"After the round-ups are over and after the shipping is done, I am going right straight home, boys, ere all my money is gone. I have changed my ways, boys, no more will I fall; And I am going home, boys, when work is done this fall. "When I left home, boys, my mother for me cried, Begged me not to go, boys, for me she would have died; My mother's heart is breaking, breaking for me, that's all, And with God's help I'll see her when the work's all done this fall." That very night this cowboy went out to stand his guard; The night was dark and cloudy and storming very hard; The cattle they got frightened and rushed in wild stampede, The cowboy tried to head them, riding at full speed. While riding in the darkness so loudly did he shout, Trying his best to head them and turn the herd about, His saddle horse did stumble and on him did fall, The poor boy won't see his mother when the work's all done this fall. His body was so mangled the boys all thought him dead, They picked him up so gently and laid him on a bed; He opened wide his blue eyes and looking all around He motioned to his comrades to sit near him on the ground. "Boys, send mother my wages, the wages I have earned, For I'm afraid, boys, my last steer I have turned. I'm going to a new range, I hear my Master's call, And I'll not see my mother when the work's all done this fall. "Fred, you take my saddle; George, you take my bed; Bill, you take my pistol after I am dead, And think of me kindly when you look upon them all, For I'll not see my mother when work is done this fall." Poor Charlie was buried at sunrise, no tombstone at his head, Nothing but a little board and this is what it said, "Charlie died at daybreak, he died from a fall, And he'll not see his mother when the work's all done this fall." SIOUX INDIANS I'll sing you a song, though it may be a sad one, Of trials and troubles and where they first begun; I left my dear kindred, my friends, and my home, Across the wild deserts and mountains to roam. I crossed the Missouri and joined a large train Which bore us over mountain and valley and plain; And often of evenings out hunting we'd go To shoot the fleet antelope and wild buffalo. We heard of Sioux Indians all out on the plains A-killing poor drivers and burning their trains,-- A-killing poor drivers with arrows and bow, When captured by Indians no mercy they show. We traveled three weeks till we came to the Platte And pitched out our tents at the end of the flat, We spread down our blankets on the green grassy ground, While our horses and mules were grazing around. While taking refreshment we heard a low yell, The whoop of Sioux Indians coming up from the dell; We sprang to our rifles with a flash in each eye, "Boys," says our brave leader, "we'll fight till we die."