In view of which I'll just take a
little drink an' sing you a song I heard down on the Rio Grande."
Thrusting his arm into the end of his blanket roll, the Texan drew
forth his bottle and, taking a drink, carefully replaced it. "This
here song is _The Old Chisholm Trail_, an' it goes like this:
"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-runnin' like the devil.
It's cloudy in the west, a-lookin' like rain,
An' my damned old slicker's in the wagon again.
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