Cowboy Songs Part 23

Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn, The life and light of the forest shade,-- The Red Chief's child is gone!

By Markentura's flowery marge the Spotted Fawn had birth And grew as fair an Indian maid as ever graced the earth.

She was the Red Chief's only child and sought by many a brave, But to the gallant young White Cloud her plighted troth she gave.

By Markentura's flowery marge the bridal song arose, Nor dreamed they in that festive night of near approaching woes; But through the forest stealthily the white man came in wrath.

And fiery darts before them spread, and death was in their path.

By Markentura's flowery marge next morn no strife was seen, But a wail went up, for the young Fawn's blood and White Cloud's dyed the green.

A burial in their own rude way the Indians gave them there, And a low sweet requiem the brook sang and the air.

Oh, the Spotted Fawn, oh, the Spotted Fawn, The life and light of the forest shade,-- The Red Chief's child is gone!

THE STATE OF ARKANSAW

My name is Stamford Barnes, I come from n.o.bleville town; I've traveled this wide world over, I've traveled this wide world round.

I've met with ups and downs in life but better days I've saw, But I've never knew what misery were till I came to Arkansaw.

I landed in St. Louis with ten dollars and no more; I read the daily papers till both my eyes were sore; I read them evening papers until at last I saw Ten thousand men were wanted in the state of Arkansaw.

I wiped my eyes with great surprise when I read this grateful news, And straightway off I started to see the agent, Billy Hughes.

He says, "Pay me five dollars and a ticket to you I'll draw, It'll land you safe upon the railroad in the State of Arkansaw."

I started off one morning a quarter after five; I started from St. Louis, half dead and half alive; I bought me a quart of whiskey my misery to thaw, I got as drunk as a biled owl when I left for old Arkansaw.

I landed in Ft. Smith one sultry Sunday afternoon, It was in the month of May, the early month of June, Up stepped a walking skeleton with a long and lantern jaw, Invited me to his hotel, "The best in Arkansaw."

I followed my conductor into his dwelling place; Poverty were depictured in his melancholy face.

His bread it was corn dodger, his beef I could not chaw; This was the kind of hash they fed me in the State of Arkansaw.

I started off next morning to catch the morning train, He says to me, "You'd better work, for I have some land to drain.

I'll pay you fifty cents a day, your board, was.h.i.+ng, and all,-- You'll find yourself a different man when you leave old Arkansaw."

I worked six weeks for the son of a gun, Jesse Herring was his name, He was six foot seven in his stocking feet and taller than any crane; His hair hung down in strings over his long and lantern jaw,-- He was a photograph of all the gents who lived in Arkansaw.

He fed me on corn dodgers as hard as any rock, Until my teeth began to loosen and my knees began to knock; I got so thin on sa.s.safras tea I could hide behind a straw, And indeed I was a different man when I left old Arkansaw.

Farewell to swamp angels, cane brakes, and chills; Farewell to sage and sa.s.safras and corn dodger pills.

If ever I see this land again, I'll give to you my paw; It will be through a telescope from here to Arkansaw.

THE TEXAS COWBOY

Oh, I am a Texas cowboy, Far away from home, If ever I get back to Texas I never more will roam.

Montana is too cold for me And the winters are too long; Before the round-ups do begin Our money is all gone.

Take this old hen-skin bedding, Too thin to keep me warm,-- I nearly freeze to death, my boys.

Whenever there's a storm.

And take this old "tarpoleon,"

Too thin to s.h.i.+eld my frame,-- I got it down in Nebraska A-dealin' a Monte game.

Now to win these fancy leggins I'll have enough to do; They cost me twenty dollars The day that they were new.

I have an outfit on the Mussel Sh.e.l.l, But that I'll never see, Unless I get sent to represent The Circle or D.T.

I've worked down in Nebraska Where the gra.s.s grows ten feet high, And the cattle are such rustlers That they seldom ever die;

I've worked up in the sand hills And down upon the Platte, Where the cowboys are good fellows And the cattle always fat;

I've traveled lots of country,-- Nebraska's hills of sand, Down through the Indian Nation, And up the Rio Grande;--

But the Bad Lands of Montana Are the worst I ever seen, The cowboys are all tenderfeet And the dogies are too lean.

If you want to see some bad lands, Go over on the Dry; You will bog down in the coulees Where the mountains reach the sky.

A tenderfoot to lead you Who never knows the way, You are playing in the best of luck If you eat more than once a day.

Your grub is bread and bacon And coffee black as ink; The water is so full of alkali It is hardly fit to drink.

They will wake you in the morning Before the break of day, And send you on a circle A hundred miles away.

All along the Yellowstone 'Tis cold the year around; You will surely get consumption By sleeping on the ground.

Work in Montana Is six months in the year; When all your bills are settled There is nothing left for beer.

Work down in Texas Is all the year around; You will never get consumption By sleeping on the ground.

Come all you Texas cowboys And warning take from me, And do not go to Montana To spend your money free.

But stay at home in Texas Where work lasts the year around, And you will never catch consumption By sleeping on the ground.

THE DREARY, DREARY LIFE

A cowboy's life is a dreary, dreary life, Some say it's free from care; Rounding up the cattle from morning till night In the middle of the prairie so bare.

Half-past four, the noisy cook will roar, "Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey!"