REFRAIN

Don't go a-way, stay at home if you can; Stay a-way from that cit-y they call it Chey-enne; For big Wal-i-pee or Co-man-che Bills, They will lift up your hair On the drear-y Black Hills.

A MORMON SONG

I used to live on Cottonwood and owned a little farm, I was called upon a mission that gave me much alarm; The reason that they called me, I'm sure I do not know.

But to hoe the cane and cotton, straightway I must go.

I yoked up Jim and Baldy, all ready for the start; To leave my farm and garden, it almost broke my heart; But at last we got started, I cast a look behind, For the sand and rocks of Dixie were running through my mind.

Now, when we got to Black Ridge, my wagon it broke down, And I, being no carpenter and forty miles from town,-- I cut a clumsy cedar and rigged an awkward slide, But the wagon ran so heavy poor Betsy couldn't ride.

While Betsy was out walking I told her to take care, When all of a sudden she struck a p.r.i.c.kly pear, Then she began to hollow as loud as she could bawl,-- If I were back in Cottonwood, I wouldn't go at all.

Now, when we got to Sand Ridge, we couldn't go at all, Old Jim and old Baldy began to puff and loll, I cussed and swore a little, for I couldn't make the route, For the team and I and Betsy were all of us played out.

At length we got to Washington; I thought we'd stay a while To see if the flowers would make their virgin smile, But I was much mistaken, for when we went away The red hills of September were just the same in May.

It is so very dreary, there's nothing here to cheer, But old pathetic sermons we very often hear; They preach them by the dozens and prove them by the book, But I'd sooner have a roasting-ear and stay at home and cook.

I am so awful weary I'm sure I'm almost dead; 'Tis six long weeks last Sunday since I have tasted bread; Of turnip-tops and lucerne greens I've had enough to eat, But I'd like to change my diet to buckwheat cakes and meat.

I had to sell my wagon for sorghum seed and bread; Old Jim and old Baldy have long since been dead.

There's no one left but me and Bet to hoe the cotton tree,-- G.o.d pity any Mormon that attempts to follow me!

THE BUFFALO HUNTERS

Come all you pretty girls, to you these lines I'll write, We are going to the range in which we take delight; We are going on the range as we poor hunters do, And the tender-footed fellows can stay at home with you.

It's all of the day long as we go tramping round In search of the buffalo that we may shoot him down; Our guns upon our shoulders, our belts of forty rounds, We send them up Salt River to some happy hunting grounds.

Our game, it is the antelope, the buffalo, wolf, and deer, Who roam the wide prairies without a single fear; We rob him of his robe and think it is no harm, To buy us food and clothing to keep our bodies warm.

The buffalo, he is the n.o.blest of the band, He sometimes rejects in throwing up his hand.

His s.h.a.ggy main thrown forward, his head raised to the sky, He seems to say, "We're coming, boys; so hunter, mind your eye."

Our fires are made of mesquite roots, our beds are on the ground; Our houses made of buffalo hides, we make them tall and round; Our furniture is the camp kettle, the coffee pot, and pan, Our chuck it is both bread and meat, mingled well with sand.

Our neighbors are the Cheyennes, the 'Rapahoes, and Sioux, Their mode of navigation is a buffalo-hide canoe.

And when they come upon you they take you unaware, And such a peculiar way they have of raising hunter's hair.

THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY

I am looking rather seedy now while holding down my claim, And my victuals are not always served the best; And the mice play shyly round me as I nestle down to rest In my little old sod shanty on my claim.

The hinges are of leather and the windows have no gla.s.s, While the board roof lets the howling blizzards in, And I hear the hungry cayote as he slinks up through the gra.s.s Round the little old sod shanty on my claim.

Yet, I rather like the novelty of living in this way, Though my bill of fare is always rather tame, But I'm happy as a clam on the land of Uncle Sam In the little old sod shanty on my claim.

But when I left my Eastern home, a bachelor so gay, To try and win my way to wealth and fame, I little thought I'd come down to burning twisted hay In the little old sod shanty on my claim.

My clothes are plastered o'er with dough, I'm looking like a fright, And everything is scattered round the room, But I wouldn't give the freedom that I have out in the West For the table of the Eastern man's old home.

Still, I wish that some kind-hearted girl would pity on me take And relieve me from the mess that I am in; The angel, how I'd bless her if this her home she'd make In the little old sod shanty on my claim.

And we would make our fortunes on the prairies of the West, Just as happy as two lovers we'd remain; We'd forget the trials and troubles we endured at the first In the little old sod shanty on my claim.

And if fate should bless us with now and then an heir To cheer our hearts with honest pride of fame, Oh, then we'd be contented for the toil that we had spent In the little old sod shanty on our claim.

When time enough had lapsed and all those little brats To n.o.ble man and womanhood had grown, It wouldn't seem half so lonely as round us we should look And we'd see the old sod shanty on our claim.

THE GOL-DARNED WHEEL

I can take the wildest bronco in the tough old woolly West.

I can ride him, I can break him, let him do his level best; I can handle any cattle ever wore a coat of hair, And I've had a lively tussle with a tarnel grizzly bear.

I can rope and throw the longhorn of the wildest Texas brand, And in Indian disagreements I can play a leading hand, But at last I got my master and he surely made me squeal When the boys got me a-straddle of that gol-darned wheel.

It was at the Eagle Ranch, on the Brazos, When I first found that darned contrivance that upset me in the dust.

A tenderfoot had brought it, he was wheeling all the way From the sun-rise end of freedom out to San Francis...o...b..y.

He tied up at the ranch for to get outside a meal, Never thinking we would monkey with his gol-darned wheel.

Arizona Jim begun it when he said to Jack McGill There was fellows forced to limit bragging on their riding skill, And he'd venture the admission the same fellow that he meant Was a very handy cutter far as riding bronchos went; But he would find that he was bucking 'gainst a different kind of deal If he threw his leather leggins 'gainst a gol-darned wheel.

Such a slam against my talent made me hotter than a mink, And I swore that I would ride him for amus.e.m.e.nt or for c.h.i.n.k.

And it was nothing but a plaything for the kids and such about, And they'd have their ideas shattered if they'd lead the critter out.

They held it while I mounted and gave the word to go; The shove they gave to start me warn't unreasonably slow.

But I never spilled a cuss word and I never spilled a squeal-- I was building reputation on that gol-darned wheel.

Holy Moses and the Prophets, how we split the Texas air, And the wind it made whip-crackers of my same old canthy hair, And I sorta comprehended as down the hill we went There was bound to be a smash-up that I couldn't well prevent.

Oh, how them punchers bawled, "Stay with her, Uncle Bill!

Stick your spurs in her, you sucker! turn her muzzle up the hill!"

But I never made an answer, I just let the cusses squeal, I was finding reputation on that gol-darned wheel.