Chapter 7

Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale, I am an object of pity, I am looking quite stale, I gave up my trade selling Right's Patent Pills To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills.

Don't go away, stay at home if you can, Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne, For big Walipe or Comanche Bills They will lift up your hair on the dreary Black Hills.

The round-house in Cheyenne is filled every night With loafers and bummers of most every plight; On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills, Each day they keep starting for the dreary Black Hills.

I got to Cheyenne, no gold could I find, I thought of the lunch route I'd left far behind; Through rain, hail, and snow, frozen plumb to the gills,-- They call me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills.

Kind friend, to conclude, my advice I'll unfold, Don't go to the Black Hills a-hunting for gold; Railroad speculators their pockets you'll fill By taking a trip to those dreary Black Hills.

Don't go away, stay at home if you can, Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne, For old Sitting Bull or Comanche Bills They will take off your scalp on the dreary Black Hills.

The Dreary Black Hills (Mus. Not.)

Kind friends, you must pit-y my hor-ri-ble tale, I'm an ob-ject of pit-y, I'm look-ing quite stale; I gave up my trade, Selling Right's Pat-ent Pills, To go hunt-ing gold In the drear-y Black Hills.

REFRAIN

Don't go a-way, stay at home if you can; Stay a-way from that cit-y they call it Chey-enne; For big Wal-i-pee or Co-man-che Bills, They will lift up your hair On the drear-y Black Hills.

A MORMON SONG

I used to live on Cottonwood and owned a little farm, I was called upon a mission that gave me much alarm; The reason that they called me, I'm sure I do not know. But to hoe the cane and cotton, straightway I must go.

I yoked up Jim and Baldy, all ready for the start; To leave my farm and garden, it almost broke my heart; But at last we got started, I cast a look behind, For the sand and rocks of Dixie were running through my mind.

Now, when we got to Black Ridge, my wagon it broke down, And I, being no carpenter and forty miles from town,-- I cut a clumsy cedar and rigged an awkward slide, But the wagon ran so heavy poor Betsy couldn't ride.

While Betsy was out walking I told her to take care, When all of a sudden she struck a prickly pear, Then she began to hollow as loud as she could bawl,-- If I were back in Cottonwood, I wouldn't go at all.

Now, when we got to Sand Ridge, we couldn't go at all, Old Jim and old Baldy began to puff and loll, I cussed and swore a little, for I couldn't make the route, For the team and I and Betsy were all of us played out.

At length we got to Washington; I thought we'd stay a while To see if the flowers would make their virgin smile, But I was much mistaken, for when we went away The red hills of September were just the same in May.

It is so very dreary, there's nothing here to cheer, But old pathetic sermons we very often hear; They preach them by the dozens and prove them by the book, But I'd sooner have a roasting-ear and stay at home and cook.

I am so awful weary I'm sure I'm almost dead; 'Tis six long weeks last Sunday since I have tasted bread; Of turnip-tops and lucerne greens I've had enough to eat, But I'd like to change my diet to buckwheat cakes and meat.

I had to sell my wagon for sorghum seed and bread; Old Jim and old Baldy have long since been dead. There's no one left but me and Bet to hoe the cotton tree,-- God pity any Mormon that attempts to follow me!

THE BUFFALO HUNTERS

Come all you pretty girls, to you these lines I'll write, We are going to the range in which we take delight; We are going on the range as we poor hunters do, And the tender-footed fellows can stay at home with you.

It's all of the day long as we go tramping round In search of the buffalo that we may shoot him down; Our guns upon our shoulders, our belts of forty rounds, We send them up Salt River to some happy hunting grounds.

Our game, it is the antelope, the buffalo, wolf, and deer, Who roam the wide prairies without a single fear; We rob him of his robe and think it is no harm, To buy us food and clothing to keep our bodies warm.

The buffalo, he is the noblest of the band, He sometimes rejects in throwing up his hand. His shaggy main thrown forward, his head raised to the sky, He seems to say, "We're coming, boys; so hunter, mind your eye."

Our fires are made of mesquite roots, our beds are on the ground; Our houses made of buffalo hides, we make them tall and round; Our furniture is the camp kettle, the coffee pot, and pan, Our chuck it is both bread and meat, mingled well with sand.

Our neighbors are the Cheyennes, the 'Rapahoes, and Sioux, Their mode of navigation is a buffalo-hide canoe. And when they come upon you they take you unaware, And such a peculiar way they have of raising hunter's hair.

THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY

I am looking rather seedy now while holding down my claim, And my victuals are not always served the best; And the mice play shyly round me as I nestle down to rest In my little old sod shanty on my claim.

The hinges are of leather and the windows have no glass, While the board roof lets the howling blizzards in, And I hear the hungry cayote as he slinks up through the grass Round the little old sod shanty on my claim.

Yet, I rather like the novelty of living in this way, Though my bill of fare is always rather tame, But I'm happy as a clam on the land of Uncle Sam In the little old sod shanty on my claim.

But when I left my Eastern home, a bachelor so gay, To try and win my way to wealth and fame, I little thought I'd come down to burning twisted hay In the little old sod shanty on my claim.

My clothes are plastered o'er with dough, I'm looking like a fright, And everything is scattered round the room, But I wouldn't give the freedom that I have out in the West For the table of the Eastern man's old home.

Still, I wish that some kind-hearted girl would pity on me take And relieve me from the mess that I am in; The angel, how I'd bless her if this her home she'd make In the little old sod shanty on my claim.

And we would make our fortunes on the prairies of the West, Just as happy as two lovers we'd remain; We'd forget the trials and troubles we endured at the first In the little old sod shanty on my claim.

And if fate should bless us with now and then an heir To cheer our hearts with honest pride of fame, Oh, then we'd be contented for the toil that we had spent In the little old sod shanty on our claim.

When time enough had lapsed and all those little brats To noble man and womanhood had grown, It wouldn't seem half so lonely as round us we should look And we'd see the old sod shanty on our claim.

THE GOL-DARNED WHEEL

I can take the wildest bronco in the tough old woolly West. I can ride him, I can break him, let him do his level best; I can handle any cattle ever wore a coat of hair, And I've had a lively tussle with a tarnel grizzly bear. I can rope and throw the longhorn of the wildest Texas brand, And in Indian disagreements I can play a leading hand, But at last I got my master and he surely made me squeal When the boys got me a-straddle of that gol-darned wheel.

It was at the Eagle Ranch, on the Brazos, When I first found that darned contrivance that upset me in the dust. A tenderfoot had brought it, he was wheeling all the way From the sun-rise end of freedom out to San Francisco Bay. He tied up at the ranch for to get outside a meal, Never thinking we would monkey with his gol-darned wheel.

Arizona Jim begun it when he said to Jack McGill There was fellows forced to limit bragging on their riding skill, And he'd venture the admission the same fellow that he meant Was a very handy cutter far as riding bronchos went; But he would find that he was bucking 'gainst a different kind of deal If he threw his leather leggins 'gainst a gol-darned wheel.

Such a slam against my talent made me hotter than a mink, And I swore that I would ride him for amusement or for chink. And it was nothing but a plaything for the kids and such about, And they'd have their ideas shattered if they'd lead the critter out. They held it while I mounted and gave the word to go; The shove they gave to start me warn't unreasonably slow. But I never spilled a cuss word and I never spilled a squeal-- I was building reputation on that gol-darned wheel.

Holy Moses and the Prophets, how we split the Texas air, And the wind it made whip-crackers of my same old canthy hair, And I sorta comprehended as down the hill we went There was bound to be a smash-up that I couldn't well prevent. Oh, how them punchers bawled, "Stay with her, Uncle Bill! Stick your spurs in her, you sucker! turn her muzzle up the hill!" But I never made an answer, I just let the cusses squeal, I was finding reputation on that gol-darned wheel.

The grade was mighty sloping from the ranch down to the creek And I went a-galliflutin' like a crazy lightning streak,-- Went whizzing and a-darting first this way and then that, The darned contrivance sort o' wobbling like the flying of a bat. I pulled upon the handles, but I couldn't check it up, And I yanked and sawed and hollowed but the darned thing wouldn't stop. Then a sort of a meachin' in my brain began to steal, That the devil held a mortgage on that gol-darned wheel.

I've a sort of dim and hazy remembrance of the stop, With the world a-goin' round and the stars all tangled up; Then there came an intermission that lasted till I found I was lying at the ranch with the boys all gathered round, And a doctor was a-sewing on the skin where it was ripped, And old Arizona whispered, "Well, old boy, I guess you're whipped," And I told him I was busted from sombrero down to heel, And he grinned and said, "You ought to see that gol-darned wheel."

BONNIE BLACK BESS

When fortune's blind goddess Had fled my abode, And friends proved unfaithful, I took to the road; To plunder the wealthy And relieve my distress, I bought you to aid me, My Bonnie Black Bess.

No vile whip nor spur Did your sides ever gall, For none did you need, You would bound at my call; And for each act of kindness You would me caress, Thou art never unfaithful, My Bonnie Black Bess.

When dark, sable midnight Her mantle had thrown O'er the bright face of nature, How oft we have gone To the famed Houndslow heath, Though an unwelcome guest To the minions of fortune, My Bonnie Black Bess.

How silent you stood When the carriage I stopped, The gold and the jewels Its inmates would drop. No poor man I plundered Nor e'er did oppress The widows or orphans, My Bonnie Black Bess.

When Argus-eyed justice Did me hot pursue, From Yorktown to London Like lightning we flew. No toll bars could stop you, The waters did breast, And in twelve hours we made it, My Bonnie Black Bess.

But hate darkens o'er me, Despair is my lot, And the law does pursue me For the many I've shot; To save me, poor brute, Thou hast done thy best, Thou art worn out and weary, My Bonnie Black Bess.

Hark! they never shall have A beast like thee; So noble and gentle And brave, thou must die, My dumb friend, Though it does me distress,-- There! There! I have shot thee, My Bonnie Black Bess.

In after years When I am dead and gone, This story will be handed From father to son; My fate some will pity, And some will confess 'Twas through kindness I killed thee, My Bonnie Black Bess.

No one can e'er say That ingratitude dwelt In the bosom of Turpin,-- 'Twas a vice never felt. I will die like a man And soon be at rest; Now, farewell forever, My Bonnie Black Bess.

THE LAST LONGHORN

An ancient long-horned bovine Lay dying by the river; There was lack of vegetation And the cold winds made him shiver; A cowboy sat beside him With sadness in his face. To see his final passing,-- This last of a noble race.

The ancient eunuch struggled And raised his shaking head, Saying, "I care not to linger When all my friends are dead. These Jerseys and these Holsteins, They are no friends of mine; They belong to the nobility Who live across the brine.

"Tell the Durhams and the Herefords When they come a-grazing round, And see me lying stark and stiff Upon the frozen ground, I don't want them to bellow When they see that I am dead, For I was born in Texas Near the river that is Red.

"Tell the cayotes, when they come at night A-hunting for their prey, They might as well go further, For they'll find it will not pay. If they attempt to eat me, They very soon will see That my bones and hide are petrified,-- They'll find no beef on me.

"I remember back in the seventies, Full many summers past, There was grass and water plenty, But it was too good to last. I little dreamed what would happen Some twenty summers hence, When the nester came with his wife, his kids, His dogs, and his barbed-wire fence."

His voice sank to a murmur, His breath was short and quick; The cowboy tried to skin him When he saw he couldn't kick; He rubbed his knife upon his boot Until he made it shine, But he never skinned old longhorn, Caze he couldn't cut his rine.

And the cowboy riz up sadly And mounted his cayuse, Saying, "The time has come when longhorns And their cowboys are no use!" And while gazing sadly backward Upon the dead bovine, His bronc stepped in a dog-hole And fell and broke his spine.

The cowboys and the longhorns Who partnered in eighty-four Have gone to their last round-up Over on the other shore; They answered well their purpose, But their glory must fade and go, Because men say there's better things In the modern cattle show.

A PRISONER FOR LIFE

Fare you well, green fields, Soft meadows, adieu! Rocks and mountains, I depart from you; Nevermore shall my eyes By your beauties be blest, Nevermore shall you soothe My sad bosom to rest.

Farewell, little birdies, That fly in the sky, You fly all day long And sing your troubles by; I am doomed to this cell, I heave a deep sigh; My heart sinks within me, In anguish I die.

Fare you well, little fishes, That glides through the sea, Your life's all sunshine, All light, and all glee; Nevermore shall I watch Your skill in the wave, I'll depart from all friends This side of the grave.

What would I give Such freedom to share, To roam at my ease And breathe the fresh air; I would roam through the cities, Through village and dell, But I never would return To my cold prison cell.

What's life without liberty? I ofttimes have said, Of a poor troubled mind That's always in dread; No sun, moon, and stars Can on me now shine, No change in my danger From daylight till dawn.

Fare you well, kind friends, I am willing to own, Such a wild outcast Never was known; I'm the downfall of my family, My children, my wife; God pity and pardon The poor prisoner for life.

A Prisoner For Life (Mus. Not.)

Fare you well green fields,... Soft mead-ows, a-dieu! Rocks and moun-tains I de-part ... from you, Nev-er-more shall my eyes by your beau-ties be fed, Nev-er more shall you soothe my poor bo-som to rest.

THE WARS OF GERMANY

There was a wealthy merchant, In London he did dwell, He had an only daughter, The truth to you I'll tell. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

She was courted by a lord Of very high degree, She was courted by a sailor Jack Just from the wars of Germany. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

Her parents came to know this, That such a thing could be, A sailor Jack, a sailor lad, Just from the wars of Germany. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

So Polly she's at home With money at command, She taken a notion To view some foreign land. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

She went to the tailor's shop And dressed herself in man's array, And was off to an officer To carry her straight away. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

"Good morning," says the officer, And "Morning," says she, "Here's fifty guineas if you'll carry me To the wars of Germany." Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

"Your waist is too slender, Your fingers are too small, I am afraid from your countenance You can't face a cannon ball." Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

"My waist is not too slender, My fingers are not too small, And never would I quiver To face a cannon ball." Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

"We don't often 'list an officer Unless the name we know;" She answered him in a low, sweet voice, "You may call me Jack Munro." Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

We gathered up our men And quickly we did sail, We landed in France With a sweet and pleasant gale. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

We were walking on the land, Up and down the line,-- Among the dead and wounded Her own true love she did find. Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

She picked him up all in her arms, To Tousen town she went; She soon found a doctor To dress and heal his wounds, Sing I am left alone, Sing I am left alone.

So Jacky, he is married, And his bride by his side, In spite of her old parents And all the world beside. Sing no longer left alone, Sing no longer left alone.

FREIGHTING FROM WILCOX TO GLOBE

Come all you jolly freighters That has freighted on the road, That has hauled a load of freight From Wilcox to Globe; We freighted on this road For sixteen years or more A-hauling freight for Livermore,-- No wonder that I'm poor.

And it's home, dearest home; And it's home you ought to be, Over on the Gila In the white man's country, Where the poplar and the ash And mesquite will ever be Growing green down on the Gila; There's a home for you and me.

'Twas in the spring of seventy-three I started with my team, Led by false illusion And those foolish, golden dreams; The first night out from Wilcox My best wheel horse was stole, And it makes me curse a little To come out in the hole.

This then only left me three,-- Kit, Mollie and old Mike; Mike being the best one of the three I put him out on spike; I then took the mountain road So the people would not smile, And it took fourteen days To travel thirteen mile.

But I got there all the same With my little three-up spike; It taken all my money, then, To buy a mate for Mike. You all know how it is When once you get behind, You never get even again Till you damn steal them blind.

I was an honest man When I first took to the road, I would not swear an oath, Nor would I tap a load; But now you ought to see my mules When I begin to cuss, They flop their ears and wiggle their tails And pull the load or bust.

Now I can tap a whiskey barrel With nothing but a stick, No one can detect me I've got it down so slick; Just fill it up with water,-- Sure, there's no harm in that.

Now my clothes are not the finest, Nor are they genteel; But they will have to do me Till I can make another steal. My boots are number elevens, For I swiped them from a chow, And my coat cost dos reals From a little Apache squaw.

Now I have freighted in the sand, I have freighted in the rain, I have bogged my wagons down And dug them out again; I have worked both late and early Till I was almost dead, And I have spent some nights sleeping In an Arizona bed.

Now barbed wire and bacon Is all that they will pay, But you have to show your copper checks To get your grain and hay; If you ask them for five dollars, Old Meyers will scratch his pate, And the clerks in their white, stiff collars Say, "Get down and pull your freight."

But I want to die and go to hell, Get there before Livermore and Meyers, And get a job of hauling coke To keep up the devil's fires; If I get the job of singeing them, I'll see they don't get free; I'll treat them like a yaller dog, As they have treated me.

And it's home, dearest home; And it's home you ought to be, Over on the Gila, In the white man's country, Where the poplar and the ash And mesquite will ever be Growing green down on the Gila; There's a home for you and me.

THE ARIZONA BOYS AND GIRLS

Come all of you people, I pray you draw near, A comical ditty you all shall hear. The boys in this country they try to advance By courting the ladies and learning to dance,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

The boys in this country they try to be plain, Those words that you hear you may hear them again, With twice as much added on if you can. There's many a boy stuck up for a man,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

They will go to their parties, their whiskey they'll take, And out in the dark their bottles they'll break; You'll hear one say, "There's a bottle around here; So come around, boys, and we'll all take a share,"-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

There is some wears shoes and some wears boots, But there are very few that rides who don't shoot; More than this, I'll tell you what they'll do, They'll get them a watch and a ranger hat, too,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

They'll go in the hall with spurs on their heel, They'll get them a partner to dance the next reel, Saying, "How do I look in my new brown suit, With my pants stuffed down in the top of my boot?"-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

Now I think it's quite time to leave off these lads For here are some girls that's fully as bad; They'll trim up their dresses and curl up their hair, And like an old owl before the glass they'll stare,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

The girls in the country they grin like a cat, And with giggling and laughing they don't know what they're at, They think they're pretty and I tell you they're wise, But they couldn't get married to save their two eyes,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

You can tell a good girl wherever she's found; No trimming, no lace, no nonsense around; With a long-eared bonnet tied under her chin,-- . . . . . . . . . . . . And they're down, down, and they're down.

They'll go to church with their snuff-box in hand, They'll give it a tap to make it look grand; Perhaps there is another one or two And they'll pass it around and it's "Madam, won't you,"-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

Now, I think it's quite time for this ditty to end; If there's anyone here that it will offend, If there's anyone here that thinks it amiss Just come around now and give the singer a kiss,-- And they're down, down, and they're down.

THE DYING RANGER

The sun was sinking in the west And fell with lingering ray Through the branches of a forest Where a wounded ranger lay; Beneath the shade of a palmetto And the sunset silvery sky, Far away from his home in Texas They laid him down to die.