Cowboy Songs Part 38

'Tis the first cla.s.s sign of spring.

The elm wood is budding, The earth is turning green.

See the pretty things of nature That make life a pleasant dream!

I'm just living through the winter To enjoy the coming change, For there is no place so homelike As a cow camp on the range.

The boss is smiling radiant, Radiant as the setting sun; For he knows he's stealing glories, For he ain't a-cussin' none.

The cook is at the chuck-box Whistling "Heifers in the Green,"

Making baking powder biscuits, boys, While the pot is biling beans.

The boys untie their bedding And unroll it on the run, For they are in a monstrous hurry For the supper's almost done.

"Here's your b.l.o.o.d.y wolf bait,"

Cried the cook's familiar voice As he climbed the wagon wheel To watch the cowboys all rejoice.

Then all thoughts were turned from reverence To a plate of beef and beans, As we graze on beef and biscuits Like yearlings on the range.

To the d.i.c.kens with your city Where they herd the brainless brats, On a range so badly crowded There ain't room to cuss the cat.

This life is not so sumptuous, I'm not longing for a change, For there is no place so homelike As a cow camp on the range.

FRECKLES. A FRAGMENT

He was little an' peaked an' thin, an' narry a no account horse,-- Least that's the way you'd describe him in case that the beast had been lost; But, for single and double cussedness an' for double fired sin, The horse never came out o' Texas that was half-way knee-high to him!

The first time that ever I saw him was nineteen years ago last spring; 'Twas the year we had gra.s.shoppers, that come an' et up everything, That a feller rode up here one evenin' an' wanted to pen over night A small bunch of horses, he said; an' I told him I guessed 'twas all right.

Well, the feller was busted, the horses was thin, an' the gra.s.s round here kind of good, An' he said if I'd let him hold here a few days he'd settle with me when he could.

So I told him all right, turn them loose down the draw, that the latch string was always untied, He was welcome to stop a few days if he wished and rest from his weary ride.

Well, the cuss stayed around for two or three weeks, till at last he was ready to go; And that cuss out yonder bein' too poor to move, he gimme,--the cuss had no dough.

Well, at first the darn brute was as wild as a deer, an' would snort when he came to the branch, An' it took two cow punchers, on good horses, too, to handle him here at the ranch.

Well, the winter came on an' the range it got hard, an' my mustang commenced to get thin, So I fed him some an' rode him around, an' found out old Freckles was game.

For that was what the other cuss called him,--just Freckles, no more or no less,-- His color,--couldn't describe it,--something like a paint shop in distress.

Them was Indian times, young feller, that I am telling about; An' oft's the time I've seen the red man fight an' put the boys to rout.

A good horse in them days, young feller, would save your life,-- One that in any race could hold the pace when the red-skin bands were rife.

WHOSE OLD COW?

'Twas the end of round-up, the last day of June, Or maybe July, I don't remember, Or it might have been August, 'twas some time ago, Or perhaps 'twas the first of September.

Anyhow, 'twas the round-up we had at Mayou On the Lightning Rod's range, near Cayo; There were some twenty wagons, more or less, camped about On the temporal in the canon.

First night we'd no cattle, so we only stood guard On the horses, somewhere near two hundred head; So we side-lined and hoppled, we belled and we staked, Loosed our hot-rolls and fell into bed.

Next morning 'bout day break we started our work, Our horses, like 'possums, felt fine.

Each one "tendin' knittin'," none tryin' to s.h.i.+rk!

So the round-up got on in good time.

Well, we worked for a week till the country was clean And the bosses said, "Now, boys, we'll stay here.

We'll carve and we'll trim 'em and start out a herd Up the east trail from old Abilene."

Next morning all on herd, and but two with the cut, And the boss on Piute, carving fine, Till he rode down his horse and had to pull out, And a new man went in to clean up.

Well, after each outfit had worked on the band There was only three head of them left; When Nig Add from L F D outfit rode in,-- A dictionary on earmarks and brands.

He cut the two head out, told where they belonged; But when the last cow stood there alone Add's eyes bulged so he didn't know just what to say, 'Ceptin', "Boss, dere's something here monstrous wrong!

"White folks smarter'n Add, and maybe I'se wrong; But here's six months' wages dat I'll give If anyone'll tell me when I reads dis mark To who dis longhorned cow belong!

"Overslope in right ear an' de underbill, Lef' ear swaller fork an' de undercrop, Hole punched in center, an' de jinglebob Under half crop, an' de slash an' split.

"She's got O Block an' Lightnin' Rod, Nine Forty-Six an' A Bar Eleven, T Terrapin an' Ninety-Seven, Rafter Cross an' de Double Prod.

"Half circle A an' Diamond D, Four Cross L and Three P Z, B W I bar, X V V, Bar N cross an' A L C.

"So, if none o' you punchers claims dis cow, Mr. Stock 'Sociation needn't git 'larmed; For one more brand more or less won't do no harm, So old n.i.g.g.e.r Add'l just brand her now."

OLD TIME COWBOY

Come all you melancholy folks wherever you may be, I'll sing you about the cowboy whose life is light and free.

He roams about the prairie, and, at night when he lies down, His heart is as gay as the flowers in May in his bed upon the ground.

They're a little bit rough, I must confess, the most of them, at least; But if you do not hunt a quarrel you can live with them in peace; For if you do, you're sure to rue the day you joined their band.

They will follow you up and shoot it out with you just man to man.

Did you ever go to a cowboy whenever hungry and dry, Asking for a dollar, and have him you deny?

He'll just pull out his pocket book and hand you a note,-- They are the fellows to help you whenever you are broke.

Go to their ranches and stay a while, they never ask a cent; And when they go to town, their money is freely spent.

They walk straight up and take a drink, paying for every one, And they never ask your pardon for anything they've done.

When they go to their dances, some dance while others pat They ride their bucking bronchos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats; With their California saddles, and their pants stuck in their boots, You can hear their spurs a-jingling, and perhaps some of them shoots.

Come all soft-hearted tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun; Go live among the cowboys, they'll show you how it's done.

They'll treat you like a prince, my boys, about them there's nothing mean; But don't try to give them too much advice, for all of them ain't green.