The women have the hardest time Who emigrate by land; For when they cook out in the wind They're sure to burn their hand.

Then they scold their husbands round, Get mad and spill the tea,-- I'd have thanked my stars if they'd not come out Upon this bleak prairie.

Most every night we put out guards To keep the Indians off.

When night comes round some heads will ache, And some begin to cough.

To be deprived of help at night, You know is mighty hard, But every night there's someone sick To keep from standing guard.

Then they're always talking of what they've got, And what they're going to do; Some will say they're content, For I've got as much as you.

Others will say, "I'll buy or sell, I'm d.a.m.ned if I care which."

Others will say, "Boys, buy him out, For he doesn't own a st.i.tch."

Old raw-hide shoes are h.e.l.l on corns While tramping through the sands, And driving jacka.s.s by the tail,-- d.a.m.n the overland!

I would as leaf be on a raft at sea And there at once be lost.

John, let's leave the poor old mule, We'll never get him across!

BRONC PEELER'S SONG

I've been upon the prairie, I've been upon the plain, I've never rid a steam-boat, Nor a double-cinched-up train.

But I've driv my eight-up to wagon That were locked three in a row, And that through blindin' sand storms, And all kinds of wind and snow.

Cho:-- Goodbye, Liza, poor gal, Goodbye, Liza Jane, Goodbye, Liza, poor gal, She died on the plain.

There never was a place I've been Had any kind of wood.

We burn the roots of bar-gra.s.s And think it's very good.

I've never tasted home bread, Nor cakes, nor muss like that; But I know fried dough and beef Pulled from red-hot tallow fat.

I hate to see the wire fence A-closin' up the range; And all this fillin' in the trail With people that is strange.

We fellers don't know how to plow, Nor reap the golden grain; But to round up steers and brand the cows To us was allus plain.

So when this blasted country Is all closed in with wire, And all the top, as trot gra.s.s, Is burnin' in Sol's fire, I hope the settlers will be glad When rain hits the land.

And all us cowdogs are in h.e.l.l With a "set"[9] joined hand in hand.

[Footnote 9: "set" means settler.]

A DEER HUNT

One pleasant summer day it came a storm of snow; I picked my old gun and a-hunting I did go.

I came across a herd of deer and I trailed them through the snow, I trailed them to the mountains where straight up they did go.

I trailed them o'er the mountains, I trailed them to the brim, And I trailed them to the waters where they jumped in to swim.

I c.o.c.ked both my pistols and under water went,-- To kill the fattest of them deer, that was my whole intent.

While I was under water five hundred feet or more I fired both my pistols; like cannons did they roar.

I picked up my venison and out of water came,-- To kill the balance of them deer, I thought it would be fun.

So I bent my gun in circles and fired round a hill.

And, out of three or four deer, ten thousand I did kill.

Then I picked up my venison and on my back I tied And as the sun came pa.s.sing by I hopped up there to ride.

The sun she carried me o'er the globe, so merrily I did roam That in four and twenty hours I landed safe at home.

And the money I received for my venison and skin, I taken it all to the barn door and it would not all go in.

And if you doubt the truth of this I tell you how to know: Just take my trail and go my rounds, as I did, long ago.

WINDY BILL

Windy Bill was a Texas man,-- Well, he could rope, you bet.

He swore the steer he couldn't tie,-- Well, he hadn't found him yet.

But the boys they knew of an old black steer, A sort of an old outlaw That ran down in the malpais At the foot of a rocky draw.

This old black steer had stood his ground With punchers from everywhere; So they bet old Bill at two to one That he couldn't quite get there.

Then Bill brought out his old gray hoss, His withers and back were raw, And prepared to tackle the big black brute That ran down in the draw.

With his brazen bit and his Sam Stack tree His chaps and taps to boot, And his old maguey tied hard and fast, Bill swore he'd get the brute.

Now, first Bill sort of sauntered round Old Blackie began to paw, Then threw his tail straight in the air And went driftin' down the draw.

The old gray plug flew after him, For he'd been eatin' corn; And Bill, he piled his old maguey Right round old Blackie's horns.

The old gray hoss he stopped right still; The cinches broke like straw, And the old maguey and the Sam Stack tree Went driftin' down the draw.

Bill, he lit in a flint rock pile, His face and hands were scratched.

He said he thought he could rope a snake But he guessed he'd met his match.

He paid his bets like a little man Without a bit of jaw, And lowed old Blackie was the boss Of anything in the draw.

There's a moral to my story, boys, And that you all must see.

Whenever you go to tie a snake,[10]

Don't tie it to your tree; But take your dolly welters[11]

'Cordin' to California law, And you'll never see your old rim-fire[12]

Go drifting down the draw.

[Footnote 10: snake, bad steer.]

[Footnote 11: Dolly welter, rope tied all around the saddle.]