Our headquarters then wuz the valley camp, It wuz down by the redwood way, With Chaparel across the spur, 'Bout fifty miles away. Wall, what I'm goin' to tell you, pard, Happened thar whar the trail runs into the sky; And if it hadn't a-bin fer Yosemite Jim, Wall, I'd be countin' my chips on high. The galoot that wuz punchin' the broncos fer me Wuz a greaser from down Monterey; And Jim used to say, "Keep your eye on him, pard, I don't think he's cum fer to stay; His eyes are too shifty and yeller, And his face is sullen and hard; And 'taint that so much as a feelin' I have; Anyhow, keep your eye on him, pard." One day when the mercury wuz way out of sight, And the frost it wuz on every nail, With jist the mail sack and specie box, The greaser and I hit the trail. We picked two passengers up at Big Pine, And while the broncos were changed that day I noticed them havin' a sneakin' chat With the greaser from down Monterey. Did you ever hear tell of the Great White Death, That creeps down the mountain side, Leavin' behind it a ghastly track Whar those who have met it died? Wall, pard, as true as I'm a-livin', No man wants to see it twice; White and grim as a funeral shroud, A mass of mist and ice. Wall, we hadn't got far from the Big Pine relay When my hair it commenced to rise, For I saw across by the Lone Bear spur A cloud of most monstrous size. And the greaser acted sort of peculiar, And the broncos commenced to neigh; Wall, some thoughts went through my mind jist then I won't forgit till my dyin' day. In less time than it takes to tell it, We were into the Great White Death, With its millions of frozen snowflakes A-takin' away our breath. And jist then somethin' happened, pard, The greaser from down Monterey Tried to sneak off with the specie box, Along with the passengers from Big Pine relay. All at once a figure on hossback Cum a-whoopin' it down the trail, And bullets from out of a Winchester Commenced to fly like hail. The greaser and them two passengers Cashed in their chips to him, Fer the feller what wuz doin' the shootin' Wuz my friend, Yosemite Jim. Wall, we planted them thar together, When the cloud had passed away; And all they've got fer a tombstone Is the mountains, dull and gray. So, pard, let's take one together, And I'll drink a toast to him, Fer though he wuz rough and ready, He'd a heart, YOSEMITE JIM.