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Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads

THE COWBOY'S DREAM 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 (p. 019) 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. THE COWBOY'S LIFE 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, (p. 021) 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. THE KANSAS LINE (p. 022) 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, (p. 023) 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 (p. 024) 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] (p. 025) 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 (p. 026) 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." JESSE JAMES (p. 027) 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 (p. 028) 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. <h4>Jesse James (p. 029)</h4> POOR LONESOME COWBOY (p. 032) 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, (p. 033) 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 (p. 034) 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 (p. 035) 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 (p. 036) Buena Vista's bloody field Tell her I dying lay, And that I knew she thought of me Some thousand miles away." WESTWARD HO (p. 037) 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 (p. 038) 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 (p. 039) 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, (p. 040) 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. TEXAS RANGERS (p. 044) 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 (p. 045) 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 (p. 046) 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 (p. 047) 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 (p. 048) 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 (p. 049) 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, (p. 050) 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 (p. 051) 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 (p. 052) 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 (p. 053) 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 (p. 054) 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 (p. 055) 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 (p. 056) 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 (p. 057) 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 (p. 058) 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 (p. 059) 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 (p. 060) 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 (p. 061) 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. JACK DONAHOO (p. 064) 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 (p. 065) 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 (p. 066) 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 (p. 067) 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, (p. 068) 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 (p. 069) 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 (p. 070) 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 (p. 071) 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 (p. 072) 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 (p. 073) 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 (p. 074) 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 (p. 075) 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 (p. 076) 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 (p. 077) 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 (p. 078) 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 (p. 079) 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 (p. 080) 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 (p. 081) 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 (p. 082) 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 (p. 083) 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 (p. 084) 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 (p. 085) 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 (p. 086) 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 (p. 087) 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 (p. 088) 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. THE U-S-U RANGE (p. 092) 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 (p. 093) 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 (p. 094) 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 (p. 095) 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 (p. 096) 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 (p. 097) 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. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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