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diff --git a/21300.txt b/21300.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0cc8bbe --- /dev/null +++ b/21300.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9925 @@ +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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COWBOY SONGS *** + +***** This file should be named 21300.txt or 21300.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/3/0/21300/ + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net. 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