They made a bold dash and came near to our train And the arrows fell around us like hail and like rain, But with our long rifles we fed them cold lead Till many a brave warrior around us lay dead. We shot their bold chief at the head of his band. He died like a warrior with a gun in his hand. When they saw their bold chief lying dead in his gore, They whooped and they yelled and we saw them no more. With our small band,--there were just twenty-four,-- And the Sioux Indians there were five hundred or more,-- We fought them with courage; we spoke not a word, Till the end of the battle was all that was heard. We hitched up our horses and we started our train; Three more bloody battles this trip on the plain; And in our last battle three of our brave boys fell, And we left them to rest in a green, shady dell. THE OLD CHISHOLM TRAIL Come along, boys, and listen to my tale, I'll tell you of my troubles on the old Chisholm trail. Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya, Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya. I started up the trail October twenty-third, I started up the trail with the 2-U herd. Oh, a ten dollar hoss and a forty dollar saddle,-- And I'm goin' to punchin' Texas cattle. I woke up one morning on the old Chisholm trail, Rope in my hand and a cow by the tail. I'm up in the mornin' afore daylight And afore I sleep the moon shines bright. Old Ben Bolt was a blamed good boss, But he'd go to see the girls on a sore-backed hoss. Old Ben Bolt was a fine old man And you'd know there was whiskey wherever he'd land. My hoss throwed me off at the creek called Mud, My hoss throwed me off round the 2-U herd. Last time I saw him he was going cross the level A-kicking up his heels and a-running like the devil. It's cloudy in the West, a-looking like rain, And my damned old slicker's in the wagon again. Crippled my hoss, I don't know how, Ropin' at the horns of a 2-U cow. We hit Caldwell and we hit her on the fly, We bedded down the cattle on the hill close by. No chaps, no slicker, and it's pouring down rain, And I swear, by god, I'll never night-herd again. Feet in the stirrups and seat in the saddle, I hung and rattled with them long-horn cattle. Last night I was on guard and the leader broke the ranks, I hit my horse down the shoulders and I spurred him in the flanks. The wind commenced to blow, and the rain began to fall, Hit looked, by grab, like we was goin' to loss 'em all. I jumped in the saddle and grabbed holt the horn, Best blamed cow-puncher ever was born. I popped my foot in the stirrup and gave a little yell, The tail cattle broke and the leaders went to hell. I don't give a damn if they never do stop; I'll ride as long as an eight-day clock. Foot in the stirrup and hand on the horn, Best damned cowboy ever was born.