He put me in charge of a cavyard, And told me not to work too hard, That all I had to do was guard The horses from getting away; I had one hundred and sixty head, I sometimes wished that I was dead; When one got away, Brown's head turned red, And there was the devil to pay. Sometimes one would make a break, Across the prairie he would take, As if running for a stake,-- It seemed to them but play; Sometimes I could not head them at all, Sometimes my horse would catch a fall And I'd shoot on like a cannon ball Till the earth came in my way. They saddled me up an old gray hack With two set-fasts on his back, They padded him down with a gunny sack And used my bedding all. When I got on he quit the ground, Went up in the air and turned around, And I came down and busted the ground,-- I got one hell of a fall. They took me up and carried me in And rubbed me down with an old stake pin. "That's the way they all begin; You're doing well," says Brown. "And in the morning, if you don't die, I'll give you another horse to try." "Oh say, can't I walk?" says I. Says he, "Yes, back to town." I've traveled up and I've traveled down, I've traveled this country round and round, I've lived in city and I've lived in town, But I've got this much to say: Before you try cow-punching, kiss your wife, Take a heavy insurance on your life, Then cut your throat with a barlow knife,-- For it's easier done that way. CALIFORNIA JOE Well, mates, I don't like stories; Or am I going to act A part around the campfire That ain't a truthful fact? So fill your pipes and listen, I'll tell you--let me see-- I think it was in fifty, From that till sixty-three. You've all heard tell of Bridger; I used to run with Jim, And many a hard day's scouting I've done longside of him. Well, once near old Fort Reno, A trapper used to dwell; We called him old Pap Reynolds, The scouts all knew him well. One night in the spring of fifty We camped on Powder River, And killed a calf of buffalo And cooked a slice of liver. While eating, quite contented, I heard three shots or four; Put out the fire and listened,-- We heard a dozen more. We knew that old man Reynolds Had moved his traps up here; So picking up our rifles And fixing on our gear We moved as quick as lightning, To save was our desire. Too late, the painted heathens Had set the house on fire. We hitched our horses quickly And waded up the stream; While down close beside the waters I heard a muffled scream. And there among the bushes A little girl did lie. I picked her up and whispered, "I'll save you or I'll die." Lord, what a ride! Old Bridger Had covered my retreat; Sometimes that child would whisper In voice low and sweet, "Poor Papa, God will take him To Mama up above; There is no one left to love me, There is no one left to love."