We could see the tops of the mountains under Dunny every jump, But the stranger he was growed there just like the camel's hump; The stranger sat upon him and curled his black mustache Just like a summer boarder waiting for his hash.

He thumped him in the shoulders and spurred him when he whirled, To show them flunky punchers that he was the wolf of the world.

When the stranger had dismounted once more upon the ground, We knew he was a thoroughbred and not a gent from town;

The boss who was standing round watching of the show, Walked right up to the stranger and told him he needn't go,-- "If you can use the la.s.so like you rode old Zebra Dun, You are the man I've been looking for ever since the year one."

Oh, he could twirl the lariat and he didn't do it slow, He could catch them fore feet nine out of ten for any kind of dough.

And when the herd stampeded he was always on the spot And set them to nothing, like the boiling of a pot.

There's one thing and a sh.o.r.e thing I've learned since I've been born, That every educated feller ain't a plumb greenhorn.

THE BUFFALO SKINNERS

Come all you jolly fellows and listen to my song, There are not many verses, it will not detain you long; It's concerning some young fellows who did agree to go And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo.

It happened in Jacksboro in the spring of seventy-three, A man by the name of Crego came stepping up to me, Saying, "How do you do, young fellow, and how would you like to go And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo?"

"It's me being out of employment," this to Crego I did say, "This going out on the buffalo range depends upon the pay.

But if you will pay good wages and transportation too, I think, sir, I will go with you to the range of the buffalo."

"Yes, I will pay good wages, give transportation too, Provided you will go with me and stay the summer through; But if you should grow homesick, come back to Jacksboro, I won't pay transportation from the range of the buffalo."

It's now our outfit was complete--seven able-bodied men, With navy six and needle gun--our troubles did begin; Our way it was a pleasant one, the route we had to go, Until we crossed Pease River on the range of the buffalo.

It's now we've crossed Pease River, our troubles have begun.

The first d.a.m.ned tail I went to rip, Christ! how I cut my thumb!

While skinning the d.a.m.ned old stinkers our lives wasn't a show, For the Indians watched to pick us off while skinning the buffalo.

He fed us on such sorry chuck I wished myself most dead, It was old jerked beef, croton coffee, and sour bread.

Pease River's as salty as h.e.l.l fire, the water I could never go,-- O G.o.d! I wished I had never come to the range of the buffalo.

Our meat it was buffalo hump and iron wedge bread, And all we had to sleep on was a buffalo robe for a bed; The fleas and gray-backs worked on us, O boys, it was not slow, I'll tell you there's no worse h.e.l.l on earth than the range of the buffalo.

Our hearts were cased with buffalo hocks, our souls were cased with steel, And the hardships of that summer would nearly make us reel.

While skinning the d.a.m.ned old stinkers our lives they had no show, For the Indians waited to pick us off on the hills of Mexico.

The season being near over, old Crego he did say The crowd had been extravagant, was in debt to him that day,-- We coaxed him and we begged him and still it was no go,-- We left old Crego's bones to bleach on the range of the buffalo.

Oh, it's now we've crossed Pease River and homeward we are bound, No more in that h.e.l.l-fired country shall ever we be found.

Go home to our wives and sweethearts, tell others not to go, For G.o.d's forsaken the buffalo range and the d.a.m.ned old buffalo.

Range of the Buffalo (Mus. Not.)

'Twas in the town of Jacksbo-ro, In eigh-teen eigh-ty- three, When a man by the name of Cre-go... Came step-ping up to me; Say-ing, "How do you do, young fel-low, And how would you like to go... And spend one summer sea-son On the range of the Buf-fa-lo?"

MACAFFIE'S CONFESSION

Now come young men and list to me, A sad and mournful history; And may you ne'er forgetful be Of what I tell this day to thee.

Oh, I was thoughtless, young, and gay And often broke the Sabbath day, In wickedness I took delight And sometimes done what wasn't right.

I'd scarcely pa.s.sed my fifteenth year, My mother and my father dear Were silent in their deep, dark grave, Their spirits gone to Him who gave.

'Twas on a pleasant summer day When from my home I ran away And took unto myself a wife, Which step was fatal to my life.

Oh, she was kind and good to me As ever woman ought to be, And might this day have been alive no doubt, Had I not met Miss Hatty Stout.

Ah, well I mind the fatal day When Hatty stole my heart away; 'Twas love for her controlled my will And did cause me my wife to kill.

'Twas on a brilliant summer's night When all was still; the stars shone bright.

My wife lay still upon the bed And I approached to her and said:

"Dear wife, here's medicine I've brought, For you this day, my love, I've bought.

I know it will be good for you For those vile fits,--pray take it, do."

She cast on me a loving look And in her mouth the poison took; Down by her infant on the bed In her last, long sleep she laid her head.

Oh, who could tell a mother's thought When first to her the news was brought; The sheriff said her son was sought And into prison must be brought.

Only a mother standing by To hear them tell the reason why Her son in prison, he must lie Till on the scaffold he must die.

My father, sixty years of age, The best of counsel did engage, To see if something could be done To save his disobedient son.

So, farewell, mother, do not weep, Though soon with demons I will sleep, My soul now feels its mental h.e.l.l And soon with demons I will dwell.

The sheriff cut the slender cord, His soul went up to meet its Lord; The doctor said, "The wretch is dead, His spirit from his body's fled."

His weeping mother cried aloud, "O G.o.d, do save this gazing crowd, That none may ever have to pay For gambling on the Sabbath day."

LITTLE JOE, THE WRANGLER