Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads

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 cañon.

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 shirk!
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 Nigger 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,—