Cowboy Songs Part 37

We fought the red-skin rascals Over valley, hill, and plain; We fought him in the mountain top, We fought him down again.

These fighting days are over.

The Indian yell resounds No more along the border; Peace sends far sweeter sounds.

But we found great joy, old comrades, To hear and make it die; We won bright homes for gentle ones, And now, our West, good-bye.

THE DESERTED ADOBE

Round the 'dobe rank sands are thickly blowin', Its ridges fill the deserted field; Yet on this claim young lives once hope were sowing For all the years might yield; And in strong hands the echoing hoof pursuin'

A wooden share turned up the sod, The toiler brave drank deep the fresh air's brewin'

And sang content to G.o.d.

The toiler brave drank deep the fresh air's brewin'

And sang content to G.o.d.

A woman fair and sweet has smilin' striven Through long and lonesome hours; A blue-eyed babe, a bit of earthly heaven, Laughed at the sun's hot towers; A bow of promise made this desert splendid, This 'dobe was their pride.

But what began so well, alas, has ended--, The promise died.

But what began so well alas soon ended--, The promise died.

Their plans and dreams, their cheerful labor wasted In dry and mis-spent years; The spring was sweet, the summer bitter tasted, The autumn salt with tears.

Now "gyp" and sand do hide their one-time yearnin'; 'Twas theirs; 'tis past.

G.o.d's ways are strange, we take so long in learnin', To fail at last.

G.o.d's ways are strange, we take so long in learnin', To fail at last.

THE COWBOY AT WORK

You may call the cowboy horned and think him hard to tame, You may heap vile epithets upon his head; But to know him is to like him, notwithstanding his hard name, For he will divide with you his beef and bread.

If you see him on his pony as he scampers o'er the plain, You would think him wild and woolly, to be sure; But his heart is warm and tender when he sees a friend in need, Though his education is but to endure.

When the storm breaks in its fury and the lightning's vivid flash Makes you thank the Lord for shelter and for bed, Then it is he mounts his pony and away you see him dash, No protection but the hat upon his head.

Such is life upon a cow ranch, and the half was never told; But you never find a kinder-hearted set Than the cattleman at home, be he either young or old, He's a "daisy from away back," don't forget.

When you fail to find a pony or a cow that's gone a-stray, Be that cow or pony wild or be it tame, The cowboy, like the drummer,--and the bed-bug, too, they say,-- Brings him to you, for he gets there just the same.

HERE'S TO THE RANGER!

He leaves unplowed his furrow, He leaves his books unread For a life of tented freedom By lure of danger led.

He's first in the hour of peril, He's gayest in the dance, Like the guardsman of old England Or the beau sabreur of France.

He stands our faithful bulwark Against our savage foe; Through lonely woodland places Our children come and go; Our flocks and herds untended O'er hill and valley roam, The Ranger in the saddle Means peace for us at home.

Behold our smiling farmsteads Where waves the golden grain!

Beneath yon tree, earth's bosom Was dark with crimson stain.

That bluff the death-shot echoed Of husband, father, slain!

G.o.d grant such sight of horror We never see again!

The gay and hardy Ranger, His blanket on the ground, Lies by the blazing camp-fire While song and tale goes round; And if one voice is silent, One fails to hear the jest, They know his thoughts are absent With her who loves him best.

Our state, her sons confess it, That queenly, star-crowned brow, Has darkened with the shadow Of lawlessness ere now; And men of evil pa.s.sions On her reproach have laid, But that the ready Ranger Rode promptly to her aid.

He may not win the laurel Nor trumpet tongue of fame; But beauty smiles upon him, And ranchmen bless his name.

Then here's to the Texas Ranger, Past, present and to come!

Our safety from the savage, The guardian of our home.

MUSTER OUT THE RANGER

Yes, muster them out, the valiant band That guards our western home.

What matter to you in your eastern land If the raiders here should come?

No danger that you shall awake at night To the howls of a savage band; So muster them out, though the morning light Find havoc on every hand.

Some dear one is sick and the horses all gone, So we can't for a doctor send; The outlaws were in in the light of the morn And no Rangers here to defend.

For they've mustered them out, the brave true band, Untiring by night and day.

The fearless scouts of this border land Made the taxes high, they say.

Have fewer men in the capitol walls, Fewer tongues in the war of words, But add to the Rangers, the living wall That keeps back the bandit hordes.

Have fewer dinners, less turtle soup, If the taxes are too high.

There are many other and better ways To lower them if they try.

Don't waste so much of your money Printing speeches people don't read.

If you'd only take off what's used for that 'Twould lower the tax indeed.

Don't use so much sugar and lemons; Cold water is just as good For a constant drink in the summer time And better for the blood.

But leave us the Rangers to guard us still, Nor think that they cost too dear; For their faithful watch over vale and hill Gives our loved ones naught to fear.

A COW CAMP ON THE RANGE

Oh, the prairie dogs are screaming, And the birds are on the wing, See the heel fly chase the heifer, boys!