to Washington; I thought we'd stay a while
+  To see if the flowers would make their virgin smile,
+  But I was much mistaken, for when we went away
+  The red hills of September were just the same in May.
+
+  It is so very dreary, there's nothing here to cheer,
+  But old pathetic sermons we very often hear;
+  They preach them by the dozens and prove them by the book,
+  But I'd sooner have a roasting-ear and stay at home and cook.
+
+  I am so awful weary I'm sure I'm almost dead;
+  'Tis six long weeks last Sunday since I have tasted bread;
+  Of turnip-tops and lucerne greens I've had enough to eat,
+  But I'd like to change my diet to buckwheat cakes and meat.
+
+  I had to sell my wagon for sorghum seed and bread;
+  Old Jim and old Baldy have long since been dead.
+  There's no one left but me and Bet to hoe the cotton tree,--
+  God pity any Mormon that attempts to follow me!
+
+
+
+
+THE BUFFALO HUNTERS
+
+
+  Come all you pretty girls, to you these lines I'll write,
+  We are going to the range in which we take delight;
+  We are going on the range as we poor hunters do,
+  And the tender-footed fellows can stay at home with you.
+
+  It's all of the day long as we go tramping round
+  In search of the buffalo that we may shoot him down;
+  Our guns upon our shoulders, our belts of forty rounds,
+  We send them up Salt River to some happy hunting grounds.
+
+  Our game, it is the antelope, the buffalo, wolf, and deer,
+  Who roam the wide prairies without a single fear;
+  We rob him of his robe and think it is no harm,
+  To buy us food and clothing to keep our bodies warm.
+
+  The buffalo, he is the noblest of the band,
+  He sometimes rejects in throwing up his hand.
+  His shaggy main thrown forward, his head raised to the sky,
+  He seems to say, "We're coming, boys; so hunter, mind your eye."
+
+  Our fires are made of mesquite roots, our beds are on the ground;
+  Our houses made of buffalo hides, we make them tall and round;
+  Our furniture is the camp kettle, the coffee pot, and pan,
+  Our chuck it is both bread and meat, mingled well with sand.
+
+  Our neighbors are the Cheyennes, the 'Rapahoes, and Sioux,
+  Their mode of navigation is a buffalo-hide canoe.
+  And when they come upon you they take you unaware,
+  And such a peculiar way they have of raising hunter's hair.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY
+
+
+  I am looking rather seedy now while holding down my claim,
+  And my victuals are not always served the best;
+  And the mice play shyly round me as I nestle down to rest
+  In my little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+    The hinges are of leather and the windows have no glass,
+    While the board roof lets the howling blizzards in,
+    And I hear the hungry cayote as he slinks up through the grass
+    Round the little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+  Yet, I rather like the novelty of living in this way,
+  Though my bill of fare is always rather tame,
+  But I'm happy as a clam on the land of Uncle Sam
+  In the little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+  But when I left my Eastern home, a bachelor so gay,
+  To try and win my way to wealth and fame,
+  I little thought I'd come down to burning twisted hay
+  In the little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+  My clothes are plastered o'er with dough, I'm looking like a
+     fright,
+  And everything is scattered round the room,
+  But I wouldn't give the freedom that I have out in the West
+  For the table of the Eastern man's old home.
+
+  Still, I wish that some kind-hearted girl would pity on me take
+  And relieve me from the mess that I am in;
+  The angel, how I'd bless her if this her home she'd make
+  In the little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+  And we would make our fortunes on the prairies of the West,
+  Just as happy as two lovers we'd remain;
+  We'd forget the trials and troubles we endured at the first
+  In the little old sod shanty on my claim.
+
+  And if fate should bless us with now and then an heir
+  To cheer our hearts with honest pride of fame,
+  Oh, then we'd be contented for the toil that we had spent
+  In the little old sod shanty on our claim.
+
+  When time enough had lapsed and all those little brats
+  To noble man and womanhood had grown,
+  It wouldn't seem half so lonely as round us we should look
+  And we'd see the old sod shanty on our claim.
+
+
+
+
+THE GOL-DARNED WHEEL
+
+
+  I can take the wildest bronco in the tough old woolly West.
+  I can ride him, I can break him, let him do his level best;
+  I can handle any cattle ever wore a coat of hair,
+  And I've had a lively tussle with a tarnel grizzly bear.
+  I can rope and throw the longhorn of the wildest Texas brand,
+  And in Indian disagreements I can play a leading hand,
+  But at last I got my master and he surely made me squeal
+  When the boys got me a-straddle of that gol-darned wheel.
+
+  It was at the Eagle Ranch, on the Brazos,
+  When I first found that darned contrivance that upset me in the dust.
+  A tenderfoot had brought it, he was wheeling all the way
+  From the sun-rise end of freedom out to San Francisco Bay.
+  He tied up at the ranch for to get outside a meal,
+  Never thinking we would monkey with his gol-darned wheel.
+
+  Arizona Jim begun it when he said to Jack McGill
+  There was fellows forced to limit bragging on their riding skill,
+  And he'd venture the admission the same fellow that he meant
+  Was a very handy cutter far as riding bronchos went;
+  But he would find that he was bucking 'gainst a different kind of deal
+  If he threw his leather leggins 'gainst a gol-darned wheel.
+
+  Such a slam against my talent made me hotter than a mink,
+  And I swore that I would ride him for amusement or for chink.
+  And it was nothing but a plaything for the kids and such about,
+  And they'd have their ideas shattered if they'd lead the critter out.
+  They held it while I mounted and gave the word to go;
+  The shove they gave to start me warn't unreasonably slow.
+  But I never spilled a cuss word and I never spilled a squeal--
+  I was building reputation on that gol-darned wheel.
+
+  Holy Moses and the Prophets, how we split the Texas air,
+  And the wind it made whip-crackers of my same old canthy hair,
+  And I sorta comprehended as down the hill we went
+  There was bound to be a smash-up that I couldn't well prevent.
+  Oh, how them punchers bawled, "Stay with her, Uncle Bill!
+  Stick your spurs in her, you sucker! turn her muzzle up the hill!"
+  But I never made an answer, I just let the cusses squeal,
+  I was finding reputation on that gol-darned wheel.
+
+  The grade was mighty sloping from the ranch down to the creek
+  And I went a-galliflutin' like a crazy lightning streak,--
+  Went whizzing and a-darting first this way and then that,
+  The darned contrivance sort o' wobbling like the flying of a bat.
+  I pulled upon the handles, but I couldn't check it up,
+  And I yanked and sawed and hollowed but the darned thing wouldn't stop.
+  Then a sort of a meachin' in my brain began to steal,
+  That the devil held a mortgage on that gol-darned wheel.
+
+  I've a sort of dim and hazy remembrance of the stop,
+  With the world a-goin' round and the stars all tangled up;
+  Then there came an intermission that lasted till I found
+  I was lying at the ranch with the boys all gathered round,
+  And a doctor was a-sewing on the skin where it was ripped,
+  And old Arizona whispered, "Well, old boy, I guess you're whipped,"
+  And I told him I was busted from sombrero down to heel,
+  And he grinned and said, "You ought to see that gol-darned wheel."
+
+
+
+
+BONNIE BLACK BESS
+
+
+  When fortune's blind goddess
+  Had fled my abode,
+  And friends proved unfaithful,
+  I took to the road;
+  To plunder the wealthy
+  And relieve my distress,
+  I bought you to aid me,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  No vile whip nor spur
+  Did your sides ever gall,
+  For none did you need,
+  You would bound at my call;
+  And for each act of kindness
+  You would me caress,
+  Thou art never unfaithful,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  When dark, sable midnight
+  Her mantle had thrown
+  O'er the bright face of nature,
+  How oft we have gone
+  To the famed Houndslow heath,
+  Though an unwelcome guest
+  To the minions of fortune,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  How silent you stood
+  When the carriage I stopped,
+  The gold and the jewels
+  Its inmates would drop.
+  No poor man I plundered
+  Nor e'er did oppress
+  The widows or orphans,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  When Argus-eyed justice
+  Did me hot pursue,
+  From Yorktown to London
+  Like lightning we flew.
+  No toll bars could stop you,
+  The waters did breast,
+  And in twelve hours we made it,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  But hate darkens o'er me,
+  Despair is my lot,
+  And the law does pursue me
+  For the many I've shot;
+  To save me, poor brute,
+  Thou hast done thy best,
+  Thou art worn out and weary,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  Hark! they never shall have
+  A beast like thee;
+  So noble and gentle
+  And brave, thou must die,
+  My dumb friend,
+  Though it does me distress,--
+  There! There! I have shot thee,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  In after years
+  When I am dead and gone,
+  This story will be handed
+  From father to son;
+  My fate some will pity,
+  And some will confess
+  'Twas through kindness I killed thee,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+  No one can e'er say
+  That ingratitude dwelt
+  In the bosom of Turpin,--
+  'Twas a vice never felt.
+  I will die like a man
+  And soon be at rest;
+  Now, farewell forever,
+  My Bonnie Black Bess.
+
+
+
+
+THE LAST LONGHORN
+
+
+  An ancient long-horned bovine
+  Lay dying by the river;
+  There was lack of vegetation
+  And the cold winds made him shiver;
+  A cowboy sat beside him
+  With sadness in his face.
+  To see his final passing,--
+  This last of a noble race.
+
+  The ancient eunuch struggled
+  And raised his shaking head,
+  Saying, "I care not to linger
+  When all my friends are dead.
+  These Jerseys and these Holsteins,
+  They are no friends of mine;
+  They belong to the nobility
+  Who live across the brine.
+
+  "Tell the Durhams and the Herefords
+  When they come a-grazing round,
+  And see me lying stark and stiff
+  Upon the frozen ground,
+  I don't want them to bellow
+  When they see that I am dead,
+  For I was born in Texas
+  Near the river that is Red.
+
+  "Tell the cayotes, when they come at night
+  A-hunting for their prey,
+  They might as well go further,
+  For they'll find it will not pay.
+  If they attempt to eat me,
+  They very soon will see
+  That my bones and hide are petrified,--
+  They'll find no beef on me.
+
+  "I remember back in the seventies,
+  Full many summers past,
+  There was grass and water plenty,
+  But it was too good to last.
+  I little dreamed what would happen
+  Some twenty summers hence,
+  When the nester came with his wife, his kids,
+  His dogs, and his barbed-wire fence."
+
+  His voice sank to a murmur,
+  His breath was short and quick;
+  The cowboy tried to skin him
+  When he saw he couldn't kick;
+  He rubbed his knife upon his boot
+  Until he made it shine,
+  But he never skinned old longhorn,
+  Caze he couldn't cut his rine.
+
+  And the cowboy riz up sadly
+  And mounted his cayuse,
+  Saying, "The time has come when longhorns
+  And their cowboys are no use!"
+  And while gazing sadly backward
+  Upon the dead bovine,
+  His bronc stepped in a dog-hole
+  And fell and broke his spine.
+
+  The cowboys and the longhorns
+  Who partnered in eighty-four
+  Have gone to their last round-up
+  Over on the other shore;
+  They answered well their purpose,
+  But their glory must fade and go,
+  Because men say there's better things
+  In the modern cattle show.
+
+
+
+
+A PRISONER FOR LIFE
+
+
+  Fare you well, green fields,
+  Soft meadows, adieu!
+  Rocks and mountains,
+  I depart from you;
+  Nevermore shall my eyes
+  By your beauties be blest,
+  Nevermore shall you soothe
+  My sad bosom to rest.
+
+  Farewell, little birdies,
+  That fly in the sky,
+  You fly all day long
+  And sing your troubles by;
+  I am doomed to this cell,
+  I heave a deep sigh;
+  My heart sinks within me,
+  In anguish I die.
+
+  Fare you well, little fishes,
+  That glides through the sea,
+  Your life's all sunshine,
+  All light, and all glee;
+  Nevermore shall I watch
+  Your skill in the wave,
+  I'll depart from all friends
+  This side of the grave.
+
+  What would I give
+  Such freedom to share,
+  To roam at my ease
+  And breathe the fresh air;
+  I would roam through the cities,
+  Through village and dell,
+  But I never would return
+  To my cold prison cell.
+
+  What's life without liberty?
+  I ofttimes have said,
+  Of a poor troubled mind
+  That's always in dread;
+  No sun, moon, and stars
+  Can on me now shine,
+  No change in my danger
+  From daylight till dawn.
+
+  Fare you well, kind friends,
+  I am willing to own,
+  Such a wild outcast
+  Never was known;
+  I'm the downfall of my family,
+  My children, my wife;
+  God pity and pardon
+  The poor prisoner for life.
+
+
+
+A Prisoner For Life (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  Fare you well green fields,... Soft mead-ows, a-dieu!
+  Rocks and moun-tains I de-part ... from you,
+  Nev-er-more shall my eyes by your beau-ties be fed,
+  Nev-er more shall you soothe my poor bo-som to rest.
+
+
+
+
+THE WARS OF GERMANY
+
+
+  There was a wealthy merchant,
+  In London he did dwell,
+  He had an only daughter,
+  The truth to you I'll tell.
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  She was courted by a lord
+  Of very high degree,
+  She was courted by a sailor Jack
+  Just from the wars of Germany.
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  Her parents came to know this,
+  That such a thing could be,
+  A sailor Jack, a sailor lad,
+  Just from the wars of Germany.
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  So Polly she's at home
+  With money at command,
+  She taken a notion
+  To view some foreign land.
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  She went to the tailor's shop
+  And dressed herself in man's array,
+  And was off to an officer
+  To carry her straight away.
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  "Good morning," says the officer,
+  And "Morning," says she,
+  "Here's fifty guineas if you'll carry me
+  To the wars of Germany."
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  "Your waist is too slender,
+  Your fingers are too small,
+  I am afraid from your countenance
+  You can't face a cannon ball."
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  "My waist is not too slender,
+  My fingers are not too small,
+  And never would I quiver
+  To face a cannon ball."
+      Sing I am left alone,
+      Sing I am left alone.
+
+  "We don't often 'list an officer
+  Unless the name we know;"
+  She answered him in a low, sweet voice,
+  "You may call me Jack Munro."
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  We gathered up our men
+  And quickly we did sail,
+  We landed in France
+  With a sweet and pleasant gale.
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  We were walking on the land,
+  Up and down the line,--
+  Among the dead and wounded
+  Her own true love she did find.
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  She picked him up all in her arms,
+  To Tousen town she went;
+  She soon found a doctor
+  To dress and heal his wounds,
+       Sing I am left alone,
+       Sing I am left alone.
+
+  So Jacky, he is married,
+  And his bride by his side,
+  In spite of her old parents
+  And all the world beside.
+       Sing no longer left alone,
+       Sing no longer left alone.
+
+
+
+
+FREIGHTING FROM WILCOX TO GLOBE
+
+
+  Come all you jolly freighters
+  That has freighted on the road,
+  That has hauled a load of freight
+  From Wilcox to Globe;
+  We freighted on this road
+  For sixteen years or more
+  A-hauling freight for Livermore,--
+  No wonder that I'm poor.
+
+      And it's home, dearest home;
+      And it's home you ought to be,
+      Over on the Gila
+      In the white man's country,
+      Where the poplar and the ash
+      And mesquite will ever be
+      Growing green down on the Gila;
+      There's a home for you and me.
+
+  'Twas in the spring of seventy-three
+  I started with my team,
+  Led by false illusion
+  And those foolish, golden dreams;
+  The first night out from Wilcox
+  My best wheel horse was stole,
+  And it makes me curse a little
+  To come out in the hole.
+
+  This then only left me three,--
+  Kit, Mollie and old Mike;
+  Mike being the best one of the three
+  I put him out on spike;
+  I then took the mountain road
+  So the people would not smile,
+  And it took fourteen days
+  To travel thirteen mile.
+
+  But I got there all the same
+  With my little three-up spike;
+  It taken all my money, then,
+  To buy a mate for Mike.
+  You all know how it is
+  When once you get behind,
+  You never get even again
+  Till you damn steal them blind.
+
+  I was an honest man
+  When I first took to the road,
+  I would not swear an oath,
+  Nor would I tap a load;
+  But now you ought to see my mules
+  When I begin to cuss,
+  They flop their ears and wiggle their tails
+  And pull the load or bust.
+
+  Now I can tap a whiskey barrel
+  With nothing but a stick,
+  No one can detect me
+  I've got it down so slick;
+  Just fill it up with water,--
+  Sure, there's no harm in that.
+
+  Now my clothes are not the finest,
+  Nor are they genteel;
+  But they will have to do me
+  Till I can make another steal.
+  My boots are number elevens,
+  For I swiped them from a chow,
+  And my coat cost dos reals
+  From a little Apache squaw.
+
+  Now I have freighted in the sand,
+  I have freighted in the rain,
+  I have bogged my wagons down
+  And dug them out again;
+  I have worked both late and early
+  Till I was almost dead,
+  And I have spent some nights sleeping
+  In an Arizona bed.
+
+  Now barbed wire and bacon
+  Is all that they will pay,
+  But you have to show your copper checks
+  To get your grain and hay;
+  If you ask them for five dollars,
+  Old Meyers will scratch his pate,
+  And the clerks in their white, stiff collars
+  Say, "Get down and pull your freight."
+
+  But I want to die and go to hell,
+  Get there before Livermore and Meyers,
+  And get a job of hauling coke
+  To keep up the devil's fires;
+  If I get the job of singeing them,
+  I'll see they don't get free;
+  I'll treat them like a yaller dog,
+  As they have treated me.
+
+      And it's home, dearest home;
+      And it's home you ought to be,
+      Over on the Gila,
+      In the white man's country,
+      Where the poplar and the ash
+      And mesquite will ever be
+      Growing green down on the Gila;
+      There's a home for you and me.
+
+
+
+
+THE ARIZONA BOYS AND GIRLS
+
+
+  Come all of you people, I pray you draw near,
+  A comical ditty you all shall hear.
+  The boys in this country they try to advance
+  By courting the ladies and learning to dance,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  The boys in this country they try to be plain,
+  Those words that you hear you may hear them again,
+  With twice as much added on if you can.
+  There's many a boy stuck up for a man,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  They will go to their parties, their whiskey they'll
+  take,
+  And out in the dark their bottles they'll break;
+  You'll hear one say, "There's a bottle around here;
+  So come around, boys, and we'll all take a share,"--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  There is some wears shoes and some wears boots,
+  But there are very few that rides who don't shoot;
+  More than this, I'll tell you what they'll do,
+  They'll get them a watch and a ranger hat, too,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  They'll go in the hall with spurs on their heel,
+  They'll get them a partner to dance the next reel,
+  Saying, "How do I look in my new brown suit,
+  With my pants stuffed down in the top of my boot?"--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  Now I think it's quite time to leave off these lads
+  For here are some girls that's fully as bad;
+  They'll trim up their dresses and curl up their hair,
+  And like an old owl before the glass they'll stare,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  The girls in the country they grin like a cat,
+  And with giggling and laughing they don't know what they're at,
+  They think they're pretty and I tell you they're wise,
+  But they couldn't get married to save their two eyes,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  You can tell a good girl wherever she's found;
+  No trimming, no lace, no nonsense around;
+  With a long-eared bonnet tied under her chin,--
+  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  They'll go to church with their snuff-box in hand,
+  They'll give it a tap to make it look grand;
+  Perhaps there is another one or two
+  And they'll pass it around and it's "Madam, won't you,"--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+  Now, I think it's quite time for this ditty to end;
+  If there's anyone here that it will offend,
+  If there's anyone here that thinks it amiss
+  Just come around now and give the singer a kiss,--
+  And they're down, down, and they're down.
+
+
+
+
+THE DYING RANGER
+
+
+  The sun was sinking in the west
+  And fell with lingering ray
+  Through the branches of a forest
+  Where a wounded ranger lay;
+  Beneath the shade of a palmetto
+  And the sunset silvery sky,
+  Far away from his home in Texas
+  They laid him down to die.
+
+  A group had gathered round him,
+  His comrades in the fight,
+  A tear rolled down each manly cheek
+  As he bid a last good-night.
+  One tried and true companion
+  Was kneeling by his side,
+  To stop his life-blood flowing,
+  But alas, in vain he tried.
+
+  When to stop the life-blood flowing
+  He found 'twas all in vain,
+  The tears rolled down each man's cheek
+  Like light showers of rain.
+  Up spoke the noble ranger,
+  "Boys, weep no more for me,
+  I am crossing the deep waters
+  To a country that is free.
+
+  "Draw closer to me, comrades,
+  And listen to what I say,
+  I am going to tell a story
+  While my spirit hastens away.
+  Way back in Northwest Texas,
+  That good old Lone Star state,
+  There is one that for my coming
+  With a weary heart will wait.
+
+  "A fair young girl, my sister,
+  My only joy, my pride,
+  She was my friend from boyhood,
+  I had no one left beside.
+  I have loved her as a brother,
+  And with a father's care
+  I have strove from grief and sorrov
+  Her gentle heart to spare.
+
+  "My mother, she lies sleeping
+  Beneath the church-yard sod,
+  And many a day has passed away
+  Since her spirit fled to God.
+  My father, he lies sleeping
+  Beneath the deep blue sea,
+  I have no other kindred,
+  There are none but Nell and me.
+
+  "But our country was invaded
+  And they called for volunteers;
+  She threw her arms around me,
+  Then burst into tears,
+  Saying, 'Go, my darling brother,
+  Drive those traitors from our shore,
+  My heart may need your presence,
+  But our country needs you more.'
+
+  "It is true I love my country,
+  For her I gave my all.
+  If it hadn't been for my sister,
+  I would be content to fall.
+  I am dying, comrades, dying,
+  She will never see me more,
+  But in vain she'll wait my coming
+  By our little cabin door.
+
+  "Comrades, gather closer
+  And listen to my dying prayer.
+  Who will be to her as a brother,
+  And shield her with a brother's care?"
+  Up spake the noble rangers,
+  They answered one and all,
+  "We will be to her as brothers
+  Till the last one does fall."
+
+  One glad smile of pleasure
+  O'er the ranger's face was spread;
+  One dark, convulsive shadow,
+  And the ranger boy was dead.
+  Far from his darling sister
+  We laid him down to rest
+  With his saddle for a pillow
+  And his gun across his breast.
+
+
+
+The Dying Ranger (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  The sun was sink-ing in  the west, And
+  fell with lin-g'ring ray Through the branches of the
+  for-est,... Where a wound-ed ran-ger lay;
+  'Neath the shade of a  pal-met-to ... And the
+  sun-set sil-v'ry sky, Far a-way from his home in
+  Tex-as,... They laid him down to  die.
+
+
+
+
+THE FAIR FANNIE MOORE
+
+
+  Yonder stands a cottage,
+  All deserted and alone,
+  Its paths are neglected,
+  With grass overgrown;
+  Go in and you will see
+  Some dark stains on the floor,--
+  Alas! it is the blood
+  Of fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  To Fannie, so blooming,
+  Two lovers they came;
+  One offered young Fannie
+  His wealth and his name;
+  But neither his money
+  Nor pride could secure
+  A place in the heart
+  Of fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  The first was young Randell,
+  So bold and so proud,
+  Who to the fair Fannie
+  His haughty head bowed;
+  But his wealth and his house
+  Both failed to allure
+  The heart from the bosom
+  Of fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  The next was young Henry,
+  Of lowest degree.
+  He won her fond love
+  And enraptured was he;
+  And then at the altar
+  He quick did secure
+  The hand with the heart
+  Of the fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  As she was alone
+  In her cottage one day,
+  When business had called
+  Her fond husband away,
+  Young Randell, the haughty,
+  Came in at the door
+  And clasped in his arms
+  The fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  "O Fannie, O Fannie,
+  Reflect on your fate
+  And accept of my offer
+  Before it's too late;
+  For one thing to-night
+  I am bound to secure,--
+  'Tis the love or the life
+  Of the fair Fannie Moore."
+
+  "Spare me, Oh, spare me!"
+  The young Fannie cries,
+  While the tears swiftly flow
+  From her beautiful eyes;
+  "Oh, no!" cries young Randell,
+  "Go home to your rest,"
+  And he buried his knife
+  In her snowy white breast.
+
+  So Fannie, so blooming,
+  In her bright beauty died;
+  Young Randell, the haughty,
+  Was taken and tried;
+  At length he was hung
+  On a tree at the door,
+  For shedding the blood
+  Of the fair Fannie Moore.
+
+  Young Henry, the shepherd,
+  Distracted and wild,
+  Did wander away
+  From his own native isle.
+  Till at length, claimed by death,
+  He was brought to this shore
+  And laid by the side
+  Of the fair Fannie Moore.
+
+
+
+
+HELL IN TEXAS
+
+
+  The devil, we're told, in hell was chained,
+  And a thousand years he there remained;
+  He never complained nor did he groan,
+  But determined to start a hell of his own,
+  Where he could torment the souls of men
+  Without being chained in a prison pen.
+  So he asked the Lord if he had on hand
+  Anything left when he made the land.
+
+  The Lord said, "Yes, I had plenty on hand,
+  But I left it down on the Rio Grande;
+  The fact is, old boy, the stuff is so poor
+  I don't think you could use it in hell anymore."
+  But the devil went down to look at the truck,
+  And said if it came as a gift he was stuck;
+  For after examining it carefully and well
+  He concluded the place was too dry for hell.
+
+  So, in order to get it off his hands,
+  The Lord promised the devil to water the lands;
+  For he had some water, or rather some dregs,
+  A regular cathartic that smelled like bad eggs.
+  Hence the deal was closed and the deed was given
+  And the Lord went back to his home in heaven.
+  And the devil then said, "I have all that is needed
+  To make a good hell," and hence he succeeded.
+
+  He began to put thorns in all of the trees,
+  And mixed up the sand with millions of fleas;
+  And scattered tarantulas along all the roads;
+  Put thorns on the cactus and horns on the toads.
+  He lengthened the horns of the Texas steers,
+  And put an addition on the rabbit's ears;
+  He put a little devil in the broncho steed,
+  And poisoned the feet of the centipede.
+
+  The rattlesnake bites you, the scorpion stings,
+  The mosquito delights you with buzzing wings;
+  The sand-burrs prevail and so do the ants,
+  And those who sit down need half-soles on their pants.
+  The devil then said that throughout the land
+  He'd managed to keep up the devil's own brand,
+  And all would be mavericks unless they bore
+  The marks of scratches and bites and thorns by the score.
+
+  The heat in the summer is a hundred and ten,
+  Too hot for the devil and too hot for men.
+  The wild boar roams through the black chaparral,--
+  It's a hell of a place he has for a hell.
+  The red pepper grows on the banks of the brook;
+  The Mexicans use it in all that they cook.
+  Just dine with a Greaser and then you will shout,
+  "I've hell on the inside as well as the out!"
+
+
+
+
+BY MARKENTURA'S FLOWERY MARGE
+
+
+  By Markentura's flowery marge the Red Chief's wigwam stood,
+  Before the white man's rifle rang, loud echoing through the wood;
+  The tommy-hawk and scalping knife together lay at rest,
+  And peace was in the forest shade and in the red man's breast.
+
+    Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn,
+    The life and light of the forest shade,--
+    The Red Chief's child is gone!
+
+  By Markentura's flowery marge the Spotted Fawn had birth
+  And grew as fair an Indian maid as ever graced the earth.
+  She was the Red Chief's only child and sought by many a brave,
+  But to the gallant young White Cloud her plighted troth she gave.
+
+  By Markentura's flowery marge the bridal song arose,
+  Nor dreamed they in that festive night of near approaching woes;
+  But through the forest stealthily the white man came in wrath.
+  And fiery darts before them spread, and death was in their path.
+
+  By Markentura's flowery marge next morn no strife was seen,
+  But a wail went up, for the young Fawn's blood and White Cloud's dyed
+      the green.
+  A burial in their own rude way the Indians gave them there,
+  And a low sweet requiem the brook sang and the air.
+
+    Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn,
+    The life and light of the forest shade,--
+    The Red Chief's child is gone!
+
+
+
+
+THE STATE OF ARKANSAW
+
+
+  My name is Stamford Barnes, I come from Nobleville town;
+  I've traveled this wide world over, I've traveled this wide world round.
+  I've met with ups and downs in life but better days I've saw,
+  But I've never knew what misery were till I came to Arkansaw.
+
+  I landed in St. Louis with ten dollars and no more;
+  I read the daily papers till both my eyes were sore;
+  I read them evening papers until at last I saw
+  Ten thousand men were wanted in the state of Arkansaw.
+
+  I wiped my eyes with great surprise when I read this grateful news,
+  And straightway off I started to see the agent, Billy Hughes.
+  He says, "Pay me five dollars and a ticket to you I'll draw,
+  It'll land you safe upon the railroad in the State of Arkansaw."
+
+  I started off one morning a quarter after five;
+  I started from St. Louis, half dead and half alive;
+  I bought me a quart of whiskey my misery to thaw,
+  I got as drunk as a biled owl when I left for old Arkansaw.
+
+  I landed in Ft. Smith one sultry Sunday afternoon,
+  It was in the month of May, the early month of June,
+  Up stepped a walking skeleton with a long and lantern jaw,
+  Invited me to his hotel, "The best in Arkansaw."
+
+  I followed my conductor into his dwelling place;
+  Poverty were depictured in his melancholy face.
+  His bread it was corn dodger, his beef I could not chaw;
+  This was the kind of hash they fed me in the State of Arkansaw.
+
+  I started off next morning to catch the morning train,
+  He says to me, "You'd better work, for I have some land to drain.
+  I'll pay you fifty cents a day, your board, washing, and all,--
+  You'll find yourself a different man when you leave old Arkansaw."
+
+  I worked six weeks for the son of a gun, Jesse Herring was his name,
+  He was six foot seven in his stocking feet and taller than any crane;
+  His hair hung down in strings over his long and lantern jaw,--
+  He was a photograph of all the gents who lived in Arkansaw.
+
+  He fed me on corn dodgers as hard as any rock,
+  Until my teeth began to loosen and my knees began to knock;
+  I got so thin on sassafras tea I could hide behind a straw,
+  And indeed I was a different man when I left old Arkansaw.
+
+  Farewell to swamp angels, cane brakes, and chills;
+  Farewell to sage and sassafras and corn dodger pills.
+  If ever I see this land again, I'll give to you my paw;
+  It will be through a telescope from here to Arkansaw.
+
+
+
+
+THE TEXAS COWBOY
+
+
+  Oh, I am a Texas cowboy,
+  Far away from home,
+  If ever I get back to Texas
+  I never more will roam.
+
+  Montana is too cold for me
+  And the winters are too long;
+  Before the round-ups do begin
+  Our money is all gone.
+
+  Take this old hen-skin bedding,
+  Too thin to keep me warm,--
+  I nearly freeze to death, my boys.
+  Whenever there's a storm.
+
+  And take this old "tarpoleon,"
+  Too thin to shield my frame,--
+  I got it down in Nebraska
+  A-dealin' a Monte game.
+
+  Now to win these fancy leggins
+  I'll have enough to do;
+  They cost me twenty dollars
+  The day that they were new.
+
+  I have an outfit on the Mussel Shell,
+  But that I'll never see,
+  Unless I get sent to represent
+  The Circle or D.T.
+
+  I've worked down in Nebraska
+  Where the grass grows ten feet high,
+  And the cattle are such rustlers
+  That they seldom ever die;
+
+  I've worked up in the sand hills
+  And down upon the Platte,
+  Where the cowboys are good fellows
+  And the cattle always fat;
+
+  I've traveled lots of country,--
+  Nebraska's hills of sand,
+  Down through the Indian Nation,
+  And up the Rio Grande;--
+
+  But the Bad Lands of Montana
+  Are the worst I ever seen,
+  The cowboys are all tenderfeet
+  And the dogies are too lean.
+
+  If you want to see some bad lands,
+  Go over on the Dry;
+  You will bog down in the coulees
+  Where the mountains reach the sky.
+
+  A tenderfoot to lead you
+  Who never knows the way,
+  You are playing in the best of luck
+  If you eat more than once a day.
+
+  Your grub is bread and bacon
+  And coffee black as ink;
+  The water is so full of alkali
+  It is hardly fit to drink.
+
+  They will wake you in the morning
+  Before the break of day,
+  And send you on a circle
+  A hundred miles away.
+
+  All along the Yellowstone
+  'Tis cold the year around;
+  You will surely get consumption
+  By sleeping on the ground.
+
+  Work in Montana
+  Is six months in the year;
+  When all your bills are settled
+  There is nothing left for beer.
+
+  Work down in Texas
+  Is all the year around;
+  You will never get consumption
+  By sleeping on the ground.
+
+  Come all you Texas cowboys
+  And warning take from me,
+  And do not go to Montana
+  To spend your money free.
+
+  But stay at home in Texas
+  Where work lasts the year around,
+  And you will never catch consumption
+  By sleeping on the ground.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREARY, DREARY LIFE
+
+
+  A cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
+  Some say it's free from care;
+  Rounding up the cattle from morning till night
+  In the middle of the prairie so bare.
+
+    Half-past four, the noisy cook will roar,
+   "Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey!"
+    Slowly you will rise with sleepy-feeling eyes,
+    The sweet, dreamy night passed away.
+
+  The greener lad he thinks it's play,
+  He'll soon peter out on a cold rainy day,
+  With his big bell spurs and his Spanish hoss,
+  He'll swear to you he was once a boss.
+
+  The cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
+  He's driven through the heat and cold;
+  While the rich man's a-sleeping on his velvet couch,
+  Dreaming of his silver and gold.
+
+  Spring-time sets in, double trouble will begin,
+  The weather is so fierce and cold;
+  Clothes are wet and frozen to our necks,
+  The cattle we can scarcely hold.
+
+  The cowboy's life is a dreary one,
+  He works all day to the setting of the sun;
+  And then his day's work is not done,
+  For there's his night herd to go on.
+
+  The wolves and owls with their terrifying howls
+  Will disturb us in our midnight dream,
+  As we lie on our slickers on a cold, rainy night
+  Way over on the Pecos stream.
+
+  You are speaking of your farms, you are speaking of your charms,
+  You are speaking of your silver and gold;
+  But a cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life,
+  He's driven through the heat and cold.
+
+  Some folks say that we are free from care,
+  Free from all other harm;
+  But we round up the cattle from morning till night
+  Way over on the prairie so dry.
+
+  I used to run about, now I stay at home,
+  Take care of my wife and child;
+  Nevermore to roam, always stay at home,
+  Take care of my wife and child.
+
+    Half-past four the noisy cook will roar,
+   "Hurrah, boys! she's breaking day!"
+    Slowly we will rise and wipe our sleepy eyes,
+    The sweet, dreamy night passed away.
+
+
+
+The Dreary, Dreary Life (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  A cow-boy's life is a drear-y, drear-y life, Some
+  REFRAIN.--Half-past four the ... noi-sy cook will roar,
+
+  say it's free from care; Rounding up the
+  "Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey!" Slow-ly you will
+
+  cat-tle from morn-ing till night In  the
+  rise ... with sleep-y feel-ing eyes, The ...
+  mid-dle of the prai-rie    so ... bare,
+  sweet, dream-y night passed a-way.
+
+
+
+
+JIM FARROW
+
+
+  It's Jim Farrow and John Farrow and little Simon, too,
+  Have plenty of cattle where I have but few.
+  Marking and branding both night and day,--
+  It's "Keep still, boys, my boys, and you'll all get your pay."
+  It's up to the courthouse, the first thing they know,
+  Before the Grand Jury they'll have to go.
+  They'll ask you about ear-marks, they'll ask you about brand,
+  But tell them you were absent when the work was on hand.
+  Jim Farrow brands J.F. on the side;
+  The next comes Johnnie who takes the whole hide;
+  Little Simon, too has H. on the loin;--
+  All stand for Farrow but it's not good for Sime.
+  You ask for the mark, I don't think it's fair,
+  You'll find the cow's head but the ear isn't there
+  It's a crop and a split and a sort of a twine,--
+  All stand for F. but it's not good for Sime.
+
+  "Get up, my boys," Jim Farrow will say,
+  "And out to horse hunting before it is day."
+  So we get up and are out on the way
+  But it's damn few horses we find before day.
+  "Now saddle your horses and out on the peaks
+  To see if the heifers are out on the creeks."
+  We'll round 'em to-day and we'll round 'em to-morrow,
+  And this ends my song concerning the Farrows.
+
+
+
+
+YOUNG CHARLOTTIE
+
+
+  Young Charlottie lived by a mountain side in a wild and lonely spot,
+  There was no village for miles around except her father's cot;
+  And yet on many a wintry night young boys would gather there,--
+  Her father kept a social board, and she was very fair.
+
+  One New Year's Eve as the sun went down, she cast a wistful eye
+  Out from the window pane as a merry sleigh went by.
+  At a village fifteen miles away was to be a ball that night;
+  Although the air was piercing cold, her heart was merry and light.
+
+  At last her laughing eye lit up as a well-known voice she heard,
+  And dashing in front of the door her lover's sleigh appeared.
+  "O daughter, dear," her mother said, "this blanket round you fold,
+  'Tis such a dreadful night abroad and you will catch your death of cold."
+
+  "Oh no, oh no!" young Charlottie cried, as she laughed like a
+      gipsy queen,
+  "To ride in blankets muffled up, I never would be seen.
+  My silken coat is quite enough, you know it is lined throughout,
+  And there is my silken scarf to wrap my head and neck about."
+
+  Her bonnet and her gloves were on, she jumped into the sleigh,
+  And swiftly slid down the mountain side and over the hills away.
+  All muffled up so silent, five miles at last were past
+  When Charlie with few but shivering words, the silence broke at last.
+
+  "Such a dreadful night I never saw, my reins I can scarcely hold."
+  Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I am exceedingly cold."
+  He cracked his whip and urged his speed much faster than before,
+  While at least five other miles in silence had passed o'er.
+
+  Spoke Charles, "How fast the freezing ice is gathering on my brow!"
+  Young Charlottie then feebly said, "I'm growing warmer now."
+  So on they sped through the frosty air and the glittering cold
+      starlight
+  Until at last the village lights and the ball-room came in sight.
+
+  They reached the door and Charles sprang out and reached his hands
+      to her.
+  "Why sit you there like a monument that has no power to stir?"
+  He called her once, he called her twice, she answered not a word,
+  And then he called her once again but still she never stirred.
+
+  He took her hand in his; 'twas cold and hard as any stone.
+  He tore the mantle from her face while cold stars on it shone.
+  Then quickly to the lighted hall her lifeless form he bore;--
+  Young Charlottie's eyes were closed forever, her voice was heard no more.
+
+  And there he sat down by her side while bitter tears did flow,
+  And cried, "My own, my charming bride, you nevermore shall know."
+  He twined his arms around her neck and kissed her marble brow,
+  And his thoughts flew back to where she said, "I'm growing warmer now."
+
+  He took her back into the sleigh and quickly hurried home;
+  When he arrived at her father's door, oh, how her friends did mourn;
+  They mourned the loss of a daughter dear, while Charles wept over
+      the gloom,
+  Till at last he died with the bitter grief,--now they both lie in one
+      tomb.
+
+
+
+
+THE SKEW-BALL BLACK
+
+
+  It was down to Red River I came,
+  Prepared to play a damned tough game,--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  I crossed the river to the ranch where I intended to work,
+  With a big six-shooter and a derned good dirk,--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  They roped me out a skew-ball black
+  With a double set-fast on his back,--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  And when I was mounted on his back,
+  The boys all yelled, "Just give him slack,"--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  They rolled and tumbled and yelled, by God,
+  For he threw me a-whirling all over the sod,--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  I went to the boss and I told him I'd resign,
+  The fool tumbled over, and I thought he was dyin',--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+  And it's to Arkansaw I'll go back,
+  To hell with Texas and the skew-ball black,--
+  Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!
+
+
+
+
+THE RAMBLING COWBOY
+
+
+  There was a rich old rancher who lived in the country by,
+  He had a lovely daughter on whom I cast my eye;
+  She was pretty, tall, and handsome, both neat and very fair,
+  There's no other girl in the country with her I could compare.
+
+  I asked her if she would be willing for me to cross the plains;
+  She said she would be truthful until I returned again;
+  She said she would be faithful until death did prove unkind,
+  So we kissed, shook hands, and parted, and I left my girl behind.
+
+  I left the State of Texas, for Arizona I was bound;
+  I landed in Tombstone City, I viewed the place all round.
+  Money and work were plentiful and the cowboys they were kind
+  But the only thought of my heart was the girl I left behind.
+
+  One day as I was riding across the public square
+  The mail-coach came in and I met the driver there;
+  He handed me a letter which gave me to understand
+  That the girl I left in Texas had married another man.
+
+  I turned myself all round and about not knowing what to do,
+  But I read on down some further and it proved the words were true.
+  Hard work I have laid over, it's gambling I have designed.
+  I'll ramble this wide world over for the girl I left behind.
+
+  Come all you reckless and rambling boys who have listened to this song,
+  If it hasn't done you any good, it hasn't done you any wrong;
+  But when you court a pretty girl, just marry her while you can,
+  For if you go across the plains she'll marry another man.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY AT CHURCH
+
+
+  Some time ago,--two weeks or more
+  If I remember well,--
+  I found myself in town and thought
+  I'd knock around a spell,
+  When all at once I heard the bell,--
+  I didn't know 'twas Sunday,--
+  For on the plains we scarcely know
+  A Sunday from a Monday,--
+
+  A-calling all the people
+  From the highways and the hedges
+  And all the reckless throng
+  That tread ruin's ragged edges,
+  To come and hear the pastor tell
+  Salvation's touching story,
+  And how the new road misses hell
+  And leads you straight to glory.
+
+  I started by the chapel door,
+  But something urged me in,
+  And told me not to spend God's day
+  In revelry and sin.
+  I don't go much on sentiment,
+  But tears came in my eyes.
+  It seemed just like my mother's voice
+  Was speaking from the skies.
+
+  I thought how often she had gone
+  With little Sis and me
+  To church, when I was but a lad
+  Way back in Tennessee.
+  It never once occurred to me
+  About not being dressed
+  In Sunday rig, but carelessly
+  I went in with the rest.
+
+  You should have seen the smiles and shrugs
+  As I went walking in,
+  As though they thought my leggins
+  Worse than any kind of sin;
+  Although the honest parson,
+  In his vestry garb arrayed
+  Was dressed the same as I was,--
+  In the trappings of his trade.
+
+  The good man prayed for all the world
+  And all its motley crew,
+  For pagan, Hindoo, sinners, Turk,
+  And unbelieving Jew,--
+  Though the congregation doubtless thought
+  That the cowboys as a race
+  Were a kind of moral outlaw
+  With no good claim to grace.
+
+  Is it very strange that cowboys are
+  A rough and reckless crew
+  When their garb forbids their doing right
+  As Christian people do?
+  That they frequent scenes of revelry
+  Where death is bought and sold,
+  Where at least they get a welcome
+  Though it's prompted by their gold?
+
+  Stranger, did it ever strike you,
+  When the winter days are gone
+  And the mortal grass is springing up
+  To meet the judgment sun,
+  And we 'tend mighty round-ups
+  Where, according to the Word,
+  The angel cowboy of the Lord
+  Will cut the human herd,--
+
+  That a heap of stock that's lowing now
+  Around the Master's pen
+  And feeding at his fodder stack
+  Will have the brand picked then?
+  And brands that when the hair was long
+  Looked like the letter C,
+  Will prove to be the devil's,
+  And the brand the letter D;
+
+  While many a long-horned coaster,--
+  I mean, just so to speak,--
+  That hasn't had the advantage
+  Of the range and gospel creek
+  Will get to crop the grasses
+  In the pasture of the Lord
+  If the letter C showed up
+  Beneath the devil's checker board.
+
+
+
+
+THE U. S. A. RECRUIT
+
+
+  Now list to my song, it will not take me long,
+  And in some things with me you'll agree;
+  A young man so green came in from Moline,
+  And enlisted a soldier to be.
+  He had lots of pluck, on himself he was stuck,
+  In his Government straights he looked "boss,"
+  And he chewed enough beans for a hoss.
+
+    He was a rookey, so flukey,
+    He was a jim dandy you all will agree,
+    He said without fear, "Before I'm a year
+    In the Army, great changes you'll see."
+    He was a stone thrower, a foam blower,
+    He was a Loo Loo you bet,
+    He stood on his head and these words gently said,
+    "I'll be second George Washington yet."
+
+  At his post he did land, they took him in hand,
+  The old bucks they all gathered 'round,
+  Saying "Give us your fist; where did you enlist?
+  You'll take on again I'll be bound;
+  I've a blanket to sell, it will fit you quite well,
+  I'll sell you the whole or a piece.
+  I've a dress coat to trade, or a helmet unmade,
+  It will do you for kitchen police."
+
+  Then the top said, "My Son, here is a gun,
+  Just heel ball that musket up bright.
+  In a few days or more you'll be rolling in gore,
+  A-chasing wild Goo Goos to flight.
+  There'll be fighting, you see, and blood flowing free,
+  We'll send you right on to the front;
+  And never you fear, if you're wounded, my dear,
+  You'll be pensioned eight dollars per month."
+
+  He was worried so bad, he blew in all he had;
+  He went on a drunk with goodwill.
+  And the top did report, "One private short."
+  When he showed up he went to the mill.
+  The proceedings we find were a ten dollar blind,
+  Ten dollars less to blow foam.
+  This was long years ago, and this rookey you know
+  Is now in the old soldiers' home.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWGIRL
+
+
+  My love is a rider and broncos he breaks,
+  But he's given up riding and all for my sake;
+  For he found him a horse and it suited him so
+  He vowed he'd ne'er ride any other bronco.
+
+  My love has a gun, and that gun he can use,
+  But he's quit his gun fighting as well as his booze;
+  And he's sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,
+  And there's no more cow punching, and that's what I hope.
+
+  My love has a gun that has gone to the bad,
+  Which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;
+  For the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low,
+  And it wobbles about like a bucking bronco.
+
+  The cook is an unfortunate son of a gun;
+  He has to be up e'er the rise of the sun;
+  His language is awful, his curses are deep,--
+  He is like cascarets, for he works while you sleep.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHANTY BOY
+
+
+  I am a jolly shanty boy,
+  As you will soon discover.
+  To all the dodges I am fly,
+  A hustling pine woods rover.
+  A peavy hook it is my pride,
+  An ax I well can handle;
+  To fell a tree or punch a bull
+  Get rattling Danny Randall.
+
+  Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.
+
+  I love a girl in Saginaw;
+  She lives with her mother;
+  I defy all Michigan
+  To find such another.
+  She's tall and fat, her hair is red,
+  Her face is plump and pretty,
+  She's my daisy, Sunday-best-day girl,--
+  And her front name stands for Kitty.
+
+  Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.
+
+  I took her to a dance one night,
+  A mossback gave the bidding;
+  Silver Jack bossed the shebang
+  And Big Dan played the fiddle.
+  We danced and drank, the livelong night.
+  With fights between the dancing--
+  Till Silver Jack cleaned out the ranch
+  And sent the mossbacks prancing.
+
+  Bung yer eye: bung yer eye.
+
+
+
+
+ROOT HOG OR DIE
+
+
+  When I was a young man I lived on the square,
+  I never had any pocket change and I hardly thought it fair;
+  So out on the crosses I went to rob and to steal,
+  And when I met a peddler oh, how happy I did feel.
+
+  One morning, one morning, one morning in May
+  I seen a man a-coming, a little bit far away;
+  I seen a man a-coming, come riding up to me
+  "Come here, come here, young fellow, I'm after you to-day."
+
+  He taken me to the new jail, he taken me to the new jail,
+  And I had to walk right in.
+  There all my friends went back on me
+  And also my kin.
+
+  I had an old rich uncle, who lived in the West,
+  He heard of my misfortune, it wouldn't let him rest;
+  He came to see me, he paid my bills and score,--
+  I have been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.
+
+  There's Minnie and Alice and Lucy likewise,
+  They heard of my misfortune brought tears to their eyes.
+  I've told 'em my condition, I've told it o'er and o'er;
+  So I've been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.
+
+  I will go to East Texas to marry me a wife,
+  And try to maintain her the balance of my life;
+  I'll try to maintain; I'll lay it up in store
+  I've been a bad boy, I'll do so no more.
+
+  Young man, you robber, you had better take it fair,
+  Leave off your marshal killing and live on the square;
+  Should you meet the marshal, just pass him by;
+  And travel on the muscular, for it's root hog or die.
+
+  When I drew my money I drew it all in cash
+  And off to see my Susan, you bet I cut a dash;
+  I spent my money freely and went it on a bum,
+  And I love the pretty women and am bound to have my fun.
+
+  I used to sport a white hat, a horse and buggy fine,
+  Courted a pretty girl and always called her mine;
+  But all my courtships proved to be in vain,
+  For they sent me down to Huntsville to wear the ball and chain.
+
+  Along came my true love, about twelve o'clock,
+  Saying, "Henry, O Henry, what sentence have you got?"
+  The jury found me guilty, the judge would allow no stay,
+  So they sent me down to Huntsville to wear my life away.
+
+
+
+Root Hog or Die (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  When I was a young man I lived up-on the square,
+  I nev-er had a-ny pock-et change and I
+  hard-ly thought it fair, But out up-on the highway I
+  went to rob and to steal, And when I met a
+  ped-dler, Oh, how hap-py I  did feel.
+
+
+
+
+SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE
+
+"A California Immigrant Song of the Fifties"
+
+
+  Oh, don't you remember sweet Betsy from Pike
+  Who crossed the big mountains with her lover Ike,
+  And two yoke of cattle, a large yellow dog,
+  A tall, shanghai rooster, and one spotted hog?
+          Saying, good-bye, Pike County,
+          Farewell for a while;
+          We'll come back again
+          When we've panned out our pile.
+
+  One evening quite early they camped on the Platte,
+  'Twas near by the road on a green shady flat;
+  Where Betsy, quite tired, lay down to repose,
+  While with wonder Ike gazed on his Pike County rose.
+
+  They soon reached the desert, where Betsy gave out,
+  And down in the sand she lay rolling about;
+  While Ike in great terror looked on in surprise,
+  Saying "Betsy, get up, you'll get sand in your eyes."
+          Saying, good-bye, Pike County,
+          Farewell for a while;
+          I'd go back to-night
+          If it was but a mile.
+
+  Sweet Betsy got up in a great deal of pain
+  And declared she'd go back to Pike County again;
+  Then Ike heaved a sigh and they fondly embraced,
+  And she traveled along with his arm around her waist.
+
+  The wagon tipped over with a terrible crash,
+  And out on the prairie rolled all sorts of trash;
+  A few little baby clothes done up with care
+  Looked rather suspicious,--though 'twas all on the square.
+
+  The shanghai ran off and the cattle all died,
+  The last piece of bacon that morning was fried;
+  Poor Ike got discouraged, and Betsy got mad,
+  The dog wagged his tail and looked wonderfully sad.
+
+  One morning they climbed up a very high hill,
+  And with wonder looked down into old Placerville;
+  Ike shouted and said, as he cast his eyes down,
+  "Sweet Betsy, my darling, we've got to Hangtown."
+
+  Long Ike and sweet Betsy attended a dance,
+  Where Ike wore a pair of his Pike County pants;
+  Sweet Betsy was covered with ribbons and rings.
+  Quoth Ike, "You're an angel, but where are your wings?"
+
+  A miner said, "Betsy, will you dance with me?"
+  "I will that, old hoss, if you don't make too free;
+  But don't dance me hard. Do you want to know why?
+  Dog on ye, I'm chock full of strong alkali."
+
+  Long Ike and sweet Betsy got married of course,
+  But Ike getting jealous obtained a divorce;
+  And Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout,
+  "Good-bye, you big lummax, I'm glad you backed out."
+        Saying, good-bye, dear Isaac,
+        Farewell for a while,
+        But come back in time
+        To replenish my pile.
+
+
+
+
+THE DISHEARTENED RANGER
+
+
+  Come listen to a ranger, you kind-hearted stranger,
+  This song, though a sad one, you're welcome to hear;
+  We've kept the Comanches away from your ranches,
+  And followed them far o'er the Texas frontier.
+
+  We're weary of scouting, of traveling, and routing
+  The blood-thirsty villains o'er prairie and wood;
+  No rest for the sinner, no breakfast or dinner,
+  But he lies in a supperless bed in the mud.
+
+  No corn nor potatoes, no bread nor tomatoes,
+  But jerked beef as dry as the sole of your shoe;
+  All day without drinking, all night without winking,
+  I'll tell you, kind stranger, this never will do.
+
+  Those great alligators, the State legislators,
+  Are puffing and blowing two-thirds of their time,
+  But windy orations about rangers and rations
+  Never put in our pockets one-tenth of a dime.
+
+  They do not regard us, they will not reward us,
+  Though hungry and haggard with holes in our coats;
+  But the election is coming and they will be drumming
+  And praising our valor to purchase our votes.
+
+  For glory and payment, for vittles and raiment,
+  No longer we'll fight on the Texas frontier.
+  So guard your own ranches, and mind the Comanches
+  Or surely they'll scalp you in less than a year.
+
+  Though sore it may grieve you, the rangers must leave you
+  Exposed to the arrows and knife of the foe;
+  So herd your own cattle and fight your own battle,
+  For home to the States I'm determined to go,--
+
+  Where churches have steeples and laws are more equal,
+  Where houses have people and ladies are kind;
+  Where work is regarded and worth is rewarded;
+  Where pumpkins are plenty and pockets are lined.
+
+  Your wives and your daughters we have guarded from slaughter,
+  Through conflicts and struggles I shudder to tell;
+  No more well defend them, to God we'll commend them.
+  To the frontier of Texas we bid a farewell.
+
+
+
+
+THE MELANCHOLY COWBOY
+
+
+  Come all you melancholy folks and listen unto me,
+  I will sing you about the cowboy whose heart's so light and free;
+  He roves all over the prairie and at night when he lays down
+  His heart's as gay as the flowers of May with his bed spread on the
+      ground.
+
+  They are a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them at least;
+  But as long as you do not cross their trail, you can live with them in
+      peace.
+  But if you do, they're sure to rule, the day you come to their land,
+  For they'll follow you up and shoot it out, they'll do it man to man.
+
+  You can go to a cowboy hungry, go to him wet or dry,
+  And ask him for a few dollars in change and he will not deny;
+  He will pull out his pocket-book and hand you out a note,--
+  Oh, they are the fellows to strike, boys, whenever you are broke.
+
+  You can go to their ranches and often stay for weeks,
+  And when you go to leave, boys, they'll never charge you a cent;
+  But when they go to town, boys, you bet their money is spent.
+  They walk right up, they take their drinks and they pay for every one.
+  They never ask your pardon, boys, for a thing that they have done.
+
+  They go to the ball-room, and swing the pretty girls around;
+  They ride their bucking broncos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats;
+  Their California saddles, their pants below their boots,
+  You can hear their spurs go jing-a-ling, or perhaps somebody shoots.
+
+  Come all you soft and tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun,
+  Come go among the cowboys and they'll show you how it's done;
+  But take the kind advice of me as I gave it to you before,
+  For if you don't, they'll order you off with an old Colt's forty-four.
+
+
+
+
+BOB STANFORD
+
+
+  Bob Stanford, he's a Texas boy,
+  He lives down on the flat;
+  His trade is running a well-drill,
+  But he's none the worse for that.
+
+  He is neither rich nor handsome,
+  But, unlike the city dude,
+  His manners they are pleasant
+  Instead of flip and rude.
+
+  His people live in Texas,
+  That is his native home,
+  But like many other Western lads
+  He drifted off from home.
+
+  He came out to New Mexico
+  A fortune for to make,
+  He punched the bottom out of the earth
+  And never made a stake.
+
+  So he came to Arizona
+  And again set up his drill
+  To punch a hole for water,
+  And he's punching at it still.
+
+  He says he is determined
+  To make the business stick
+  Or spend that derned old well machine
+  And all he can get on tick.
+
+  I hope he is successful
+  And I'll help him if I can,
+  For I admire pluck and ambition
+  In an honest working man.
+
+  So keep on going down,
+  Punch the bottom out, or try,
+  There is nothing in a hole in the ground
+  That continues being dry.
+
+
+
+
+CHARLIE RUTLAGE
+
+
+  Another good cow-puncher has gone to meet his fate,
+  I hope he'll find a resting place within the golden gate.
+  Another place is vacant on the ranch of the X I T,
+  'Twill be hard to find another that's liked as well as he.
+
+  The first that died was Kid White, a man both tough and brave,
+  While Charlie Rutlage makes the third to be sent to his grave,
+  Caused by a cow-horse falling while running after stock;
+  'Twas on the spring round-up,--a place where death men mock.
+
+  He went forward one morning on a circle through the hills,
+  He was gay and full of glee, and free from earthly ills;
+  But when it came to finish up the work on which he went,
+  Nothing came back from him; for his time on earth was spent.
+
+  'Twas as he rode the round-up, an X I T turned back to the
+      herd;
+  Poor Charlie shoved him in again, his cutting horse he spurred;
+  Another turned; at that moment his horse the creature spied
+  And turned and fell with him, and beneath, poor Charlie died.
+
+  His relations in Texas his face never more will see,
+  But I hope he will meet his loved ones beyond in eternity.
+  I hope he will meet his parents, will meet them face to face,
+  And that they will grasp him by the right hand at the shining throne
+      of grace.
+
+
+
+
+THE RANGE RIDERS
+
+
+  Come all you range riders and listen to me,
+  I will relate you a story of the saddest degree,
+  I will relate you a story of the deepest distress,--
+  I love my poor Lulu, boys, of all girls the best.
+
+  When you are out riding, boys, upon the highway,
+  Meet a fair damsel, a lady so gay,
+  With her red, rosy cheeks and her sparkling dark eyes,
+  Just think of my Lulu, boys, and your bosoms will rise.
+
+  While you live single, boys, you are just in your prime;
+  You have no wife to scold, you have nothing to bother your minds;
+  You can roam this world over and do just as you will,
+  Hug and kiss the pretty girls and be your own still.
+
+  But when you get married, boys, you are done with this life,
+  You have sold your sweet comfort for to gain you a wife;
+  Your wife she will scold you, and the children will cry,
+  It will make those fair faces look withered and dry.
+
+  You can scarcely step aside, boys, to speak to a friend
+  But your wife is at your elbow saying what do you mean.
+  With her nose turned upon you it will look like sad news,--
+  I advise you by experience that life to refuse.
+
+  Come fill up your bottles, boys, drink Bourbon around;
+  Here is luck to the single wherever they are found.
+  Here is luck to the single and I wish them success,
+  Likewise to the married ones, I wish them no less.
+
+  I have one more request to make, boys, before we part.
+  Never place your affection on a charming sweetheart.
+  She is dancing before you your affections to gain;
+  Just turn your back on them with scorn and disdain.
+
+
+
+
+HER WHITE BOSOM BARE
+
+
+  The sun had gone down
+  O'er the hills of the west,
+  And the last beams had faded
+  O'er the mossy hill's crest,
+  O'er the beauties of nature
+  And the charms of the fair,
+  And Amanda was bound
+  With her white bosom bare.
+
+  At the foot of the mountain
+  Amanda did sigh
+  At the hoot of an owl
+  Or the catamount's cry;
+  Or the howl of some wolf
+  In its low, granite cell,
+  Or the crash of some large
+  Forest tree as it fell.
+
+  Amanda was there
+  All friendless and forlorn
+  With her face bathed in blood
+  And her garments all torn.
+  The sunlight had faded
+  O'er the hills of the green,
+  And fierce was the look
+  Of the wild, savage scene.
+
+  For it was out in the forest
+  Where the wild game springs,
+  Where low in the branches
+  The rude hammock swings;
+  The campfire was kindled,
+  Well fanned by the breeze,
+  And the light of the campfire
+  Shone round on the trees.
+
+  The campfire was kindled,
+  Well fanned by the breeze,
+  And the light of the fire
+  Shone round on the trees;
+  And grim stood the circle
+  Of the warrior throng,
+  Impatient to join
+  In the war-dance and song.
+
+  The campfire was kindled,
+  Each warrior was there,
+  And Amanda was bound
+  With her white bosom bare.
+  She counted the vengeance
+  In the face of her foes
+  And sighed for the moment
+  When her sufferings might close.
+
+  Young Albon, he gazed
+  On the face of the fair
+  While her dark hazel eyes
+  Were uplifted in prayer;
+  And her dark waving tresses
+  In ringlets did flow
+  Which hid from the gazer
+  A bosom of snow.
+
+  Then young Albon, the chief
+  Of the warriors, drew near,
+  With an eye like an eagle
+  And a step like a deer.
+  "Forbear," cried he,
+  "Your torture forbear;
+  This maiden shall live.
+  By my wampum I swear.
+
+  "It is for this maiden's freedom
+  That I do crave;
+  Give a sigh for her suffering
+  Or a tear for her grave.
+  If there is a victim
+  To be burned at that tree,
+  Young Albon, your leader,
+  That victim shall be."
+
+  Then quick to the arms
+  Of Amanda he rushed;
+  The rebel was dead,
+  And the tumult was hushed;
+  And grim stood the circle
+  Of warriors around
+  While the cords of Amanda
+  Young Albon unbound.
+
+  So it was early next morning
+  The red, white, and blue
+  Went gliding o'er the waters
+  In a small birch canoe;
+  Just like the white swan
+  That glides o'er the tide,
+  Young Albon and Amanda
+  O'er the waters did ride.
+
+  O'er the blue, bubbling water,
+  Neath the evergreen trees,
+  Young Albon and Amanda
+  Did ride at their ease;
+  And great was the joy
+  When she stepped on the shore
+  To embrace her dear father
+  And mother once more.
+
+  Young Albon, he stood
+  And enjoyed their embrace,
+  With a sigh in his heart
+  And a tear on his face;
+  And all that he asked
+  Was kindness and food
+  From the parents of Amanda
+  To the chief of the woods.
+
+  Young Amanda is home now,
+  As you all know,
+  Enjoying the friends
+  Of her own native shore;
+  Nevermore will she roam
+  O'er the hills or the plains;
+  She praises the chief
+  That loosened her chains.
+
+
+
+
+JUAN MURRAY
+
+
+  My name is Juan Murray, and hard for my fate,
+  I was born and raised in Texas, that good old lone star state.
+  I have been to many a round-up, boys, have worked on the trail,
+  Have stood many a long old guard through the rain, yes, sleet, and hail;
+  I have rode the Texas broncos that pitched from morning till noon,
+  And have seen many a storm, boys, between sunrise, yes, and noon.
+
+  I am a jolly cowboy and have roamed all over the West,
+  And among the bronco riders I rank among the best.
+  But when I left old Midland, with voice right then I spoke,--
+  "I never will see you again until the day I croak."
+
+  But since I left old Texas so many sights I have saw
+  A-traveling from my native state way out to Mexico,--
+  I am looking all around me and cannot help but smile
+  To see my nearest neighbors all in the Mexican style.
+
+  I left my home in Texas to dodge the ball and chain.
+  In the State of Sonora I will forever remain.
+  Farewell to my mother, my friends that are so dear,
+  I would like to see you all again, my lonesome heart to cheer.
+
+  I have a word to speak, boys, only another to say,--
+  Don't never be a cow-thief, don't never ride a stray;
+  Be careful of your line, boys, and keep it on your tree,--
+  Just suit yourself about it, for it is nothing to me.
+
+  But if you start to rustling you will come to some sad fate,
+  You will have to go to prison and work for the state.
+  Don't think that I am lying and trying to tell a joke,
+  For the writer has experienced just every word he's spoke.
+
+  It is better to be honest and let other's stock alone
+  Than to leave your native country and seek a Mexican home.
+  For if you start to rustling you will surely come to see
+  The State of Sonora,--be an outcast just like me.
+
+
+
+
+GREER COUNTY
+
+
+  Tom Hight is my name, an old bachelor I am,
+  You'll find me out West in the country of fame,
+  You'll find me out West on an elegant plain,
+  And starving to death on my government claim.
+
+      Hurrah for Greer County!
+      The land of the free,
+      The land of the bed-bug,
+      Grass-hopper and flea;
+      I'll sing of its praises
+      And tell of its fame,
+      While starving to death
+      On my government claim.
+
+  My house is built of natural sod,
+  Its walls are erected according to hod;
+  Its roof has no pitch but is level and plain,
+  I always get wet if it happens to rain.
+
+  How happy am I on my government claim,
+  I've nothing to lose, and nothing to gain;
+  I've nothing to eat, I've nothing to wear,--
+  From nothing to nothing is the hardest fare.
+
+  How happy am I when I crawl into bed,--
+  A rattlesnake hisses a tune at my head,
+  A gay little centipede, all without fear,
+  Crawls over my pillow and into my ear.
+
+  Now all you claim holders, I hope you will stay
+  And chew your hard tack till you're toothless and gray;
+  But for myself, I'll no longer remain
+  To starve like a dog on my government claim.
+
+  My clothes are all ragged as my language is rough,
+  My bread is corn dodgers, both solid and tough;
+  But yet I am happy, and live at my ease
+  On sorghum molasses, bacon, and cheese.
+
+  Good-bye to Greer County where blizzards arise,
+  Where the sun never sinks and a flea never dies,
+  And the wind never ceases but always remains
+  Till it starves us all out on our government claims.
+
+  Farewell to Greer County, farewell to the West,
+  I'll travel back East to the girl I love best,
+  I'll travel back to Texas and marry me a wife,
+  And quit corn bread for the rest of my life.
+
+
+
+
+ROSIN THE BOW
+
+
+  I live for the good of my nation
+  And my sons are all growing low,
+  But I hope that my next generation
+  Will resemble Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  I have traveled this wide world all over,
+  And now to another I'll go,
+  For I know that good quarters are waiting
+  To welcome Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  The gay round of delights I have traveled,
+  Nor will I behind leave a woe,
+  For while my companions are jovial
+  They'll drink to Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  This life now is drawn to a closing,
+  All will at last be so,
+  Then we'll take a full bumper at parting
+  To the name of Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  When I am laid out on the counter,
+  And the people all anxious to know,
+  Just raise up the lid of the coffin
+  And look at Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  And when through the streets my friends bear me,
+  And the ladies are filled with deep woe,
+  They'll come to the doors and the windows
+  And sigh for Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+  Then get some fine, jovial fellows,
+  And let them all staggering go;
+  Then dig a deep hole in the meadow
+  And in it toss Rosin the Bow.
+
+  Then get a couple of dornicks,
+  Place one at my head and my toe,
+  And do not forget to scratch on them,
+  "Here lies Old Rosin the Bow."
+
+  Then let those same jovial fellows
+  Surround my lone grave in a row,
+  While they drink from my favorite bottle
+  The health of Old Rosin the Bow.
+
+
+
+
+THE GREAT ROUND-UP
+
+
+  When I think of the last great round-up
+  On the eve of eternity's dawn,
+  I think of the past of the cowboys
+  Who have been with us here and are gone.
+  And I wonder if any will greet me
+  On the sands of the evergreen shore
+  With a hearty, "God bless you, old fellow,"
+  That I've met with so often before.
+
+  I think of the big-hearted fellows
+  Who will divide with you blanket and bread,
+  With a piece of stray beef well roasted,
+  And charge for it never a red.
+  I often look upward and wonder
+  If the green fields will seem half so fair,
+  If any the wrong trail have taken
+  And fail to "be in" over there.
+
+  For the trail that leads down to perdition
+  Is paved all the way with good deeds,
+  But in the great round-up of ages,
+  Dear boys, this won't answer your needs.
+  But the way to the green pastures, though narrow,
+  Leads straight to the home in the sky,
+  And Jesus will give you the passports
+  To the land of the sweet by and by.
+
+  For the Savior has taken the contract
+  To deliver all those who believe,
+  At the headquarters ranch of his Father,
+  In the great range where none can deceive.
+  The Inspector will stand at the gateway
+  And the herd, one by one, will go by,--
+  The round-up by the angels in judgment
+  Must pass 'neath his all-seeing eye.
+
+  No maverick or slick will be tallied
+  In the great book of life in his home,
+  For he knows all the brands and the earmarks
+  That down through the ages have come.
+  But, along with the tailings and sleepers,
+  The strays must turn from the gate;
+  No road brand to gain them admission,
+  But the awful sad cry "too late."
+
+  Yet I trust in the last great round-up
+  When the rider shall cut the big herd,
+  That the cowboys shall be represented
+  In the earmark and brand of the Lord,
+  To be shipped to the bright, mystic regions
+  Over there in green pastures to lie,
+  And led by the crystal still waters
+  In that home of the sweet by and by.
+
+
+
+
+THE JOLLY COWBOY
+
+
+  My lover, he is a cowboy, he's brave and kind and true,
+  He rides a Spanish pony, he throws a lasso, too;
+  And when he comes to see me our vows we do redeem,
+  He throws his arms around me and thus begins to sing:
+
+     "Ho, I'm a jolly cowboy, from Texas now I hail,
+      Give me my quirt and pony, I'm ready for the trail;
+      I love the rolling prairies, they're free from care and strife,
+      Behind a herd of longhorns I'll journey all my life.
+
+  "When early dawn is breaking and we are far away,
+  We fall into our saddles, we round-up all the day;
+  We rope, we brand, we ear-mark, I tell you we are smart,
+  And when the herd is ready, for Kansas then we start.
+
+  "Oh, I am a Texas cowboy, lighthearted, brave, and free,
+  To roam the wide, wide prairie, 'tis always joy to me.
+  My trusty little pony is my companion true,
+  O'er creeks and hills and rivers he's sure to pull me through.
+
+  "When threatening clouds do gather and herded lightnings flash,
+  And heavy rain drops splatter, and rolling thunders crash;
+  What keeps the herd from running, stampeding far and wide?
+  The cowboy's long, low whistle and singing by their side.
+
+  "When in Kansas City, our boss he pays us up,
+  We loaf around the city and take a parting cup;
+  We bid farewell to city life, from noisy crowds we come,
+  And back to dear old Texas, the cowboy's native home."
+
+  Oh, he is coming back to marry the only girl he loves,
+  He says I am his darling, I am his own true love;
+  Some day we two will marry and then no more he'll roam,
+  But settle down with Mary in a cozy little home.
+
+     "Ho, I'm a jolly cowboy, from Texas now I hail,
+      Give me my bond to Mary, I'll quit the Lone Star trail.
+      I love the rolling prairies, they're free from care and
+        strife,
+      But I'll quit the herd of longhorns for the sake of my
+        little wife."
+
+
+
+The Texas Cowboy (Mus. Not.)
+
+Mrs. Robert Thomson
+
+
+  I am a Tex-as Cowboy, Light-hearted, gay and free,
+  To roam the wide, wide prairie, Is always joy to me;
+  My trust-y lit-tle po-ny Is my com-pan-ion true;
+  O'er plain, thro' woods and river, He's sure to "pull me thro."
+
+  CHORUS
+
+  _Allegro_
+
+  I am a jol-ly cow-boy, From Tex-as now I hail,
+  Give me my "quirt" and po-ny, I'm read-y for the "trail;"
+  I love the roll-ing prairie, We're free from care and strife,
+  Be-hind a herd of "long-horns" I'll journey all my life.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONVICT
+
+
+  When slumbering In my convict cell my childhood days I see,
+  When I was mother's little child and knelt at mother's knee.
+  There my life was peace, I know, I knew no sorrow or pain.
+  Mother dear never did think, I know, I would wear a felon's chain.
+
+    Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,
+    Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?
+    Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,
+    Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?
+
+  When I had grown to manhood and evil paths I trod,
+  I learned to scorn my fellow-man and even curse my God;
+  And in the evil course I ran for a great length of time
+  Till at last I ran too long and was condemned for a felon's crime.
+
+  My prison life will soon be o'er, my life will soon be gone,--
+  May the angels waft it heavenward to a bright and happy home.
+  I'll be at rest, sweet, sweet rest, there is rest in the heavenly home;
+  I'll be at rest, sweet, sweet rest, there is rest in the heavenly home.
+
+    Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,
+    Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?
+    Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink,
+    Ah, don't you hear the clinking of my chain?
+
+
+
+
+JACK O' DIAMONDS
+
+
+  O Mollie, O Mollie, it is for your sake alone
+  That I leave my old parents, my house and my home,
+  That I leave my old parents, you caused me to roam,--
+  I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.
+
+    Jack o' diamonds, Jack o' diamonds,
+    I know you of old,
+    You've robbed my poor pockets
+    Of silver and gold.
+    Whiskey, you villain,
+    You've been my downfall,
+    You've kicked me, you've cuffed me,
+    But I love you for all.
+
+  My foot's in my stirrup, my bridle's in my hand,
+  I'm going to leave sweet Mollie, the fairest in the land.
+  Her parents don't like me, they say I'm too poor,
+  They say I'm unworthy to enter her door.
+
+  They say I drink whiskey; my money is my own,
+  And them that don't like me can leave me alone.
+  I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry,
+  And when I get thirsty I'll lay down and cry.
+
+    It's beefsteak when I'm hungry,
+    And whiskey when I'm dry,
+    Greenbacks when I'm hard up,
+    And heaven when I die.
+    Rye whiskey, rye whiskey,
+    Rye whiskey I cry,
+    If I don't get rye whiskey,
+    I surely will die.
+      O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before,
+      Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor.
+
+  I will build me a big castle on yonder mountain high,
+  Where my true love can see me when she comes riding by,
+  Where my true love can see me and help me to mourn,--
+  I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.
+
+  I'll get up in my saddle, my quirt I'll take in hand,
+  I'll think of you, Mollie, when in some far distant land,
+  I'll think of you, Mollie, you caused me to roam,--
+  I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.
+
+    If the ocean was whiskey,
+    And I was a duck,
+    I'd dive to the bottom
+    To get one sweet sup;
+    But the ocean ain't whiskey,
+    And I ain't a duck,
+    So I'll play Jack o' diamonds
+    And then we'll get drunk.
+      O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before,
+      Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor.
+
+  I've rambled and trambled this wide world around,
+  But it's for the rabble army, dear Mollie, I'm bound,
+  It is to the rabble army, dear Mollie, I roam,--
+  I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.
+
+  I have rambled and gambled all my money away,
+  But it's with the rabble army, O Mollie, I must stay,
+  It is with the rabble army, O Mollie I must roam,--
+  I am a rabble soldier and Dixie is my home.
+
+    Jack o' diamonds, Jack o' diamonds,
+    I know you of old,
+    You've robbed my poor pockets
+    Of silver and gold.
+    Rye whiskey, rye whiskey,
+    Rye whiskey I cry,
+    If you don't give me rye whiskey
+    I'll lie down and die.
+      O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before,
+      Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor.
+
+
+
+Jack o' Diamonds (Mus. Not.)
+
+
+  O Mol-lie, O Mol-lie, It's for your sake a-lone
+  That I leave my old pa-rents, my house and my home;
+  That I leave my old pa-rents, you caused me to roam--
+  I am a rab-ble sol-dier, and Dix-ie is my home.
+
+Repeat from first for Refrain
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY'S MEDITATION
+
+
+  At midnight when the cattle are sleeping
+  On my saddle I pillow my head,
+  And up at the heavens lie peeping
+  From out of my cold, grassy bed,--
+  Often and often I wondered
+  At night when lying alone
+  If every bright star up yonder
+  Is a big peopled world like our own.
+
+  Are they worlds with their ranges and ranches?
+  Do they ring with rough rider refrains?
+  Do the cowboys scrap there with Comanches
+  And other Red Men of the plains?
+  Are the hills covered over with cattle
+  In those mystic worlds far, far away?
+  Do the ranch-houses ring with the prattle
+  Of sweet little children at play?
+
+  At night in the bright stars up yonder
+  Do the cowboys lie down to their rest?
+  Do they gaze at this old world and wonder
+  If rough riders dash over its breast?
+  Do they list to the wolves in the canyons?
+  Do they watch the night owl in its flight,
+  With their horse their only companion
+  While guarding the herd through the night?
+
+  Sometimes when a bright star is twinkling
+  Like a diamond set in the sky,
+  I find myself lying and thinking,
+  It may be God's heaven is nigh.
+  I wonder if there I shall meet her,
+  My mother whom God took away;
+  If in the star-heavens I'll greet her
+  At the round-up that's on the last day.
+
+  In the east the great daylight is breaking
+  And into my saddle I spring;
+  The cattle from sleep are awakening,
+  The heaven-thoughts from me take wing,
+  The eyes of my bronco are flashing,
+  Impatient he pulls at the reins,
+  And off round the herd I go dashing,
+  A reckless cowboy of the plains.
+
+
+
+
+BILLY VENERO
+
+
+  Billy Venero heard them say,
+  In an Arizona town one day.
+  That a band of Apache Indians were upon the trail of death;
+  Heard them tell of murder done,
+  Three men killed at Rocky Run,
+  "They're in danger at the cow-ranch," said Venero, under breath.
+
+  Cow-Ranch, forty miles away,
+  Was a little place that lay
+  In a deep and shady valley of the mighty wilderness;
+  Half a score of homes were there,
+  And in one a maiden fair
+  Held the heart of Billy Venero, Billy Venero's little Bess.
+
+  So no wonder he grew pale
+  When he heard the cowboy's tale
+  Of the men that he'd seen murdered the day before at Rocky Run.
+  "Sure as there's a God above,
+  I will save the girl I love;
+  By my love for little Bessie I will see that something's done."
+
+  Not a moment he delayed
+  When his brave resolve was made.
+  "Why man," his comrades told him when they heard of his daring plan,
+  "You are riding straight to death."
+  But he answered, "Save your breath;
+  I may never reach the cow-ranch but I'll do the best I can."
+
+  As he crossed the alkali
+  All his thoughts flew on ahead
+  To the little band at cow-ranch thinking not of danger near;
+  With his quirt's unceasing whirl
+  And the jingle of his spurs
+  Little brown Chapo bore the cowboy o'er the far away frontier.
+
+  Lower and lower sank the sun;
+  He drew rein at Rocky Run;
+  "Here those men met death, my Chapo," and he stroked his glossy mane;
+  "So shall those we go to warn
+  Ere the coming of the morn
+  If we fail,--God help my Bessie," and he started on again.
+
+  Sharp and clear a rifle shot
+  Woke the echoes of the spot.
+  "I am wounded," cried Venero, as he swayed from side to side;
+  "While there's life there's always hope;
+  Slowly onward I will lope,--
+  If I fail to reach the cow-ranch, Bessie Lee shall know I tried.
+
+  "I will save her yet," he cried,
+  "Bessie Lee shall know I tried,"
+  And for her sake then he halted in the shadow of a hill;
+  From his chapareras he took
+  With weak hands a little book;
+  Tore a blank leaf from its pages saying, "This shall be my will."
+
+  From a limb a pen he broke,
+  And he dipped his pen of oak
+  In the warm blood that was spurting from a wound above his heart.
+  "Rouse," he wrote before too late;
+  "Apache warriors lie in wait.
+  Good-bye, Bess, God bless you darling," and he felt the cold tears start.
+
+  Then he made his message fast,
+  Love's first message and its last,
+  To the saddle horn he tied it and his lips were white with pain,
+  "Take this message, if not me,
+  Straight to little Bessie Lee;"
+  Then he tied himself to the saddle, and he gave his horse the rein.
+
+  Just at dusk a horse of brown
+  Wet with sweat came panting down
+  The little lane at the cow-ranch, stopped in front of Bessie's door;
+  But the cowboy was asleep,
+  And his slumbers were so deep,
+  Little Bess could never wake him though she tried for evermore.
+
+  You have heard the story told
+  By the young and by the old,
+  Away down yonder at the cow-ranch the night the Apaches came;
+  Of that sharp and bloody fight,
+  How the chief fell in the fight
+  And the panic-stricken warriors when they heard Venero's name.
+
+  And the heavens and earth between
+  Keep a little flower so green
+  That little Bess had planted ere they laid her by his side.
+
+
+
+
+DOGIE SONG
+
+
+  The cow-bosses are good-hearted chunks,
+  Some short, some heavy, more long;
+  But don't matter what he looks like,
+  They all sing the same old song.
+  On the plains, in the mountains, in the valleys,
+  In the south where the days are long,
+  The bosses are different fellows;
+  Still they sing the same old song.
+
+   "Sift along, boys, don't ride so slow;
+    Haven't got much time but a long round to go.
+    Quirt him in the shoulders and rake him down the hip;
+    I've cut you toppy mounts, boys, now pair off and rip.
+    Bunch the herd at the old meet,
+    Then beat 'em on the tail;
+    Whip 'em up and down the sides
+    And hit the shortest trail."
+
+
+
+
+THE BOOZER
+
+
+  I'm a howler from the prairies of the West.
+  If you want to die with terror, look at me.
+  I'm chain-lightning--if I ain't, may I be blessed.
+  I'm the snorter of the boundless prairie.
+
+      He's a killer and a hater!
+      He's the great annihilator!
+      He's a terror of the boundless prairie.
+
+  I'm the snoozer from the upper trail!
+  I'm the reveler in murder and in gore!
+  I can bust more Pullman coaches on the rail
+  Than anyone who's worked the job before.
+
+      He's a snorter and a snoozer.
+      He's the great trunk line abuser.
+      He's the man who puts the sleeper on the rail.
+
+  I'm the double-jawed hyena from the East.
+  I'm the blazing, bloody blizzard of the States.
+  I'm the celebrated slugger; I'm the Beast.
+  I can snatch a man bald-headed while he waits.
+
+      He's a double-jawed hyena!
+      He's the villain of the scena!
+      He can snatch a man bald-headed while he waits.
+
+
+
+
+DRINKING SONG
+
+
+  Drink that rot gut, drink that rot gut,
+  Drink that red eye, boys;
+  It don't make a damn wherever we land,
+  We hit her up for joy.
+
+  We've lived in the saddle and ridden trail,
+  Drink old Jordan, boys,
+  We'll go whooping and yelling, we'll all go a-helling;
+  Drink her to our joy.
+
+  Whoop-ee! drink that rot gut, drink that red nose,
+  Whenever you get to town;
+  Drink it straight and swig it mighty,
+  Till the world goes round and round!
+
+
+
+
+A FRAGMENT
+
+
+  I'd rather hear a rattler rattle,
+  I'd rather buck stampeding cattle,
+  I'd rather go to a greaser battle,
+  Than--
+  Than to--
+  Than to fight--
+  Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans.
+
+  I'd rather eat a pan of dope,
+  I'd rather ride without a rope,
+  I'd rather from this country lope,
+  Than--
+  Than to--
+  Than to fight--
+  Than to fight the bloody In-ji-ans.
+
+
+
+
+A MAN NAMED HODS
+
+
+  Come, all you old cowpunchers, a story I will tell,
+  And if you'll all be quiet, I sure will sing it well;
+  And if you boys don't like it, you sure can go to hell.
+
+  Back in the day when I was young, I knew a man named Hods;
+  He wasn't fit fer nothin' 'cep turnin' up the clods.
+
+  But he came west in fifty-three, behind a pair of mules,
+  And 'twas hard to tell between the three which was the biggest fools.
+
+  Up on the plains old Hods he got and there his trouble began.
+  Oh, he sure did get in trouble,--and old Hodsie wasn't no man.
+
+  He met a bunch of Indian bucks led by Geronimo,
+  And what them Indians did to him, well, shorely I don't know.
+
+  But they lifted off old Hodsie's skelp and left him out to die,
+  And if it hadn't been for me, he'd been in the sweet by and by.
+
+  But I packed him back to Santa Fe and there I found his mules,
+  For them dad-blamed two critters had got the Indians fooled.
+
+  I don't know how they done it, but they shore did get away,
+  And them two mules is livin' up to this very day.
+
+  Old Hodsie's feet got toughened up, he got to be a sport,
+  He opened up a gamblin' house and a place of low resort;
+
+  He got the prettiest dancing girls that ever could be found,--
+  Them girls' feet was like rubber balls and they never staid on the
+      ground.
+
+  And then thar came Billy the Kid, he envied Hodsie's wealth,
+  He told old Hods to leave the town, 'twould be better for his health;
+  Old Hodsie took the hint and got, but he carried all his wealth.
+
+  And he went back to Noo York State with lots of dinero,
+  And now they say he's senator, but of that I shore don't know.
+
+
+
+
+A FRAGMENT
+
+
+  I am fur from my sweetheart
+  And she is fur from me,
+  And when I'll see my sweetheart
+  I can't tell when 'twill be.
+
+  But I love her just the same,
+  No matter where I roam;
+  And that there girl will wait fur me
+  Whenever I come home.
+
+  I've roamed the Texas prairies,
+  I've followed the cattle trail,
+  I've rid a pitching pony
+  Till the hair came off his tail.
+
+  I've been to cowboy dances,
+  I've kissed the Texas girls,
+  But they ain't none what can compare
+  With my own sweetheart's curls.
+
+
+
+
+THE LONE STAR TRAIL
+
+
+  I'm a rowdy cowboy just off the stormy plains,
+  My trade is girting saddles and pulling bridle reins.
+  Oh, I can tip the lasso, it is with graceful ease;
+  I rope a streak of lightning, and ride it where I please.
+  My bosses they all like me, they say I am hard to beat;
+  I give them the bold standoff, you bet I have got the cheek.
+  I always work for wages, my pay I get in gold;
+  I am bound to follow the longhorn steer until I am too old.
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+  I am a Texas cowboy and I do ride the range;
+  My trade is cinches and saddles and ropes and bridle reins;
+  With Stetson hat and jingling spurs and leather up to the knees,
+  Gray backs as big as chili beans and fighting like hell with fleas.
+  And if I had a little stake, I soon would married be,
+  But another week and I must go, the boss said so to-day.
+  My girl must cheer up courage and choose some other one,
+  For I am bound to follow the Lone Star Trail until my race is run.
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+  It almost breaks my heart for to have to go away,
+  And leave my own little darling, my sweetheart so far away.
+  But when I'm out on the Lone Star Trail often I'll think of thee,
+  Of my own dear girl, the darling one, the one I would like to see.
+  And when I get to a shipping point, I'll get on a little spree
+  To drive away the sorrow for the girl that once loved me.
+  And though red licker stirs us up we're bound to have our fun,
+  And I intend to follow the Lone Star Trail until my race is run.
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+  I went up the Lone Star Trail in eighteen eighty-three;
+  I fell in love with a pretty miss and she in love with me.
+  "When you get to Kansas write and let me know;
+  And if you get in trouble, your bail I'll come and go."
+  When I got up in Kansas, I had a pleasant dream;
+  I dreamed I was down on Trinity, down on that pleasant stream;
+  I dreampt my true love right beside me, she come to go my bail;
+  I woke up broken hearted with a yearling by the tail.
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+  In came my jailer about nine o'clock,
+  A bunch of keys was in his hand, my cell door to unlock,
+  Saying, "Cheer up, my prisoner, I heard some voice say
+  You're bound to hear your sentence some time to-day."
+  In came my mother about ten o'clock,
+  Saying, "O my loving Johnny, what sentence have you got?"
+  "The jury found me guilty and the judge a-standin' by
+  Has sent me down to Huntsville to lock me up and die."
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+  Down come the jailer, just about eleven o'clock,
+  With a bunch of keys all in his hand the cell doors to unlock,
+  Saying, "Cheer up, my prisoner, I heard the jury say
+  Just ten long years in Huntsville you're bound to go and stay."
+  Down come my sweetheart, ten dollars in her hand,
+  Saying, "Give this to my cowboy, 'tis all that I command;
+  O give this to my cowboy and think of olden times,
+  Think of the darling that he has left behind."
+
+      Ci yi yip yip yip pe ya.
+
+
+
+
+WAY DOWN IN MEXICO
+
+
+  O boys, we're goin' far to-night,
+  Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!
+  We'll take the greasers now in hand
+  And drive 'em in the Rio Grande,
+  Way down in Mexico.
+
+  We'll hang old Santa Anna soon,
+  Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!
+  And all the greaser soldiers, too,
+  To the chune of Yankee Doodle Doo,
+  Way down in Mexico.
+
+  We'll scatter 'em like flocks of sheep,
+  Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!
+  We'll mow 'em down with rifle ball
+  And plant our flag right on their wall,
+  Way down in Mexico.
+
+  Old Rough and Ready, he's a trump,
+  Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!
+  He'll wipe old Santa Anna out
+  And put the greasers all to rout,
+  Way down in Mexico.
+
+  Then we'll march back by and by,
+  Yeo-ho, yeo-ho!
+  And kiss the gals we left to home
+  And never more we'll go and roam,
+  Way down in Mexico.
+
+
+
+
+RATTLESNAKE--A RANCH HAYING SONG
+
+
+  A nice young ma-wa-wan
+  Lived on a hi-wi-will;
+  A nice young ma-wa-wan,
+  For I knew him we-we-well.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  This nice young ma-wa-wan
+  Went out to mo-wo-wow
+  To see if he-we-we
+  Could make a sho-wo-wow.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  He scarcely mo-wo-wowed
+  Half round the fie-we-wield
+  Till up jumped--come a rattle, come a sna-wa-wake,
+  And bit him on the he-we-weel.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  He laid right dow-we-wown
+  Upon the gro-wo-wound
+  And shut his ey-wy-wyes
+  And looked all aro-wo-wound.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  "O pappy da-wa-wad,
+  Go tell my ga-wa-wal
+  That I'm a-goin' ter di-wi-wie,
+  For I know I sha-wa-wall."
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  "O pappy da-wa-wad,
+  Go spread the ne-wu-wus;
+  And here come Sa-wa-wall
+  Without her sho-woo-woos."
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  "O John, O Joh-wa-wahn,
+  Why did you go-wo-wo
+  Way down in the mea-we-we-dow
+  So far to mo-wo-wow?"
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  "O Sal, O Sa-wa-wall,
+  Why don't you kno-wo-wow
+  When the grass gits ri-wi-wipe,
+  It must be mo-wo-woed?"
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  Come all young gir-wi-wirls
+  And shed a tea-we-wear
+  For this young ma-wa-wan
+  That died right he-we-were.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+  Come all young me-we-wen
+  And warning ta-wa-wake,
+  And don't get bi-wi-wit
+  By a rattle sna-wa-wake.
+
+      To my rattle, to my roo-rah-ree!
+
+
+
+
+THE RAILROAD CORRAL
+
+
+  Oh we're up in the morning ere breaking of day,
+  The chuck wagon's busy, the flapjacks in play;
+  The herd is astir o'er hillside and vale,
+  With the night riders rounding them into the trail.
+    Oh, come take up your cinches, come shake out your reins;
+    Come wake your old broncho and break for the plains;
+    Come roust out your steers from the long chaparral,
+    For the outfit is off to the railroad corral.
+
+  The sun circles upward; the steers as they plod
+  Are pounding to powder the hot prairie sod;
+  And it seems as the dust makes you dizzy and sick
+  That we'll never reach noon and the cool, shady creek.
+    But tie up your kerchief and ply up your nag;
+    Come dry up your grumbles and try not to lag;
+    Come with your steers from the long chaparral,
+    For we're far on the road to the railroad corral.
+
+  The afternoon shadows are starting to lean,
+  When the chuck wagon sticks in the marshy ravine;
+  The herd scatters farther than vision can look,
+  For you can bet all true punchers will help out the cook.
+    Come shake out your rawhide and snake it up fair;
+    Come break your old broncho to take in his share;
+    Come from your steers in the long chaparral,
+    For 'tis all in the drive to the railroad corral.
+
+  But the longest of days must reach evening at last,
+  The hills all climbed, the creeks all past;
+  The tired herd droops in the yellowing light;
+  Let them loaf if they will, for the railroad's in sight
+    So flap up your holster and snap up your belt,
+    And strap up your saddle whose lap you have felt;
+    Good-bye to the steers from the long chaparral,
+    For there's a town that's a trunk by the railroad corral.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG OF THE "METIS" TRAPPER
+
+BY ROLETTE
+
+
+  Hurrah for the great white way!
+    Hurrah for the dog and sledge!
+  As we snow-shoe along,
+    We give them a song,
+  With a snap of the whip and an urgent "mush on,"--
+    Hurrah for the great white way! Hurrah!
+
+  Hurrah for the snow and the ice!
+    As we follow the trail,
+  We call to the dogs with whistle and song,
+    And reply to their talk
+  With only "mush on, mush on"!
+    Hurrah for the snow and the ice! Hurrah!
+
+  Hurrah for the gun and the trap,--
+    As we follow the lines
+  By the rays of the mystic light
+    That flames in the north with banners so bright,
+  As we list to its swish, swish, swish, through the air all night,
+    Hurrah for the gun and the trap! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
+
+  Hurrah for the fire and cold!
+    As we lie in the robes all night.
+  And list to the howl of the wolf;
+    For we emptied the pot of the tea so hot,
+  And a king on his throne might envy our lot,--
+    Hurrah for the fire and cold! Hurrah!
+
+  Hurrah for our black-haired girls,
+    Who brave the storms of the mountain heights
+  And follow us on the great white way;
+    For their eyes so bright light the way all right
+  And guide us to shelter and warmth each night.
+    Hurrah for our black-haired girls! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
+
+
+
+
+THE CAMP FIRE HAS GONE OUT
+
+
+  Through progress of the railroads our occupation's gone;
+  So we will put ideas into words, our words into a song.
+  First comes the cowboy, he is pointed for the west;
+  Of all the pioneers I claim the cowboys are the best;
+  You will miss him on the round-up, it's gone, his merry shout,--
+  The cowboy has left the country and the campfire has gone out.
+
+  There is the freighters, our companions, you've got to leave this land,
+  Can't drag your loads for nothing through the gumbo and the sand.
+  The railroads are bound to beat you when you do your level best;
+  So give it up to the grangers and strike out for the west.
+  Bid them all adieu and give the merry shout,--
+  The cowboy has left the country and the campfire has gone out.
+
+  When I think of those good old days, my eyes with tears do fill;
+  When I think of the tin can by the fire and the cayote on
+      the hill.
+  I'll tell you, boys, in those days old-timers stood a show,--
+  Our pockets full of money, not a sorrow did we know.
+  But things have changed now, we are poorly clothed and fed.
+  Our wagons are all broken and our ponies most all dead.
+  Soon we will leave this country, you'll hear the angels shout,
+  "Oh, here they come to Heaven, the campfire has gone out."
+
+
+
+
+NIGHT-HERDING SONG
+
+BY HARRY STEPHENS
+
+
+  Oh, slow up, dogies, quit your roving round,
+  You have wandered and tramped all over the ground;
+  Oh, graze along, dogies, and feed kinda slow,
+  And don't forever be on the go,--
+  Oh, move slow, dogies, move slow.
+
+  Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.
+
+  I have circle-herded, trail-herded, night-herded, and cross-herded, too,
+  But to keep you together, that's what I can't do;
+  My horse is leg weary and I'm awful tired,
+  But if I let you get away I'm sure to get fired,--
+  Bunch up, little dogies, bunch up.
+
+  Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.
+
+  O say, little dogies, when you goin' to lay down
+  And quit this forever siftin' around?
+  My limbs are weary, my seat is sore;
+  Oh, lay down, dogies, like you've laid before,--
+  Lay down, little dogies, lay down.
+
+  Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.
+
+  Oh, lay still, dogies, since you have laid down,
+  Stretch away out on the big open ground;
+  Snore loud, little dogies, and drown the wild sound
+  That will all go away when the day rolls round,--
+  Lay still, little dogies, lay still.
+
+  Hi-oo, hi-oo, oo-oo.
+  .   .   .   .   .   .
+
+
+
+
+TAIL PIECE
+
+
+  Oh, the cow-puncher loves the whistle of his rope,
+  As he races over the plains;
+  And the stage-driver loves the popper of his whip,
+  And the rattle of his concord chains;
+  And we'll all pray the Lord that we will be saved,
+  And we'll keep the golden rule;
+  But I'd rather be home with the girl I love
+  Than to monkey with this goddamn'd mule.
+  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
+
+
+
+
+THE HABIT[5]
+
+
+  I've beat my way wherever any winds have blown,
+  I've bummed along from Portland down to San Antone,
+  From Sandy Hook to Frisco, over gulch and hill;
+  For once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still.
+
+  I settles down quite frequent and I says, says I,
+  "I'll never wander further till I comes to die."
+  But the wind it sorta chuckles, "Why, o' course you will,"
+  And shure enough I does it, cause I can't keep still.
+
+  I've seed a lot o' places where I'd like to stay,
+  But I gets a feelin' restless and I'm on my way.
+  I was never meant for settin' on my own door sill,
+  And once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still.
+
+  I've been in rich men's houses and I've been in jail,
+  But when it's time for leavin', I jes hits the trail;
+  I'm a human bird of passage, and the song I trill,
+  Is, "Once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still."
+
+  The sun is sorta coaxin' and the road is clear
+  And the wind is singin' ballads that I got to hear.
+  It ain't no use to argue when you feel the thrill;
+  For once you git the habit, why, you can't keep still.
+
+[Footnote 5: A song current in Arizona, probably written by Berton
+Braley. Cowboys and miners often take verses that please them and fit
+them to music.]
+
+
+
+
+OLD PAINT[6]
+
+
+  REFRAIN:
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne,
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne,--
+
+  My foot in the stirrup, my pony won't stand;
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+
+  I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne, I'm off for Montan';
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+
+  I'm a ridin' Old Paint, I'm a-leadin' old Fan;
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+
+  With my feet in the stirrups, my bridle in my hand;
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+
+  Old Paint's a good pony, he paces when he can;
+  Goodbye, little Annie, I'm off for Cheyenne.
+
+  Oh, hitch up your horses and feed 'em some hay,
+  And seat yourself by me so long as you stay.
+
+  My horses ain't hungry, they'll not eat your hay;
+  My wagon is loaded and rolling away.
+
+  My foot in my stirrup, my reins in my hand;
+  Good-morning, young lady, my horses won't stand.
+
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+  Goodbye, Old Paint, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne.
+
+[Footnote 6: These verses are used in many parts of the West as a
+dance song. Sung to waltz music the song takes the place of "Home,
+Sweet Home" at the conclusion of a cowboy ball. The "fiddle" is
+silenced and the entire company sing as they dance.]
+
+
+
+
+DOWN SOUTH ON THE RIO GRANDE
+
+
+  From way down south on the Rio Grande,
+  Roll on steers for the Post Oak Sand,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+  You'd laugh fur to see that fellow a-straddle
+  Of a mustang mare on a raw-hide saddle,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+  Rich as a king, and he wouldn't be bigger
+  Fur a pitchin' hoss and a lame old nigger,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+  Ole Abe kep' gettin' bigger an' bigger,
+  'Til he bust hisself 'bout a lame old nigger,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+  Old Jeff swears he'll sew him together
+  With powder and shot instead of leather,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+  Kin cuss an' fight an' hold or free 'em,
+  But I know them mavericks when I see 'em,--
+  Way down south in Dixie, Oh, boys, Ho.
+
+
+
+
+SILVER JACK[7]
+
+
+  I was on the drive in eighty
+  Working under Silver Jack,
+  Which the same is now in Jackson
+  And ain't soon expected back,
+  And there was a fellow 'mongst us
+  By the name of Robert Waite;
+  Kind of cute and smart and tonguey
+  Guess he was a graduate.
+
+  He could talk on any subject
+  From the Bible down to Hoyle,
+  And his words flowed out so easy,
+  Just as smooth and slick as oil,
+  He was what they call a skeptic,
+  And he loved to sit and weave
+  Hifalutin' words together
+  Tellin' what he didn't believe.
+
+  One day we all were sittin' round
+  Smokin' nigger head tobacco
+  And hearing Bob expound;
+  Hell, he said, was all a humbug,
+  And he made it plain as day
+  That the Bible was a fable;
+  And we lowed it looked that way.
+  Miracles and such like
+  Were too rank for him to stand,
+  And as for him they called the Savior
+  He was just a common man.
+
+  "You're a liar," someone shouted,
+  "And you've got to take it back."
+  Then everybody started,--
+  'Twas the words of Silver Jack.
+  And he cracked his fists together
+  And he stacked his duds and cried,
+  "'Twas in that thar religion
+  That my mother lived and died;
+  And though I haven't always
+  Used the Lord exactly right,
+  Yet when I hear a chump abuse him
+  He's got to eat his words or fight."
+
+  Now, this Bob he weren't no coward
+  And he answered bold and free:
+  "Stack your duds and cut your capers,
+  For there ain't no flies on me."
+  And they fit for forty minutes
+  And the crowd would whoop and cheer
+  When Jack spit up a tooth or two,
+  Or when Bobby lost an ear.
+
+  But at last Jack got him under
+  And he slugged him onct or twict,
+  And straightway Bob admitted
+  The divinity of Christ.
+  But Jack kept reasoning with him
+  Till the poor cuss gave a yell
+  And lowed he'd been mistaken
+  In his views concerning hell.
+
+  Then the fierce encounter ended
+  And they riz up from the ground
+  And someone brought a bottle out
+  And kindly passed it round.
+  And we drank to Bob's religion
+  In a cheerful sort o' way,
+  But the spread of infidelity
+  Was checked in camp that day.
+
+[Footnote 7: A lumber jack song adopted by the cowboys.]
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY'S CHRISTMAS BALL[8]
+
+
+  Way out in Western Texas, where the Clear Fork's waters flow,
+  Where the cattle are a-browzin' and the Spanish ponies grow;
+  Where the Northers come a-whistlin' from beyond the Neutral Strip;
+  And the prairie dogs are sneezin', as though they had the grip;
+  Where the coyotes come a-howlin' round the ranches after dark,
+  And the mockin' birds are singin' to the lovely medder lark;
+  Where the 'possum and the badger and the rattlesnakes abound,
+  And the monstrous stars are winkin' o'er a wilderness profound;
+  Where lonesome, tawny prairies melt into airy streams,
+  While the Double Mountains slumber in heavenly kinds of dreams;
+  Where the antelope is grazin' and the lonely plovers call,--
+  It was there I attended the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+  The town was Anson City, old Jones' county seat,
+  Where they raised Polled Angus cattle and waving whiskered wheat;
+  Where the air is soft and bammy and dry and full of health,
+  Where the prairies is explodin' with agricultural wealth;
+  Where they print the _Texas Western_, that Hec McCann supplies
+  With news and yarns and stories, of most amazing size;
+  Where Frank Smith "pulls the badger" on knowing tenderfeet,
+  And Democracy's triumphant and mighty hard to beat;
+  Where lives that good old hunter, John Milsap, from Lamar,
+  Who used to be the sheriff "back east in Paris, sah"!
+  'Twas there, I say, at Anson with the lovely Widder Wall,
+  That I went to that reception, the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+  The boys had left the ranches and come to town in piles;
+  The ladies, kinder scatterin', had gathered in for miles.
+  And yet the place was crowded, as I remember well,
+  'Twas gave on this occasion at the Morning Star Hotel.
+  The music was a fiddle and a lively tambourine,
+  And a viol came imported, by the stage from Abilene.
+  The room was togged out gorgeous--with mistletoe and shawls,
+  And the candles flickered festious, around the airy walls.
+  The wimmen folks looked lovely--the boys looked kinder treed,
+  Till the leader commenced yelling, "Whoa, fellers, let's stampede,"
+  And the music started sighing and a-wailing through the hall
+  As a kind of introduction to the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+  The leader was a feller that came from Swenson's ranch,--
+  They called him Windy Billy from Little Deadman's Branch.
+  His rig was kinder keerless,--big spurs and high heeled boots;
+  He had the reputation that comes when fellers shoots.
+  His voice was like the bugle upon the mountain height;
+  His feet were animated, and a mighty movin' sight,
+  When he commenced to holler, "Now fellers, shake your pen!
+  Lock horns ter all them heifers and rustle them like men;
+  Saloot yer lovely critters; neow swing and let 'em go;
+  Climb the grapevine round 'em; neow all hands do-ce-do!
+  You maverick, jine the round-up,--jes skip the waterfall,"
+  Huh! hit was getting active, the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+  The boys was tolerable skittish, the ladies powerful neat,
+  That old bass viol's music just got there with both feet!
+  That wailin', frisky fiddle, I never shall forget;
+  And Windy kept a-singin'--I think I hear him yet--
+  "Oh, X's, chase yer squirrels, and cut 'em to our side;
+  Spur Treadwell to the center, with Cross P Charley's bride,
+  Doc Hollis down the center, and twine the ladies' chain,
+  Van Andrews, pen the fillies in big T Diamond's train.
+  All pull your freight together, neow swallow fork and change;
+  Big Boston, lead the trail herd through little Pitchfork's range.
+  Purr round yer gentle pussies, neow rope and balance all!"
+  Huh! Hit were gettin' active--the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+  The dust riz fast and furious; we all jes galloped round,
+  Till the scenery got so giddy that T Bar Dick was downed.
+  We buckled to our partners and told 'em to hold on,
+  Then shook our hoofs like lightning until the early dawn.
+  Don't tell me 'bout cotillions, or germans. No sir-ee!
+  That whirl at Anson City jes takes the cake with me.
+  I'm sick of lazy shufflin's, of them I've had my fill,
+  Give me a frontier break-down backed up by Windy Bill.
+  McAllister ain't nowhere, when Windy leads the show;
+  I've seen 'em both in harness and so I ought ter know.
+  Oh, Bill, I shan't forget yer, and I oftentimes recall
+  That lively gaited sworray--the Cowboy's Christmas Ball.
+
+[Footnote 8: This poem, one of the best in Larry Chittenden's _Ranch
+Verses_, published by G.P. Putnam's Sons, New York, has been set to
+music by the cowboys and its phraseology slightly changed, as this
+copy will show, by oral transmission. I have heard it in New Mexico
+and it has been sent to me from various places,--always as a song.
+None of those who sent in the song knew that it was already in print.]
+
+
+
+
+PINTO
+
+
+  I am a vaquero by trade;
+  To handle my rope I'm not afraid.
+  I lass' an _otero_ by the two horns
+  Throw down the biggest that ever was born.
+  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!
+
+  My name to you I will not tell;
+  For what's the use, you know me so well.
+  The girls all love me, and cry
+  When I leave them to join the rodero.
+  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!
+
+  I am a vaquero, and here I reside;
+  Show me the broncho I cannot ride.
+  They say old Pinto with one split ear
+  Is the hardest jumping broncho on the rodero.
+  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!
+
+  There strayed to our camp an iron gray colt;
+  The boys were all fraid him so on him I bolt.
+  You bet I stayed with him till cheer after cheer,--
+  "He's the broncho twister that's on the rodero."
+  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!
+
+  My story is ended, old Pinto is dead;
+  I'm going down Laredo and paint the town red.
+  I'm going up to Laredo and set up the beer
+  To all the cowboys that's on the rodero.
+  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Pinto, whoa!
+
+
+
+
+THE GAL I LEFT BEHIND ME
+
+
+  I struck the trail in seventy-nine,
+  The herd strung out behind me;
+  As I jogged along my mind ran back
+  For the gal I left behind me.
+      That sweet little gal, that true little gal,
+      The gal I left behind me!
+
+  If ever I get off the trail
+  And the Indians they don't find me,
+  I'll make my way straight back again
+  To the gal I left behind me.
+      That sweet little gal, that true little gal,
+      The gal I left behind me!
+
+  The wind did blow, the rain did flow,
+  The hail did fall and blind me;
+  I thought of that gal, that sweet little gal,
+  That gal I'd left behind me!
+      That sweet little gal, that true little gal,
+      The gal I left behind me!
+
+  She wrote ahead to the place I said,
+  I was always glad to find it.
+  She says, "I am true, when you get through
+  Right back here you will find me."
+      That sweet little gal, that true little gal,
+      The gal I left behind me!
+
+  When we sold out I took the train,
+  I knew where I would find her;
+  When I got back we had a smack
+  And that was no gol-darned liar.
+      That sweet little gal, that true little gal,
+      The gal I left behind me!
+
+
+
+
+BILLY THE KID
+
+
+  Billy was a bad man
+  And carried a big gun,
+  He was always after Greasers
+  And kept 'em on the run.
+
+  He shot one every morning,
+  For to make his morning meal.
+  And let a white man sass him,
+  He was shore to feel his steel.
+
+  He kept folks in hot water,
+  And he stole from many a stage;
+  And when he was full of liquor
+  He was always in a rage.
+
+  But one day he met a man
+  Who was a whole lot badder.
+  And now he's dead,
+  And we ain't none the sadder.
+
+
+
+
+THE HELL-BOUND TRAIN
+
+
+  A Texas cowboy lay down on a bar-room floor.
+  Having drunk so much he could drink no more;
+  So he fell asleep with a troubled brain
+  To dream that he rode on a hell-bound train.
+
+  The engine with murderous blood was damp
+  And was brilliantly lit with a brimstone lamp;
+  An imp, for fuel, was shoveling bones,
+  While the furnace rang with a thousand groans.
+
+  The boiler was filled with lager beer
+  And the devil himself was the engineer;
+  The passengers were a most motley crew,--
+  Church member, atheist, Gentile, and Jew,
+
+  Rich men in broadcloth, beggars in rags,
+  Handsome young ladies, and withered old hags,
+  Yellow and black men, red, brown, and white.
+  All chained together,--O God, what a sight!
+
+  While the train rushed on at an awful pace,
+  The sulphurous fumes scorched their hands and face;
+  Wider and wider the country grew,
+  As faster and faster the engine flew.
+
+  Louder and louder the thunder crashed
+  And brighter and brighter the lightning flashed;
+  Hotter and hotter the air became
+  Till the clothes were burnt from each quivering frame.
+
+  And out of the distance there arose a yell,
+  "Ha, ha," said the devil, "we're nearing hell!"
+  Then oh, how the passengers all shrieked with pain
+  And begged the devil to stop the train.
+
+  But he capered about and danced for glee
+  And laughed and joked at their misery.
+  "My faithful friends, you have done the work
+  And the devil never can a payday shirk.
+
+  "You've bullied the weak, you've robbed the poor;
+  The starving brother you've turned from the door,
+  You've laid up gold where the canker rust,
+  And have given free vent to your beastly lust.
+
+  "You've justice scorned, and corruption sown,
+  And trampled the laws of nature down.
+  You have drunk, rioted, cheated, plundered, and lied,
+  And mocked at God in your hell-born pride.
+
+  "You have paid full fare so I'll carry you through;
+  For it's only right you should have your due.
+  Why, the laborer always expects his hire,
+  So I'll land you safe in the lake of fire.
+
+  "Where your flesh will waste in the flames that roar,
+  And my imps torment you forever more."
+  Then the cowboy awoke with an anguished cry,
+  His clothes wet with sweat and his hair standing high.
+
+  Then he prayed as he never had prayed till that hour
+  To be saved from his sin and the demon's power.
+  And his prayers and his vows were not in vain;
+  For he never rode the hell-bound train.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT
+
+
+  Come all of you, my brother scouts,
+  And listen to my song;
+  Come, let us sing together
+  Though the shadows fall so long.
+
+  Of all the old frontiersmen
+  That used to scour the plain
+  There are but very few of them
+  That with us yet remain.
+
+  Day after day they're dropping off,
+  They're going one by one;
+  Our clan is fast decreasing,
+  Our race is almost run.
+
+  There are many of our number
+  That never wore the blue,
+  But faithfully they did their part
+  As brave men, tried and true.
+
+  They never joined the army,
+  But had other work to do
+  In piloting the coming folks,
+  To help them safely through.
+
+  But brothers, we are failing,
+  Our race is almost run;
+  The days of elk and buffalo
+  And beaver traps are gone--
+
+  Oh, the days of elk and buffalo!
+  It fills my heart with pain
+  To know these days are past and gone
+  To never come again.
+
+  We fought the red-skin rascals
+  Over valley, hill, and plain;
+  We fought him in the mountain top,
+  We fought him down again.
+
+  These fighting days are over.
+  The Indian yell resounds
+  No more along the border;
+  Peace sends far sweeter sounds.
+
+  But we found great joy, old comrades,
+  To hear and make it die;
+  We won bright homes for gentle ones,
+  And now, our West, good-bye.
+
+
+
+
+THE DESERTED ADOBE
+
+
+  Round the 'dobe rank sands are thickly blowin',
+  Its ridges fill the deserted field;
+  Yet on this claim young lives once hope were sowing
+  For all the years might yield;
+  And in strong hands the echoing hoof pursuin'
+  A wooden share turned up the sod,
+  The toiler brave drank deep the fresh air's brewin'
+  And sang content to God.
+    The toiler brave drank deep the fresh air's brewin'
+    And sang content to God.
+
+  A woman fair and sweet has smilin' striven
+  Through long and lonesome hours;
+  A blue-eyed babe, a bit of earthly heaven,
+  Laughed at the sun's hot towers;
+  A bow of promise made this desert splendid,
+  This 'dobe was their pride.
+  But what began so well, alas, has ended--,
+  The promise died.
+    But what began so well alas soon ended--,
+    The promise died.
+
+  Their plans and dreams, their cheerful labor wasted
+  In dry and mis-spent years;
+  The spring was sweet, the summer bitter tasted,
+  The autumn salt with tears.
+  Now "gyp" and sand do hide their one-time yearnin';
+  'Twas theirs; 'tis past.
+  God's ways are strange, we take so long in learnin',
+  To fail at last.
+    God's ways are strange, we take so long in learnin',
+    To fail at last.
+
+
+
+
+THE COWBOY AT WORK
+
+
+  You may call the cowboy horned and think him hard to tame,
+  You may heap vile epithets upon his head;
+  But to know him is to like him, notwithstanding his hard name,
+  For he will divide with you his beef and bread.
+
+  If you see him on his pony as he scampers o'er the plain,
+  You would think him wild and woolly, to be sure;
+  But his heart is warm and tender when he sees a friend in need,
+  Though his education is but to endure.
+
+  When the storm breaks in its fury and the lightning's vivid flash
+  Makes you thank the Lord for shelter and for bed,
+  Then it is he mounts his pony and away you see him dash,
+  No protection but the hat upon his head.
+
+  Such is life upon a cow ranch, and the half was never told;
+  But you never find a kinder-hearted set
+  Than the cattleman at home, be he either young or old,
+  He's a "daisy from away back," don't forget.
+
+  When you fail to find a pony or a cow that's gone a-stray,
+  Be that cow or pony wild or be it tame,
+  The cowboy, like the drummer,--and the bed-bug, too, they say,--
+  Brings him to you, for he gets there just the same.
+
+
+
+
+HERE'S TO THE RANGER!
+
+
+  He leaves unplowed his furrow,
+  He leaves his books unread
+  For a life of tented freedom
+  By lure of danger led.
+  He's first in the hour of peril,
+  He's gayest in the dance,
+  Like the guardsman of old England
+  Or the beau sabreur of France.
+
+  He stands our faithful bulwark
+  Against our savage foe;
+  Through lonely woodland places
+  Our children come and go;
+  Our flocks and herds untended
+  O'er hill and valley roam,
+  The Ranger in the saddle
+  Means peace for us at home.
+
+  Behold our smiling farmsteads
+  Where waves the golden grain!
+  Beneath yon tree, earth's bosom
+  Was dark with crimson stain.
+  That bluff the death-shot echoed
+  Of husband, father, slain!
+  God grant such sight of horror
+  We never see again!
+
+  The gay and hardy Ranger,
+  His blanket on the ground,
+  Lies by the blazing camp-fire
+  While song and tale goes round;
+  And if one voice is silent,
+  One fails to hear the jest,
+  They know his thoughts are absent
+  With her who loves him best.
+
+  Our state, her sons confess it,
+  That queenly, star-crowned brow,
+  Has darkened with the shadow
+  Of lawlessness ere now;
+  And men of evil passions
+  On her reproach have laid,
+  But that the ready Ranger
+  Rode promptly to her aid.
+
+  He may not win the laurel
+  Nor trumpet tongue of fame;
+  But beauty smiles upon him,
+  And ranchmen bless his name.
+  Then here's to the Texas Ranger,
+  Past, present and to come!
+  Our safety from the savage,
+  The guardian of our home.
+
+
+
+
+MUSTER OUT THE RANGER
+
+
+  Yes, muster them out, the valiant band
+  That guards our western home.
+  What matter to you in your eastern land
+  If the raiders here should come?
+  No danger that you shall awake at night
+  To the howls of a savage band;
+  So muster them out, though the morning light
+  Find havoc on every hand.
+
+  Some dear one is sick and the horses all gone,
+  So we can't for a doctor send;
+  The outlaws were in in the light of the morn
+  And no Rangers here to defend.
+  For they've mustered them out, the brave true band,
+  Untiring by night and day.
+  The fearless scouts of this border land
+  Made the taxes high, they say.
+
+  Have fewer men in the capitol walls,
+  Fewer tongues in the war of words,
+  But add to the Rangers, the living wall
+  That keeps back the bandit hordes.
+  Have fewer dinners, less turtle soup,
+  If the taxes are too high.
+  There are many other and better ways
+  To lower them if they try.
+
+  Don't waste so much of your money
+  Printing speeches people don't read.
+  If you'd only take off what's used for that
+  'Twould lower the tax indeed.
+  Don't use so much sugar and lemons;
+  Cold water is just as good
+  For a constant drink in the summer time
+  And better for the blood.
+
+  But leave us the Rangers to guard us still,
+  Nor think that they cost too dear;
+  For their faithful watch over vale and hill
+  Gives our loved ones naught to fear.
+
+
+
+
+A COW CAMP ON THE RANGE
+
+
+  Oh, the prairie dogs are screaming,
+  And the birds are on the wing,
+  See the heel fly chase the heifer, boys!
+  'Tis the first class sign of spring.
+  The elm wood is budding,
+  The earth is turning green.
+  See the pretty things of nature
+  That make life a pleasant dream!
+
+  I'm just living through the winter
+  To enjoy the coming change,
+  For there is no place so homelike
+  As a cow camp on the range.
+  The boss is smiling radiant,
+  Radiant as the setting sun;
+  For he knows he's stealing glories,
+  For he ain't a-cussin' none.
+
+  The cook is at the chuck-box
+  Whistling "Heifers in the Green,"
+  Making baking powder biscuits, boys,
+  While the pot is biling beans.
+  The boys untie their bedding
+  And unroll it on the run,
+  For they are in a monstrous hurry
+  For the supper's almost done.
+
+  "Here's your bloody wolf bait,"
+  Cried the cook's familiar voice
+  As he climbed the wagon wheel
+  To watch the cowboys all rejoice.
+  Then all thoughts were turned from reverence
+  To a plate of beef and beans,
+  As we graze on beef and biscuits
+  Like yearlings on the range.
+
+  To the dickens with your city
+  Where they herd the brainless brats,
+  On a range so badly crowded
+  There ain't room to cuss the cat.
+  This life is not so sumptuous,
+  I'm not longing for a change,
+  For there is no place so homelike
+  As a cow camp on the range.
+
+
+
+
+FRECKLES. A FRAGMENT
+
+
+  He was little an' peaked an' thin, an' narry a no account horse,--
+  Least that's the way you'd describe him in case that the beast had
+      been lost;
+  But, for single and double cussedness an' for double fired sin,
+  The horse never came out o' Texas that was half-way knee-high to him!
+
+  The first time that ever I saw him was nineteen years ago last spring;
+  'Twas the year we had grasshoppers, that come an' et up everything,
+  That a feller rode up here one evenin' an' wanted to pen over night
+  A small bunch of horses, he said; an' I told him I guessed 'twas all
+      right.
+
+  Well, the feller was busted, the horses was thin, an' the grass round
+      here kind of good,
+  An' he said if I'd let him hold here a few days he'd settle with me
+      when he could.
+  So I told him all right, turn them loose down the draw, that
+      the latch string was always untied,
+  He was welcome to stop a few days if he wished and rest from his weary
+      ride.
+
+  Well, the cuss stayed around for two or three weeks, till at last he
+      was ready to go;
+  And that cuss out yonder bein' too poor to move, he gimme,--the cuss
+      had no dough.
+  Well, at first the darn brute was as wild as a deer, an' would snort
+      when he came to the branch,
+  An' it took two cow punchers, on good horses, too, to handle him here
+      at the ranch.
+
+  Well, the winter came on an' the range it got hard, an' my mustang
+      commenced to get thin,
+  So I fed him some an' rode him around, an' found out old Freckles was
+      game.
+  For that was what the other cuss called him,--just Freckles, no more
+      or no less,--
+  His color,--couldn't describe it,--something like a paint shop in
+      distress.
+
+  Them was Indian times, young feller, that I am telling about;
+  An' oft's the time I've seen the red man fight an' put the boys to rout.
+  A good horse in them days, young feller, would save your life,--
+  One that in any race could hold the pace when the red-skin bands were
+      rife.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+WHOSE OLD COW?
+
+
+  'Twas the end of round-up, the last day of June,
+  Or maybe July, I don't remember,
+  Or it might have been August, 'twas some time ago,
+  Or perhaps 'twas the first of September.
+
+  Anyhow, 'twas the round-up we had at Mayou
+  On the Lightning Rod's range, near Cayo;
+  There were some twenty wagons, more or less, camped about
+  On the temporal in the canon.
+
+  First night we'd no cattle, so we only stood guard
+  On the horses, somewhere near two hundred head;
+  So we side-lined and hoppled, we belled and we staked,
+  Loosed our hot-rolls and fell into bed.
+
+  Next morning 'bout day break we started our work,
+  Our horses, like 'possums, felt fine.
+  Each one "tendin' knittin'," none tryin' to shirk!
+  So the round-up got on in good time.
+
+  Well, we worked for a week till the country was clean
+  And the bosses said, "Now, boys, we'll stay here.
+  We'll carve and we'll trim 'em and start out a herd
+  Up the east trail from old Abilene."
+
+  Next morning all on herd, and but two with the cut,
+  And the boss on Piute, carving fine,
+  Till he rode down his horse and had to pull out,
+  And a new man went in to clean up.
+
+  Well, after each outfit had worked on the band
+  There was only three head of them left;
+  When Nig Add from L F D outfit rode in,--
+  A dictionary on earmarks and brands.
+
+  He cut the two head out, told where they belonged;
+  But when the last cow stood there alone
+  Add's eyes bulged so he didn't know just what to say,
+  'Ceptin', "Boss, dere's something here monstrous wrong!
+
+  "White folks smarter'n Add, and maybe I'se wrong;
+  But here's six months' wages dat I'll give
+  If anyone'll tell me when I reads dis mark
+  To who dis longhorned cow belong!
+
+  "Overslope in right ear an' de underbill,
+  Lef' ear swaller fork an' de undercrop,
+  Hole punched in center, an' de jinglebob
+  Under half crop, an' de slash an' split.
+
+  "She's got O Block an' Lightnin' Rod,
+  Nine Forty-Six an' A Bar Eleven,
+  T Terrapin an' Ninety-Seven,
+  Rafter Cross an' de Double Prod.
+
+  "Half circle A an' Diamond D,
+  Four Cross L and Three P Z,
+  B W I bar, X V V,
+  Bar N cross an' A L C.
+
+  "So, if none o' you punchers claims dis cow,
+  Mr. Stock 'Sociation needn't git 'larmed;
+  For one more brand more or less won't do no harm,
+  So old Nigger Add'l just brand her now."
+
+
+
+
+OLD TIME COWBOY
+
+
+  Come all you melancholy folks wherever you may be,
+  I'll sing you about the cowboy whose life is light and free.
+  He roams about the prairie, and, at night when he lies down,
+  His heart is as gay as the flowers in May in his bed upon the ground.
+
+  They're a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them, at least;
+  But if you do not hunt a quarrel you can live with them in peace;
+  For if you do, you're sure to rue the day you joined their band.
+  They will follow you up and shoot it out with you just man to man.
+
+  Did you ever go to a cowboy whenever hungry and dry,
+  Asking for a dollar, and have him you deny?
+  He'll just pull out his pocket book and hand you a note,--
+  They are the fellows to help you whenever you are broke.
+
+  Go to their ranches and stay a while, they never ask a cent;
+  And when they go to town, their money is freely spent.
+  They walk straight up and take a drink, paying for every one,
+  And they never ask your pardon for anything they've done.
+
+  When they go to their dances, some dance while others pat
+  They ride their bucking bronchos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats;
+  With their California saddles, and their pants stuck in their boots,
+  You can hear their spurs a-jingling, and perhaps some of them shoots.
+
+  Come all soft-hearted tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun;
+  Go live among the cowboys, they'll show you how it's done.
+  They'll treat you like a prince, my boys, about them there's nothing
+      mean;
+  But don't try to give them too much advice, for all of them ain't green.
+
+
+
+
+BUCKING BRONCHO
+
+
+  My love is a rider, wild bronchos he breaks,
+  Though he's promised to quit it, just for my sake.
+  He ties up one foot, the saddle puts on,
+  With a swing and a jump he is mounted and gone.
+
+  The first time I met him, 'twas early one spring,
+  Riding a broncho, a high-headed thing.
+  He tipped me a wink as he gaily did go;
+  For he wished me to look at his bucking broncho.
+
+  The next time I saw him 'twas late in the fall,
+  Swinging the girls at Tomlinson's ball.
+  He laughed and he talked as we danced to and fro,
+  Promised never to ride on another broncho.
+
+  He made me some presents, among them a ring;
+  The return that I made him was a far better thing;
+  'Twas a young maiden's heart, I'd have you all know;
+  He's won it by riding his bucking broncho.
+
+  My love has a gun, and that gun he can use,
+  But he's quit his gun fighting as well as his booze;
+  And he's sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,
+  And there's no more cow punching, and that's what I hope.
+
+  My love has a gun that has gone to the bad,
+  Which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad;
+  For the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low,
+  And it wobbles about like a bucking broncho.
+
+  Now all you young maidens, where'er you reside,
+  Beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide;
+  He'll court you and pet you and leave you and go
+  In the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho.
+
+
+
+
+THE PECOS QUEEN
+
+
+  Where the Pecos River winds and turns in its journey to the sea,
+  From its white walls of sand and rock striving ever to be free,
+  Near the highest railroad bridge that all these modern times have seen,
+  Dwells fair young Patty Morehead, the Pecos River queen.
+
+  She is known by every cowboy on the Pecos River wide,
+  They know full well that she can shoot, that she can rope and ride.
+  She goes to every round-up, every cow work without fail,
+  Looking out for her cattle, branded "walking hog on rail."
+
+  She made her start in cattle, yes, made it with her rope;
+  Can tie down every maverick before it can strike a lope.
+  She can rope and tie and brand it as quick as any man;
+  She's voted by all cowboys an A-1 top cow hand.
+
+  Across the Comstock railroad bridge, the highest in the West,
+  Patty rode her horse one day, a lover's heart to test;
+  For he told her he would gladly risk all dangers for her sake--
+  But the puncher wouldn't follow, so she's still without a mate.
+
+
+
+
+CHOPO
+
+
+  Through rocky arroyas so dark and so deep,
+  Down the sides of the mountains so slippery and steep,--
+  You've good judgment, sure-footed, wherever you go,
+  You're a safety conveyance, my little Chopo.
+
+    Refrain:--
+    Chopo, my pony, Chopo, my pride,
+    Chopo, my amigo, Chopo I will ride.
+    From Mexico's borders 'cross Texas' Llano
+    To the salt Pecos River, I ride you, Chopo.
+
+  Whether single or double or in the lead of the team,
+  Over highways or byways or crossing a stream,--
+  You're always in fix and willing to go,
+  Whenever you're called on, my chico Chopo.
+
+  You're a good roping horse, you were never jerked down,
+  When tied to a steer, you will circle him round;
+  Let him once cross the string and over he'll go,--
+  You sabe the business, my cow-horse, Chopo.
+
+  One day on the Llano a hailstorm began,
+  The herds were stampeded, the horses all ran,
+  The lightning it glittered, a cyclone did blow,
+  But you faced the sweet music, my little Chopo.
+
+
+
+
+TOP HAND
+
+
+  While you're all so frisky I'll sing a little song,--
+  Think a little horn of whiskey will help the thing along?
+  It's all about the Top Hand, when he busted flat
+  Bummin' round the town, in his Mexican hat.
+  He's laid up all winter, and his pocket book is flat,
+  His clothes are all tatters, but he don't mind that.
+
+  See him in town with a crowd that he knows,
+  Rollin' cigarettes and smokin' through his nose.
+  First thing he tells you, he owns a certain brand,--
+  Leads you to think he is a daisy hand;
+  Next thing he tells you 'bout his trip up the trail,
+  All the way to Kansas, to finish out his tale.
+
+  Put him on a hoss, he's a handy hand to work;
+  Put him in the brandin'-pen, he's dead sure to shirk.
+  With his natural leaf tobacco in the pockets of his vest
+  He'll tell you his California pants are the best.
+  He's handled lots of cattle, hasn't any fears,
+  Can draw his sixty dollars for the balance of his years.
+
+  Put him on herd, he's a-cussin' all day;
+  Anything he tries, it's sure to get away.
+  When you have a round-up, he tells it all about
+  He's goin' to do the cuttin' an' you can't keep him out.
+  If anything goes wrong, he lays it on the screws,
+  Says the lazy devils were tryin' to take a snooze.
+
+  When he meets a greener he ain't afraid to rig,
+  Stands him on a chuck box and makes him dance a jig,--
+  Waves a loaded cutter, makes him sing and shout,--
+  He's a regular Ben Thompson when the boss ain't about.
+  When the boss ain't about he leaves his leggins in camp,
+  He swears a man who wears them is worse than a tramp.
+
+  Says he's not carin' for the wages he earns,
+  For Dad's rich in Texas,--got wagon loads to burn;
+  But when he goes to town, he's sure to take it in,
+  He's always been dreaded wherever he's been.
+  He rides a fancy horse, he's a favorite man,
+  Can get more credit than a common waddie can.
+
+  When you ship the cattle he's bound to go along
+  To keep the boss from drinking and see that nothing's wrong.
+  Wherever he goes, catch on to his name,
+  He likes to be called with a handle to his name.
+  He's always primping with a pocket looking-glass,
+  From the top to the bottom he's a bold Jackass.
+
+
+
+
+CALIFORNIA TRAIL
+
+
+  List all you California boys
+  And open wide your ears,
+  For now we start across the plains
+  With a herd of mules and steers.
+  Now, bear in mind before you start,
+  That you'll eat jerked beef, not ham,
+  And antelope steak, Oh cuss the stuff!
+  It often proves a sham.
+
+  You cannot find a stick of wood
+  On all this prairie wide;
+  Whene'er you eat you've got to stand
+  Or sit on some old bull hide.
+  It's fun to cook with buffalo chips
+  Or mesquite, green as corn,--
+  If I'd once known what I know now
+  I'd have gone around Cape Horn.
+
+  The women have the hardest time
+  Who emigrate by land;
+  For when they cook out in the wind
+  They're sure to burn their hand.
+  Then they scold their husbands round,
+  Get mad and spill the tea,--
+  I'd have thanked my stars if they'd not come out
+  Upon this bleak prairie.
+
+  Most every night we put out guards
+  To keep the Indians off.
+  When night comes round some heads will ache,
+  And some begin to cough.
+  To be deprived of help at night,
+  You know is mighty hard,
+  But every night there's someone sick
+  To keep from standing guard.
+
+  Then they're always talking of what they've got,
+  And what they're going to do;
+  Some will say they're content,
+  For I've got as much as you.
+  Others will say, "I'll buy or sell,
+  I'm damned if I care which."
+  Others will say, "Boys, buy him out,
+  For he doesn't own a stitch."
+
+  Old raw-hide shoes are hell on corns
+  While tramping through the sands,
+  And driving jackass by the tail,--
+  Damn the overland!
+  I would as leaf be on a raft at sea
+  And there at once be lost.
+  John, let's leave the poor old mule,
+  We'll never get him across!
+
+
+
+
+BRONC PEELER'S SONG
+
+
+  I've been upon the prairie,
+  I've been upon the plain,
+  I've never rid a steam-boat,
+  Nor a double-cinched-up train.
+  But I've driv my eight-up to wagon
+  That were locked three in a row,
+  And that through blindin' sand storms,
+  And all kinds of wind and snow.
+
+    Cho:--
+    Goodbye, Liza, poor gal,
+    Goodbye, Liza Jane,
+    Goodbye, Liza, poor gal,
+    She died on the plain.
+
+  There never was a place I've been
+  Had any kind of wood.
+  We burn the roots of bar-grass
+  And think it's very good.
+  I've never tasted home bread,
+  Nor cakes, nor muss like that;
+  But I know fried dough and beef
+  Pulled from red-hot tallow fat.
+
+  I hate to see the wire fence
+  A-closin' up the range;
+  And all this fillin' in the trail
+  With people that is strange.
+  We fellers don't know how to plow,
+  Nor reap the golden grain;
+  But to round up steers and brand the cows
+  To us was allus plain.
+
+  So when this blasted country
+  Is all closed in with wire,
+  And all the top, as trot grass,
+  Is burnin' in Sol's fire,
+  I hope the settlers will be glad
+  When rain hits the land.
+  And all us cowdogs are in hell
+  With a "set"[9] joined hand in hand.
+
+[Footnote 9: "set" means settler.]
+
+
+
+
+A DEER HUNT
+
+
+  One pleasant summer day it came a storm of snow;
+  I picked my old gun and a-hunting I did go.
+
+  I came across a herd of deer and I trailed them through the snow,
+  I trailed them to the mountains where straight up they did go.
+
+  I trailed them o'er the mountains, I trailed them to the brim,
+  And I trailed them to the waters where they jumped in to swim.
+
+  I cocked both my pistols and under water went,--
+  To kill the fattest of them deer, that was my whole intent.
+
+  While I was under water five hundred feet or more
+  I fired both my pistols; like cannons did they roar.
+
+  I picked up my venison and out of water came,--
+  To kill the balance of them deer, I thought it would be fun.
+
+  So I bent my gun in circles and fired round a hill.
+  And, out of three or four deer, ten thousand I did kill.
+
+  Then I picked up my venison and on my back I tied
+  And as the sun came passing by I hopped up there to ride.
+
+  The sun she carried me o'er the globe, so merrily I did roam
+  That in four and twenty hours I landed safe at home.
+
+  And the money I received for my venison and skin,
+  I taken it all to the barn door and it would not all go in.
+
+  And if you doubt the truth of this I tell you how to know:
+  Just take my trail and go my rounds, as I did, long ago.
+
+
+
+
+WINDY BILL
+
+
+  Windy Bill was a Texas man,--
+  Well, he could rope, you bet.
+  He swore the steer he couldn't tie,--
+  Well, he hadn't found him yet.
+  But the boys they knew of an old black steer,
+  A sort of an old outlaw
+  That ran down in the malpais
+  At the foot of a rocky draw.
+
+  This old black steer had stood his ground
+  With punchers from everywhere;
+  So they bet old Bill at two to one
+  That he couldn't quite get there.
+  Then Bill brought out his old gray hoss,
+  His withers and back were raw,
+  And prepared to tackle the big black brute
+  That ran down in the draw.
+
+  With his brazen bit and his Sam Stack tree
+  His chaps and taps to boot,
+  And his old maguey tied hard and fast,
+  Bill swore he'd get the brute.
+  Now, first Bill sort of sauntered round
+  Old Blackie began to paw,
+  Then threw his tail straight in the air
+  And went driftin' down the draw.
+
+  The old gray plug flew after him,
+  For he'd been eatin' corn;
+  And Bill, he piled his old maguey
+  Right round old Blackie's horns.
+  The old gray hoss he stopped right still;
+  The cinches broke like straw,
+  And the old maguey and the Sam Stack tree
+  Went driftin' down the draw.
+
+  Bill, he lit in a flint rock pile,
+  His face and hands were scratched.
+  He said he thought he could rope a snake
+  But he guessed he'd met his match.
+  He paid his bets like a little man
+  Without a bit of jaw,
+  And lowed old Blackie was the boss
+  Of anything in the draw.
+
+  There's a moral to my story, boys,
+  And that you all must see.
+  Whenever you go to tie a snake,[10]
+  Don't tie it to your tree;
+  But take your dolly welters[11]
+  'Cordin' to California law,
+  And you'll never see your old rim-fire[12]
+  Go drifting down the draw.
+
+[Footnote 10: snake, bad steer.]
+
+[Footnote 11: Dolly welter, rope tied all around the saddle.]
+
+[Footnote 12: rim-fire saddle, without flank girth.]
+
+
+
+
+WILD ROVERS
+
+
+  Come all you wild rovers
+  And listen to me
+  While I retail to you
+  My sad history.
+  I'm a man of experience
+  Your favors to gain,
+  Oh, love has been the ruin
+  Of many a poor man.
+
+  When you are single
+  And living at your ease
+  You can roam this world over
+  And do as you please;
+  You can roam this world over
+  And go where you will
+  And slyly kiss a pretty girl
+  And be your own still.
+
+  But when you are married
+  And living with your wife,
+  You've lost all the joys
+  And comforts of life.
+  Your wife she will scold you,
+  Your children will cry,
+  And that will make papa
+  Look withered and dry.
+
+  You can't step aside, boys,
+  To speak to a friend
+  Without your wife at your elbow
+  Saying, "What does this mean?"
+  Your wife, she will scold
+  And there is sad news.
+  Dear boys, take warning;
+  'Tis a life to refuse.
+
+  If you chance to be riding
+  Along the highway
+  And meet a fair maiden,
+  A lady so gay,
+  With red, rosy cheeks
+  And sparkling blue eyes,--
+  Oh, heavens! what a tumult
+  In your bosom will rise!
+
+  One more request, boys,
+  Before we must part:
+  Don't place your affections
+  On a charming sweetheart;
+  She'll dance before you
+  Your favors to gain.
+  Oh, turn your back on them
+  With scorn and disdain!
+
+  Come close to the bar, boys,
+  We'll drink all around.
+  We'll drink to the pure,
+  If any be found;
+  We'll drink to the single,
+  For I wish them success;
+  Likewise to the married,
+  For I wish them no less.
+
+
+
+
+LIFE IN A HALF-BREED SHACK
+
+
+  'Tis life in a half-breed shack,
+  The rain comes pouring down;
+  "Drip" drops the mud through the roof,
+  And the wind comes through the wall.
+  A tenderfoot cursed his luck
+  And feebly cried out "yah!"
+
+    Refrain:
+    Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma!
+    Yah! Yah! this bloomin' country's a fraud!
+    Yah! Yah! I want to go home to my ma!
+
+  He tries to kindle a fire
+  When it's forty-five below;
+  He aims to chop at a log
+  And amputates his toe;
+  He hobbles back to the shack
+  And feebly cries out "yah"!
+
+  He gets on a bucking cayuse
+  And thinks to flourish around,
+  But the buzzard-head takes to bucking
+  And lays him flat out on the ground.
+  As he picks himself up with a curse,
+  He feebly cries out "yah"!
+
+  He buys all the town lots he can get
+  In the wrong end of Calgary,
+  And he waits and he waits for the boom
+  Until he's dead broke like me.
+  He couldn't get any tick
+  So he feebly cries out "yah"!
+
+  He couldn't do any work
+  And he wouldn't know how if he could;
+  So the police run him for a vag
+  And set him to bucking wood.
+  As he sits in the guard room cell,
+  He feebly cries out "yah"!
+
+  Come all ye tenderfeet
+  And listen to what I say,
+  If you can't get a government job
+  You had better remain where you be.
+  Then you won't curse your luck
+  And cry out feebly "yah"!
+
+
+
+
+THE ROAD TO COOK'S PEAK
+
+
+  If you'll listen a while I'll sing you a song,
+  And as it is short it won't take me long.
+  There are some things of which I will speak
+  Concerning the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  Concerning the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+  It was in the morning at eight-forty-five,
+  I was hooking up all ready to drive
+  Out where the miners for minerals seek,
+  With two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  With two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+  With my two little mules I jog along
+  And try to cheer them with ditty and song;
+  O'er the wide prairie where coyotes sneak,
+  While driving the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  While driving the stage on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+  Sometimes I have to haul heavy freight,
+  Then it is I get home very late.
+  In rain or shine, six days in the week,
+  'Tis the same little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  'Tis the same little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+  And when with the driving of stage I am through
+  I will to my two little mules bid adieu.
+  And hope that those creatures, so gentle and meek,
+  Will have a good friend on the road to Cook's Peak.
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  Will have a good friend on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+  Now all kind friends that travel about,
+  Come take a trip on the Wallis stage route.
+  With a plenty of grit, they never get weak,--
+  Those two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  On the road to Cook's Peak,--
+  Those two little mules on the road to Cook's Peak.
+
+
+
+
+ARAPHOE, OR BUCKSKIN JOE
+
+
+  'Twas a calm and peaceful evening in a camp called Araphoe,
+  And the whiskey was a running with a soft and gentle flow,
+  The music was a-ringing in a dance hall cross the way,
+  And the dancers was a-swinging just as close as they could lay.
+
+  People gathered round the tables, a-betting with their wealth,
+  And near by stood a stranger who had come there for his health.
+  He was a peaceful little stranger though he seemed to be unstrung;
+  For just before he'd left his home he'd separated with one lung.
+
+  Nearby at a table sat a man named Hankey Dean,
+  A tougher man says Hankey, buckskin chaps had never seen.
+  But Hankey was a gambler and he was plum sure to lose;
+  For he had just departed with a sun-dried stack of blues.
+
+  He rose from the table, on the floor his last chip flung,
+  And cast his fiery glimmers on the man with just one lung.
+  "No wonder I've been losing every bet I made tonight
+  When a sucker and a tenderfoot was between me and the light.
+
+  Look here, little stranger, do you know who I am?"
+  "Yes, and I don't care a copper colored damn."
+  The dealers stopped their dealing and the players held their breath;
+  For words like those to Hankey were a sudden flirt with death.
+
+  "Listen, gentle stranger, I'll read my pedigree:
+  I'm known on handling tenderfeet and worser men than thee;
+  The lions on the mountains, I've drove them to their lairs;
+  The wild-cats are my playmates, and I've wrestled grizzly bears;
+
+  "Why, the centipedes can't mar my tough old hide,
+  And rattle snakes have bit me and crawled off and died.
+  I'm as wild as the horse that roams the range;
+  The moss grows on my teeth and wild blood flows through my veins.
+
+  "I'm wild and woolly and full of fleas
+  And never curried below the knees.
+  Now, little stranger, if you'll give me your address,--
+  How would you like to go, by fast mail or express?"
+
+  The little stranger who was leaning on the door
+  Picked up a hand of playing cards that were scattered on the floor.
+  Picking out the five of spades, he pinned it to the door
+  And then stepped back some twenty paces or more.
+
+  He pulled out his life-preserver, and with a "one, two, three, four,"
+  Blotted out a spot with every shot;
+  For he had traveled with a circus and was a fancy pistol shot.
+  "I have one more left, kind sir, if you wish to call the play."
+
+  Then Hanke stepped up to the stranger and made a neat apology,
+  "Why, the lions in the mountains,--that was nothing but a joke.
+  Never mind about the extra, you are a bad shooting man,
+  And I'm a meek little child and as harmless as a lamb."
+
+
+
+
+ROUNDED UP IN GLORY
+
+
+  I have been thinking to-day,
+  As my thoughts began to stray,
+  Of your memory to me worth more than gold.
+  As you ride across the plain,
+  'Mid the sunshine and the rain,--
+  You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye.
+
+      Chorus:
+      You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye,
+      You will be rounded up in glory bye and bye,
+      When the milling time is o'er
+      And you will stampede no more,
+      When he rounds you up within the Master's fold.
+
+  As you ride across the plain
+  With the cowboys that have fame,
+  And the storms and the lightning flash by.
+  We shall meet to part no more
+  Upon the golden shore
+  When he rounds us up in glory bye and bye.
+
+  May we lift our voices high
+  To that sweet bye and bye,
+  And be known by the brand of the Lord;
+  For his property we are,
+  And he will know us from afar
+  When he rounds us up in glory bye and bye.
+
+
+
+
+THE DRUNKARD'S HELL
+
+
+  It was on a cold and stormy night
+  I saw and heard an awful sight;
+  The lightning flashed and thunder rolled
+  Around my poor benighted soul.
+
+  I thought I heard a mournful sound
+  Among the groans still lower down,
+  That awful sight no tongue can tell
+  Is this,--the place called Drunkard's Hell.
+
+  I thought I saw the gulf below
+  Where all the dying drunkards go.
+  I raised my hand and sad to tell
+  It was the place called Drunkard's Hell.
+
+  I traveled on and got there at last
+  And started to take a social glass;
+  But every time I started,--well,
+  I thought about the Drunkard's Hell.
+
+  I dashed it down to leave that place
+  And started to seek redeeming grace.
+  I felt like Paul, at once I'd pray
+  Till all my sins were washed away.
+
+  I then went home to change my life
+  And see my long neglected wife.
+  I found her weeping o'er the bed
+  Because her infant babe was dead.
+
+  I told her not to mourn and weep
+  Because her babe had gone to sleep;
+  Its happy soul had fled away
+  To dwell with Christ till endless day.
+
+  I taken her by her pale white hand,
+  She was so weak she could not stand;
+  I laid her down and breathed a prayer
+  That God might bless and save her there.
+
+  I then went to the Temperance hall
+  And taken a pledge among them all.
+  They taken me in with a willing hand
+  And taken me in as a temperance man.
+
+  So seven long years have passed away
+  Since first I bowed my knees to pray;
+  So now I live a sober life
+  With a happy home and a loving wife.
+
+
+
+
+RAMBLING BOY
+
+
+  I am a wild and roving lad,
+  A wild and rambling lad I'll be;
+  For I do love a little girl
+  And she does love me.
+
+  "O Willie, O Willie, I love you so,
+  I love you more than I do know;
+  And if my tongue could tell you so
+  I'd give the world to let you know."
+
+  When Julia's old father came this to know,--
+  That Julia and Willie were loving so,--
+  He ripped and swore among them all,
+  And swore he'd use a cannon ball.
+
+  She wrote Willie a letter with her right hand
+  And sent it to him in the western land.
+  "Oh, read these lines, sweet William dear.
+  For this is the last of me you will hear."
+
+  He read those lines while he wept and cried,
+  "Ten thousand times I wish I had died",
+  He read those lines while he wept and said,
+  "Ten thousand times I wish I were dead."
+
+  When her old father came home that night
+  He called for Julia, his heart's delight,
+  He ran up stairs and her door he broke
+  And found her hanging by her own bed rope.
+
+  And with his knife he cut her down,
+  And in her bosom this note he found
+  Saying, "Dig my grave both deep and wide
+  And bury sweet Willie by my side."
+
+  They dug her grave both deep and wide
+  And buried sweet Willie by her side;
+  And on her grave set a turtle dove
+  To show the world they died for love.
+
+
+
+
+BRIGHAM YOUNG. I.
+
+
+  I'll sing you a song that has often been sung
+  About an old Mormon they called Brigham Young.
+  Of wives he had many who were strong in the lungs,
+  Which Brigham found out by the length of their tongues.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+  Oh, sad was the life of a Mormon to lead,
+  Yet Brigham adhered all his life to his creed.
+  He said 'twas such fun, and true, without doubt,
+  To see the young wives knock the old ones about.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+  One day as old Brigham sat down to his dinner
+  He saw a young wife who was not getting thinner;
+  When the elders cried out, one after the other,
+  By the holy, she wants to go home to her mother.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+  Old Brigham replied, which can't be denied,
+  He couldn't afford to lose such a bride.
+  Then do not be jealous but banish your fears;
+  For the tree is well known by the fruit that it bears.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+  That I love one and all you very well know,
+  Then do not provoke me or my anger will show.
+  What must be our fate if found here in a row,
+  If Uncle Sam comes with his row-de-dow-dow.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+  Then cease all your quarrels and do not despair,
+  To meet Uncle Sam I will quickly prepare.
+  Hark! I hear Yankee Doodle played over the hills!
+  Ah! here's the enemy with their powder and pills.
+  Ri tu ral, lol, lu ral.
+
+
+
+
+BRIGHAM YOUNG. II.
+
+
+  Now Brigham Young is a Mormon bold,
+  And a leader of the roaring rams,
+  And shepherd of a lot of fine tub sheep
+  And a lot of pretty little lambs.
+  Oh, he lives with his five and forty wives,
+  In the city of the Great Salt Lake,
+  Where they breed and swarm like hens on a farm
+  And cackle like ducks to a drake.
+
+      Chorus:--
+    Oh Brigham, Brigham Young,
+    It's a miracle how you survive,
+    With your roaring rams and your pretty little lambs
+    And your five and forty wives.
+
+  Number forty-five is about sixteen,
+  Number one is sixty and three;
+  And they make such a riot, how he keeps them quiet
+  Is a downright mystery to me.
+  For they clatter and they chaw and they jaw, jaw, jaw,
+  And each has a different desire;
+  It would aid the renown of the best shop in town
+  To supply them with half they desire.
+
+  Now, Brigham Young was a stout man once,
+  And now he is thin and old;
+  And I am sorry to state he is bald on the pate,
+  Which once had a covering of gold.
+  For his oldest wives won't have white wool,
+  And his young ones won't have red,
+  So, with tearing it out, and taking turn about,
+  They have torn all the hair off his head.
+
+  Now, the oldest wives sing songs all day,
+  And the young ones all sing songs;
+  And amongst such a crowd he has it pretty loud,--
+  They're as noisy as Chinese gongs.
+  And when they advance for a Mormon dance
+  He is filled with the direst alarms;
+  For they are sure to end the night in a tabernacle fight
+  To see who has the fairest charms.
+
+  Now, if any man here envies Brigham Young
+  Let him go to the Great Salt Lake;
+  And if he has the leisure to enjoy his pleasure,
+  He'll find it a great mistake.
+  One wife at a time, so says my rhyme,
+  Is enough,--there's no denial;--
+  So, before you strive to be lord of forty-five,
+  Take two for a month on trial.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD GRAY MULE
+
+
+  I am an old man some sixty years old
+  And that you can plain-li see,
+  But when I was a young man ten years old
+  They made a stable boy of me.
+
+  I have seen the fastest horses
+  That made the fastest time,
+  But I never saw one in all my life
+  Like that old gray mule of mine.
+
+  On a Sunday morn I dress myself,
+  A-goin' out to ride;
+  Now, my old mule is as gray as a bird,
+  Then he is full of his pride.
+
+  He never runs away with you,
+  Never cuts up any shine;
+  For the only friend I have on earth
+  Is this old gray mule of mine.
+
+  Now my old gray mule is dead and gone,
+  Gone to join the heavenly band,
+  With silver shoes upon his feet
+  To dance on the golden strand.
+
+
+
+
+THE FOOLS OF FORTY-NINE
+
+
+  When gold was found in forty-eight the people thought 'twas gas,
+  And some were fools enough to think the lumps were only brass.
+  But soon they all were satisfied and started off to mine;
+  They bought their ships, came round the Horn, in the days of forty-nine.
+
+    Refrain:
+    Then they thought of what they'd been told
+    When they started after gold,--
+    That they never in the world would make a pile.
+
+  The people all were crazy then, they didn't know what to do.
+  They sold their farms for just enough to pay their passage through.
+  They bid their friends a long farewell, said, "Dear wife, don't you cry,
+  I'll send you home the yellow lumps a piano for to buy."
+
+  The poor, the old, and the rotten scows were advertised to sail
+  From New Orleans with passengers, but they must pump and bail.
+  The ships were crowded more than full, and some hung on behind,
+  And others dived off from the wharf and swam till they were blind.
+
+  With rusty pork and stinking beef and rotten, wormy bread!
+  The captains, too, that never were up as high as the main mast head!
+  The steerage passengers would rave and swear that they'd paid their
+      passage
+  And wanted something more to eat beside bologna sausage.
+
+  They then began to cross the plain with oxen, hollowing "haw."
+  And steamers then began to run as far as Panama.
+  And there for months the people staid, that started after gold,
+  And some returned disgusted with the lies that had been told.
+
+  The people died on every route, they sickened and died like sheep;
+  And those at sea before they died were launched into the deep;
+  And those that died while crossing the plains fared not so well
+      as that,
+  For a hole was dug and they thrown in along the miserable Platte.
+
+  The ships at last began to arrive and the people began to inquire.
+  They say that flour is a dollar a pound, do you think it will be any
+      higher?
+  And to carry their blankets and sleep outdoors, it seemed so very droll!
+  Both tired and mad, without a cent, they damned the lousy hole.
+
+
+
+
+A RIPPING TRIP[13]
+
+
+  You go aboard a leaky boat
+  And sail for San Francisco,
+  You've got to pump to keep her afloat,
+  You've got that, by jingo!
+  The engine soon begins to squeak,
+  But nary a thing to oil her;
+  Impossible to stop the leak,--
+  Rip, goes the boiler.
+
+  The captain on the promenade
+  Looking very savage;
+  Steward and the cabin maid
+  Fightin' 'bout the cabbage;
+  All about the cabin floor
+  Passengers lie sea-sick;
+  Steamer bound to go ashore,--
+  Rip, goes the physic.
+
+  Pork and beans they can't afford,
+  The second cabin passengers;
+  The cook has tumbled overboard
+  With fifty pounds of sassengers;
+  The engineer, a little tight,
+  Bragging on the Mail Line,
+  Finally gets into a fight,--
+  Rip, goes the engine.
+
+[Footnote 13: To tune of _Pop Goes the Weasel_.]
+
+
+
+
+THE HAPPY MINER
+
+
+  I'm a happy miner,
+  I love to sing and dance.
+  I wonder what my love would say
+  If she could see my pants
+  With canvas patches on my knees
+  And one upon the stern?
+  I'll wear them when I'm digging here
+  And home when I return.
+
+    Refrain:
+    So I get in a jovial way,
+    I spend my money free.
+    And I've got plenty!
+    Will you drink lager beer with me?
+
+  She writes about her poodle dog;
+  But never thinks to say,
+  "Oh, do come home, my honey dear,
+  I'm pining all away."
+  I'll write her half a letter,
+  Then give the ink a tip.
+  If that don't bring her to her milk
+  I'll coolly let her rip.
+
+  They wish to know if I can cook
+  And what I have to eat,
+  And tell me should I take a cold
+  Be sure and soak my feet.
+  But when they talk of cooking
+  I'm mighty hard to beat,
+  I've made ten thousand loaves of bread
+  The devil couldn't eat.
+
+  I like a lazy partner
+  So I can take my ease,
+  Lay down and talk of golden home,
+  As happy as you please;
+  Without a thing to eat or drink,
+  Away from care and grief,--
+  I'm fat and sassy, ragged, too,
+  And tough as Spanish beef.
+
+  No matter whether rich or poor,
+  I'm happy as a clam.
+  I wish my friends at home could look
+  And see me as I am.
+  With woolen shirt and rubber boots,
+  In mud up to my knees,
+  And lice as large as chili beans
+  Fighting with the fleas.
+
+  I'll mine for half an ounce a day,
+  Perhaps a little less;
+  But when it comes to China pay
+  I cannot stand the press.
+  Like thousands there, I'll make a pile,
+  If I make one at all,
+  About the time the allied forces
+  Take Sepasterpol.
+
+
+
+
+THE CALIFORNIA STAGE COMPANY
+
+
+  There's no respect for youth or age
+  On board the California stage,
+  But pull and haul about the seats
+  As bed-bugs do about the sheets.
+
+    Refrain:
+    They started as a thieving line
+    In eighteen hundred and forty-nine;
+    All opposition they defy,
+    So the people must root hog or die.
+
+  You're crowded in with Chinamen,
+  As fattening hogs are in a pen;
+  And what will more a man provoke
+  Is musty plug tobacco smoke.
+
+  The ladies are compelled to sit
+  With dresses in tobacco spit;
+  The gentlemen don't seem to care,
+  But talk on politics and swear.
+
+  The dust is deep in summer time,
+  The mountains very hard to climb,
+  And drivers often stop and yell,
+  "Get out, all hands, and push up hill."
+
+  The drivers, when they feel inclined,
+  Will have you walking on behind,
+  And on your shoulders lug a pole
+  To help them out some muddy hole.
+
+  They promise when your fare you pay,
+  "You'll have to walk but half the way";
+  Then add aside, with cunning laugh,
+  "You'll have to push the other half."
+
+
+
+
+NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM
+
+
+  My country, 'tis of thee,
+  Land where things used to be
+  So cheap, we croak.
+  Land of the mavericks,
+  Land of the puncher's tricks,
+  Thy culture-inroad pricks
+  The hide of this peeler-bloke.
+
+  Some of the punchers swear
+  That what they eat and wear
+  Takes all their calves.
+  Others vow that they
+  Eat only once a day
+  Jerked beef and prairie hay
+  Washed down with tallow salves.
+
+  These salty-dogs[14] but crave
+  To pull them out the grave
+  Just one Kiowa spur.
+  They know they still will dine
+  On flesh and beef the time;
+  But give us, Lord divine,
+  One "hen-fruit stir."[15]
+
+  Our father's land, with thee,
+  Best trails of liberty,
+  We chose to stop.
+  We don't exactly like
+  So soon to henceward hike,
+  But hell, we'll take the pike
+  If this don't stop.
+
+[Footnote 14: Cowboy Dude.]
+
+[Footnote 15: Pancake.]
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cowboy Songs, by Various
+
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