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 sh.o.r.e, 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 a.s.sociates 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 pa.s.s 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!