Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads. Various

In the days of Forty-Nine.

      There is Wylie Bill, the funny man,

       Who was full of funny tricks,

       And when he was in a poker game

       He was always hard as bricks.

       He would ante you a stud, he would play you a draw,

       He'd go you a hatful blind—

       In a struggle with death Bill lost his breath

       In the days of Forty-Nine.

      There was New York Jake, the butcher boy,

       Who was fond of getting tight.

       And every time he got on a spree

       He was spoiling for a fight.

       One night Jake rampaged against a knife

       In the hands of old Bob Sine,

       And over Jake they held a wake

       In the days of Forty-Nine.

      There was Monte Pete, I'll ne'er forget

       The luck he always had,

       He would deal for you both day and night

       Or as long as he had a scad.

       It was a pistol shot that lay Pete out,

       It was his last resign,

       And it caught Pete dead sure in the door

       In the days of Forty-Nine.

      Of all the comrades that I've had

       There's none that's left to boast,

       And I am left alone in my misery

       Like some poor wandering ghost.

       And as I pass from town to town,

       They call me the rambling sign,

       Since the days of old and the days of gold

       And the days of Forty-Nine.

      Days of Forty-Nine

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      JOE BOWERS

      My name is Joe Bowers,

       I've got a brother Ike,

       I came here from Missouri,

       Yes, all the way from Pike.

       I'll tell you why I left there

       And how I came to roam,

       And leave my poor old mammy,

       So far away from home.

      I used to love a gal there,

       Her name was Sallie Black,

       I asked her for to marry me,

       She said it was a whack.

       She says to me, "Joe Bowers,

       Before you hitch for life,

       You ought to have a little home

       To keep your little wife."

      Says I, "My dearest Sallie,

       O Sallie, for your sake,

       I'll go to California

       And try to raise a stake."

       Says she to me, "Joe Bowers,

       You are the chap to win,

       Give me a kiss to seal the bargain,"—

       And I throwed a dozen in.

      I'll never forget my feelings

       When I bid adieu to all.

       Sal, she cotched me round the neck

       And I began to bawl.

       When I begun they all commenced,

       You never heard the like,

       How they all took on and cried

       The day I left old Pike.

      When I got to this here country

       I hadn't nary a red,

       I had such wolfish feelings

       I wished myself most dead.

       At last I went to mining,

       Put in my biggest licks,

       Came down upon the boulders

       Just like a thousand bricks.

      I worked both late and early

       In rain and sun and snow,

       But I was working for my Sallie

       So 'twas all the same to Joe.

       I made a very lucky strike

       As the gold itself did tell,

       For I was working for my Sallie,

       The girl I loved so well.

      But one day I got a letter

       From my dear, kind brother Ike;

       It came from old Missouri,

       Yes, all the way from Pike.

       It told me the goldarndest news

       That ever you did hear,

       My heart it is a-bustin'

       So please excuse this tear.

      I'll tell you what it was, boys,

       You'll bust your sides I know;

       For when I read that letter

       You ought to seen poor Joe.

       My knees gave 'way beneath me,

       And I pulled out half my hair;

       And if you ever tell this now,

       You bet you'll hear me swear.

      It said my Sallie was fickle,

       Her love for me had fled,

       That she had married a butcher,

       Whose hair was awful red;

       It told me more than that,

       It's enough to make me swear—

       It said that Sallie had a baby

       And the baby had red hair.

      Now I've told you all that I can tell

       About this sad affair,

       'Bout Sallie marrying the butcher

       And the baby had red hair.

       But whether it was a boy or girl

       The letter never said,

       It only said its cussed hair

       Was inclined to be red.

      THE COWBOY'S DREAM[2]

      Last night as I lay on the prairie,

       And looked at the stars in the sky,

       I wondered if ever a cowboy

       Would drift to that sweet by and by.

      Roll on, roll on;

       Roll on, little dogies, roll on, roll on,

       Roll on, roll on;

       Roll on, little dogies, roll on.

      The road to that bright, happy region

       Is a dim, narrow trail, so they say;

       But the broad one that leads to perdition

       Is posted and blazed all the way.

      They say there will be a great round-up,

       And cowboys, like dogies, will stand,

       To be marked by the Riders