Chapter II: Part 2

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.