ECHOES
of the
PAST
The Cowboy Poetry
of Melvin Whipple
.
by ~elvin Whipple
illustrated by Lucky Whipple
ECHOES
of the
PAST
The Cowboy Poetry
of Melvin Whipple
ECHOES
of the
PAST
The Cowboy Poetry
of Melvin Whipple
by Melvin Whipple
illustrated by Lucky Whipple
edited by Jim McNutt
Editor's Note
Editing of the poems has been kept to a minimum and carried
out according to Melvin Whipple's instructions, which were to
correct major errors of spelling and punctuation . Some dialectal
spellings have been retained. For the reader's convenience, a brief
glossary of cowboy and regional terms is included at the end of
the book.
Echoes of the Past:
The Cowboy Poetry of Melvin Whipple
by Melvin Whipple; illustrated by Lucky Whipple; edited by Jim McNutt
Copyright ©1987
The University of Texas Institute of Texan Cultures at San Antonio
p.o. Box 1226, San Antonio, Texas 78294-1226
John R. McGiffert, Interim Executive Director
Production Staff: Sandra Hodsdon Carr, James G. Cosgrove, David Haynes,
Meredith Rees
International Standard Book Number 0-86701-034-7
First Edition
Copyright of the poems and illustrations contained herein remain with the poet and
artist respectively.
All rights reserved. No part of this book or the accompanying audiocassette may be
reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Foreword 7
Preface 9
Open Range 10
Electric Storm 14
The Cowboy 16
Cold Irons 18
It's Been a Long Time, Pardner 20
A Bad Night at the CL Ranch 22
The Little Bar Zee 24
Escape from Reality 26
Do Ya Think Ya Could Do It Agin? 28
How They Lived 30
Memories of the Past 32
Tranquilizer Pills 33
The Orejan·a Bull 34
Cowpuncher's Wife 36
When the Homesteader Came 37
Back on the Old Home Range 38
The Big Horseshoe Bend 40
Why Am I Ball-Headed? 42
Lonesome Nights 44
The Big Hell Hole 46
Glossary 48
... ()'I:~ ·ner.:o,...s "',Ill ...
~1- ',it" 'i~rlU; t ,·t c 11
Foreword
Melvin Whipple is a Texas cowboy, like many others, by
chance. He grew up on his family's ranch in the Arizona Strip,
the rugged country north of the Grand Canyon where his father,
Clement Leroy Whipple, had homesteaded in the 1920's. Melvin
has cowboyed in several other states, including Utah and Colorado,
where he also farmed for a short period. He later came to Texas
and has been working for a feedlot operation in Hereford for more
than eight years. Today he is still in the saddle as many as 14 hours
a day.
For the past 25 years or so Melvin has been making poems.
His initial inspiration came from his son Lucky, who in his teens
was already writing poems about cowboy life. Some inspiration
also came from his maternal grandfather, Hans Peter Iverson, a
Mormon emigrant from Denmark who settled in Utah and wrote
a number of poems about his experiences. A sister, Yula Sue
Whipple Hunting, is well known as a reciter of cowboy poems
in her Utah community.
In form, style and subject matter Melvin's poems belong to
a long tradition of cowboy poetry, which emerged with the devel­opment
of western cattle culture during the latter 19th century.
At that time oral recitation was a common practice in schools and
at public gatherings, and rhymed, metered verse was the popular
standard. Working cowboys might be familiar with poetry through
formal education, or through magazines and newspapers that
circulated from one hand to another, or through hearing other
cowboys recite.
Printed cowboy poetry first began to appear in the 1870's.
Since then a steady flow of cowboy poems has appeared in news­papers
and magazines. Books like William Lawrence Chittenden's
Ranch Verses (1893), N. Howard Thorpe's Songs of the Cowboys
(1908), Charles Badger Clark's Sun and Saddle Leather (1915) and
Curley Fletcher's Rhymes of the Roundup (1917) have become
cowboy "classics:' Books by non-cowboys have also kept the verses
rolling; John A. Lomax's Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads
(1910) was the first to reach a wide public audience.
7
Though much cowboy verse is printed and also set to music,
reciting or reading aloud is the experience that draws cowboys
and their listeners together. The spoken and printed versions of
a poem are not by any means the same thing, as anyone listening
to the tape which accompanies this book will understand. Merely
reading the printed word is like wearing earplugs at a stage play.
Melvin Whipple writes his poems out in longhand, then trans­fers
them to print on his portable typewriter. But instead of hand­ing
the typed pages to his guests, he reads aloud. Seated at the
dining table in his home on a drizzly cold winter evening, he
delivers his words in a voice conditioned by exposure to dust and
tobacco smoke. The rising and falling cadences of the lines emerge
strongly in his speech.
Cowboy poetry is also visual. Cowboys frequently illustrate
the printed versions of poems with drawings of their own, much
as famed cowboy artist Charley Russell was wont to decorate his
letters. Melvin Whipple has done some of his own illustrating in
this fashion. He has also encouraged his son Lucky, who wrote
and illustrated his first poem at age 13. Lucky's years of experience
show in .the careful line drawings which accompany his father's
poems here. Poems and drawings complement each other and also
creat~ a permanent record of a vision of cowboy life spanning
three generations.
Acknowledgments
- Jim McNutt
San Antonio
This book is the result of a field trip to Melvin Whipple's home
in Hereford, Texas, undertaken in November 1984 at the behest
of Hal Cannon and the organizers of the first Cowboy Poetry
Gathering at Elko, Nevada, in January 1985. Melvin Whipple was
invited to read his poems at the first and then the second Cowboy
Poetry Gathering a year later. His poems have appeared in two
cowboy poetry anthologies and several magazines.
To Hal Cannon, Carol Edison, Jim Griffith and Mike Korn
sincere thanks for all their generous help and encouragement in
this project.
8
Preface
I started writing poems the winter of 1962 and '63. I was work­ing
for the Arizona Livestock Sanitary Board at the time and had
lots of time to kill in the winter months. I really don't know why
I write. It seems to give me a certain amount of satisfaction, writing
about something that happened on the days worked or cowboys
I've known or horses I've ridden.
Born in Utah, raised in northern Arizona, I can't remember
when I learned to ride; seems as I always knew how. I didn't get
much schooling except lots of hard knocks. I've known lots of
cowboys and worked for lots of different outfits. I have owned
and run three outfits of my own.
The most of my poems are about the bygone years in north­ern
Arizona. I ranched and worked there for 43 years. I would
like to dedicate this book to the memories of my Dad, my mother
and sisters, and my wife and the days we spent on the Arizona
Strip. It was damned sure hard on horses and women.
I have been asked at different times why I didn't publish my
poems. Well, I-didn't know how, for one reason, and I didn't think
they was good enough. But I do hope they paint a picture for
those that read them and that the illustrations by my son Lucky
Whipple are enjoyed by the readers as much as I enjoy looking
at them.
- Melvin L. Whipple
9
Open Range
I was born in Utah; many long years have come and gone
Since Dad loaded up his wagon and we left that border town.
I can't quite remember, but I've heard my mother say
We left some time in April, or maybe it was May.
Mother said she drove the wagon, Dad drove the saddle stock;
We camped in 01' Quail Canyon among the cedars, snow and rocks.
We left St. George, Utah, with our little caravan,
Headin' south fer Arizona, the golden promised land.
I've heard it said in Arizona, in those days so long ago,
They didn't lack fer moisture, summer rains and winter snow.
The grass would drag yer stirrups, and 'twas shore a pretty sight
To see the sun a-sinkin' towards those hidden hills at night.
My Dad he built his cabin, 'twas there they settled down.
They had come to make a fortune on a section of government ground.
Time has brought a lot of changes in that golden land of dreams,
Since they settled in the twenties with their saddle horse and team.
10
Then the cattle roamed by thousands, many a different mark and brands;
Hundreds of wild horses grazed that enchanted land.
Sometimes in the evening you could hear so sharp and shrill
The whistle of a wild stallion as he watched you from a hill.
Then if you would watch him as he stood with head held high,
His nostrils would be flarin'; pride burned those wicked eyes.
Once agin you'd hear the whistle, then the echo from the sound
Would roll out o'er the prairie, from the mountains would rebound.
Then he would whirl and leave there with his mane and tail a-flow,
His ears pinned back fer freedom, 'twas a thrill to watch him go.
Those days have gone forever; in my memories of the past,
Seems I hear the dyin' hoofbeats of the days that couldn't last.
As I'm settin' here I'm thinkin', I fancy I kin see
Phantom pictures of the prairie, just the way it used to be.
I see that 01' chuck wagon, and there's cowboys gathered round,
Coffee cup beside 'em as they wolf their supper down.
The mornin' star is risin'; I still hear that 01' cook roar,
"Roll out and git them hosses, boy, that's what yer hired for:'
I'd crawl out of my blankets, always half asleep,
Put on my hat ana britches; in the east the daylight creeps.
Before I got my boots on, I'd have to stomp around,
Then I'd go untie the night horse and pull my 01' hat down.
Then the horse would crouch and quiver; I was always some ashamed
The way my knees would tremble as I took the slack from the bridle reins.
I'd step up in the saddle, then his head would drop from sight,
He'd buck and squeal and beller, put up one awful fight.
I'd try to stay above him and spur him in the side,
And I wanta tell ya, Mister, he learned this button how to ride.
As soon as he'd had his fun, Lord, how we'd go from there,
A-flyin' through the sagebrush, how we split the mornin' air.
We had to have the horses 'fore the day's work could begin,
And there's no time I remember that I failed to bring 'ern in.
Those good 01' days have vanished, far in the distant past,
But I've got a lotta memories of the times that couldn't last.
I still see those 01' cowboys, still hear their carefree yell,
Burned deep within my memories, the days I loved so well.
11
Clement Whipple, Melvin 's father, c 1919
I fancy I'm settin' on a cowhorse headin' down a rocky slope,
Duckin', dodgin' cedars, a loop in my 01' grass rope.
The rocks would shore be rollin' as we come off a mountainside,
A big wild steer out in the lead, just driftin' with the tide.
Those days have gone forever; only one place they're still at
Is in some 01' man's memories underneath a greasy hat.
Mother and my sisters have long since moved to town;
My sisters they have scattered in different states around.
For many years Dad has been sleepin', out in his golden land.
No! there weren't no statues of him; all he had was work-worn hands.
But I know that he's a-restin' for he went before the change.
Now all I've left is memories of what once was open range.
(1963)
13
, "
Electric Storm
Did you ever see the fire on the tips of the cattle's horns,
A-dancin' and a-playin' in a fierce electric storm?
Have you ever heard the thunder when it sounds like a mighty blast,
When the ground shakes beneath you, and the forked lightning fla sh?
Have you seen the lightning dancin' there on yer pony's ears?
Was you out there tryin' to hold 'em, a thousand head of steers?
The cattle's awful nervous, gotta hold 'em if ya can,
All around the lightning's strikin~ it sorta scares a man.
Then it struck a mighty cedar, the bark and splinters fly,
Did you see the dust a-risin' where it grounded right close by?
Did yer pony almost lose you when he jumped far to a side,
Have you smelt the air a-smokin' when it smelt like bumin' hide?
Was you caught without a slicker, just the shirt upon yer back?
And yer chaps back at the wagon when the thunder rolled and cracked?
Did you hear the other rumble, louder than the thunderstorm,
Those cloven hooves a-poundin' and the click of two thousand horns?
Was you caught amongst the leaders, with cattle on both sides?
Then there's not much time fer thinkin', it's just ride, 01' cowboy, ride.
The pony needs no urgin', bellied close to the rocky ground,
He's runnin' like the devil, and the rain comes pourin' down.
Now, the ground it wasn't level, wasn't fit fer no parade,
There's deadfalls, rocks and washouts, and great big clumps of sage.
The lightning almost blinds you, then you hear the thunder roar,
There's death right close behind you, a thousand head er more.
There's not much time fer prayin' or repentin' of yer sins,
All ya do is fancy ridin' and try to save yer skin .
When the pony jumped those deadfalls, rocks and arroyos, too,
Did you set right up and ride him like a full-fledged buckaroo?
When the storm had finally faded, there was wet and muddy ground,
The leaders' pace had slackened; did you start to mill 'em round?
Was ya glad to hear 'em bawlin' when they started in the mill?
And you met 01' Jim and Johnny and Colorado Bill.
They was all in there a-tryin', but was you caught in the lead,
And I'll bet you thanked yer Maker fer that shore-footed little steed?
I have often heard the say in' that the dog's the best friend of man;
That shaggy little cowhorse will do the best he can.
14
There's no dog can help you when yer tryin' to bend the lead
Of a thousand head of cattle in a wild and mad stampede.
You can bet that little cowhorse will do all that he can;
If you set right up and ride him, he'll try to save a man.
If you watch his ears, he'll tell you when danger's gittin' near.
When it comes to workin' cattle, he shore kin turn a steer.
He's not too much to look at; he'll kick and buck, you bet ­A
better friend to a cowboy, we haven't found him yet.
(1970)
15
' ' 'I
The Cowboy
He's up in the mornin', Oh Lord! but it's dark,
The stars are still shinin', the fire shoots sparks.
The cook's gittin' breakfast, the coffee boils strong.
He'll be out on a circle before very long.
The horses are comin', there's jinglin' of bells,
The wrangler's throwin' 'em in the rope corral.
"Come and git 'er, you loafers!" he hears the cook shout,
"You better git movin' er I'll throw the stuff out!"
He gulps down his coffee and sourdough bread,
A few strips of bacon, the cowboy is fed.
He saddles a cayuse, a roman-nosed thing,
Fer he is the peeler that rides the rough string.
The saddle is standin' high in the back,
The cowpuncher steps right up in his kack.
Missed the right stirrup as they head fer the sky,
And the cowpuncher knows it's root hog er die.
16
While up in the air the or pony swaps ends,
Comes down on all fours and heads up agin.
The cowboy's a-ridin', he's one jump behind,
The or pony lands and spins on a dime.
It's one helluva feelin' when ya know that yer throwed,
The or pony knows that he's losin' his load.
He sees the ground comin', can't help how he lands,
Hits on his head, shoulders and hands.
The boys gather round as he lays in the dirt,
They kin see he's not dead but kin tell that he's hurt.
So he'll ride on the wagon fer a week er p'r'aps more.
He's busted and bruised, Oh Lord! but he's sore.
He's just a cowpuncher, it don't take much brains
Fer most of his schoolin' he got on the range.
He's drunk his poison in a noisy saloon,
He's shot out the lights, and he's howled at the moon.
Out on the range he has stood the long guard,
And got in a ruckus while playin' with cards.
Fer he is the man that never would work
With shovel er pick, er plow up the dirt.
He follers this trade till he's crippled and old,
There's scars oli' his body, there's scar on his soul.
He once had a family, but they're scattered and gone,
Now he's all alone as time travels on.
There's been lotta changes; they've fenced up the range,
And the way outfits work, their methods have changed.
He's seen all of this - progression, folks claim-
And gone forever is the home on the range.
When they lay him down there'll be no one to cry,
The county will stand the expense when he dies.
Just an or man that died all alone,
A cross at his head where there should be a stone.
There's no one to care he was once a top hand,
When astride of a horse he was a helluva man.
(1985)
17
Melvin (left) and Yula Whipple, branding, Arizona, 1949
Cold Irons
'Tis plumb aggravatin' to a cowpuncher's soul,
When he tries to brand calves with irons that's cold.
The fire just smolders and not very hot,
And it's awful to hear the cowpuncher talk.
He'll fan with his hat and pile on more wood.
At last the flames leap and it's bumin' right good.
The puncher steps back and rolls up a smoke.
A calf is tied down with his short hoggin' rope.
His horse is standin' with reins on the ground,
Snortin' and tossin' his head up and down.
At last the cowpuncher reckons to how
He's got some hot irons, so he'll brand the small cow.
18
He grabs up the iron, his movements are fast,
He's aimin' to burn a big brand on the calf.
Puts his knee in the flank of the calf that is tied,
Slaps on the 01' iron to burn his 01' hide.
He lets out a oath; it just scorches the hair.
The cowpuncher's mad, he cusses and swears.
He knows beyond doubt, before finishin' the chore,
Gotta put it in the fire and heat it some more.
He puts back the iron, pulls his hat from his head,
Swears he'll fan the damn fire till the iron turns red.
But the wood burns up fast and the ashes they fly.
Some gits on his clothes and some in his eye.
After he's burnt all the twigs he kin find
And het up his iron three er four more times,
He looks at the brand and figgers t'will do,
It's burnt through the hair and baked the hide too.
It's plumb disgustin' and bad fer the soul,
When the wood's got no life and the irons are cold.
The fire burns fast when fanned with a hat,
Most ever cowpuncher's seen fires like that.
Cowpunchers tell of bad times that they've had,
When they stood guard all night and the weather was bad.
The cook burnt the biscuits, the meat was plumb tough,
A cowpuncher figgers he's had troubles enough.
'Tis aggravation, t'will make a man swear,
If the iron's not hot and just scorches the hair.
You can't read a brand once it is healed,
If the iron was cold and the brand doesn't peel.
(1963)
19
It's Been a Long Time, Pardner
It's been a long time, pardner, since we rode that mountain range
Where the tall pine trees grow skyward on that rocky rough terrain,
Where the cedars grow in clusters there among the malapies,
The oak and manzanita and the purple sagebrush thrives.
When the spring rains brought the flowers, and the early mornin' chill
Made a man glad to be livin' in those Arizona hills.
I am shore that you remember, and would like to be again,
Back a-workin' cattle on that rocky mountain range.
There's t·rees that's trimmed up, pardner, in a quite a lotta draws.
We are the boys that trimmed 'em with a short dehornin' saw.
We've tied wild cattle to 'em, the kind that wouldn't turn er bend,
Wilder than a mule deer, had to rope and lead 'em in.
Those trees are scarred, 01' pardner, where a big steer has been tied,
And you know before you caught him you shore took one helluva ride.
01' boy, we rode good horses, the best in the trees and rocks,
They'd shore go the straight way to 'em and pack ya to yer stock.
Oh Lord! I've often wondered, and I've said a little prayer,
That those 01' ponies are grazin' in horse's heaven way up there.
I'm a-thinkin of the springtime when we worked those water traps,
Brandin' calves and catchin' mavericks out there at Lake Flat.
Big bulls in the springtime follered gentle cattle in,
Had come up from the badlands; they was born down there in Twin.
Their horns was long and shiney; they held their heads up high,
Had just come from the bushes, and the sunlight hurt their eyes.
They had never seen a human, so they never wore a brand;
They was just plain damned mavericks that once roamed that brushy land.
You kin bet, old pard, we caught 'em and led 'em to a corral,
There was times we had our troubles and quite a lotta hell.
20
A cowboy laughed at troubles, we always made a hand,
Yes, it's been a long time, cowboy, since we burnt the Vee Tee brand.
We have popped a lotta bushes, and we've rolled a many a rock.
Buildin' to some snaky critter, when they shook a nasty hock.
Those trees were decorated with the cattle that we tied,
And the air was shore a-smokin' from the smell of burnin' hide.
Yer 01' hoss is excited, and the blood pounds in yer brain,
When yer bustin' through the cedars pullin' on those bridle reins.
That 01' hoss he's a-gainin' right up on the 01' steer's tail,
When ya hit a little clearin' ya let yer 01' rope sail.
There were times, ya know, 01' pardner, when nothin' turned out right,
As soon as yer 01' rope settled, that 01' steer would turn and fight.
Those sharp horns found their target, opened up yer pony's side,
You was wishin' you could kill him before you got the 01' brute tied.
We've made a lotta horse tracks, seen a many long 01' day,
The smoke from brandin' fires scattered all along the way.
You kin bet we both remember all those places that we've been,
Poppin' bushes down at Joe's spring, and brandin' down in Twin.
Well, I'll say so long, 01' pardner, from the West Texas plains,
I'd like to be on Parashant Mountain, poppin' bushes once again.
(1980)
21
A Bad Night at the CL Ranch
The night was still, the moon was high, stars shown overhead,
Them kids of mine all sound asleep, the wife and I in bed.
We had a dog, a friendly pup, a shaggy canine brute,
This dog was good fer eatin' chuck, and hidin' shoes and boots.
The wife and l, almost asleep, when we heard 01' bowser growl,
He leaves the spot where he's been at, lettin' out hair-raisin' howls.
01' dog was really movin' yon, that much we shore could tell,
Them kids of ourn all yelpin' too; I hollered, "What the hell?"
'Twas then the wife crawled outta bed in her long nightgown,
Said, "You;d better go out and see what's botherin' that dern hound:'
She told all the kids to quiet down, their daddy would protect,
Now a)l of you git back in bed; in this dark you'll break yer neck.
That dog was plumb stark ravin' mad, quit runnin' fer a time,
Those barks 'n howls, yelps 'n growls, made cold chills run up my spine.
I tells the wife, "Come back to bed, there's nothin' much out there:'
Then she gits mad and stomps the floor, and I think I heard her swear.
She said, "You'd stay right there in bed and never go out and see,
I just dont think you give a damn about these kids and me:'
I gits up sorta slow, pulls on my hat and boots,
Then starts lookin' round the room fer somethin' that will shoot.
There in my shorts, boots and hat, I straps on my forty-five.
I said, "You'd better come along to see that I survive:'
That woman now was ravin' mad, grabbed up my rifle gun,
Throws in a shell, goes out the door; I could tell she's not in fun.
I come trailin' 'long behind, with quite a little scare,
'Cause I kin feel my hackles rise, though I haven't got much hair.
That dog he sounded plumb insane; we're headin' up to see
If he has got a grizzly bear er a lion in a tree.
22
My woman's way out in the lead, she's shore a-rna kin' time,
I think she had the hammer back on that 01' gun of mine.
I'm tryin' hard to stay with her-I aimed to stay alive.
My sweaty hand clutched the butt of that 01' Colt forty-five.
We're gittin' close, we kin see the dog, he's really soundin' mean!
On a starlight night in the moon's pale light we could see that mad dog
spring.
I couldn't see a dem thing there, but a great big tumbleweed,
I cursed that dem fool dog of oum fer barkin' at the seeds.
I had my foot all posed to kick, when I seen a streak of flame,
A rifle spoke, sent lead and smoke, and a bullet found its game.
My lady love was just in time with that 01' smokepole of mine,
Cause she kin see it hain't no weed, but a big fat porky pine.
01' bowser now he starts t' whine, his nose plumb full a quills,
That porky pine he's deader n' hell from a thirty-thirty pill.
I thanked the Lord! Then I thanked my wife, fer she had saved my skin,
I'll never kick at a tumbleweed on a moonlight night agin.
(1976)
23
The Little Bar Zee
The story I'm telIin' b'longs only to me, the time that I rode that little Bar Zee.
The feller that owned him said with a smile, "Take him and ride him
five hundred miles:'
He said to me, "Son, that pony kin buck; he's throwed some good riders
and it wasn't just luck:'
A flick of my wrist and out flies my rope; I jerk up the slack
aroun9 his 01' throat.
Docile and gentle that hoss looked to me; he's built like a brick,
that little Bar Zee.
I takes.the hoss home, then just turned him out; I'm plannin' to ride him
when he gits fat and stout.
I wrangled my ponies, throwed 'em in the corral; some fellers had come,
aimed to chat fer a spell.
Those hosses of mine's reputations had spread round the campfires
'fore the boys went to bed.
The Chesterfield black and a flea-bitten gray, 01' Salty Sam
and a jug-headed bay,
Little Blue Rocket and Bolly Heck, too, all hard ones to ride,
most cowpunchers knew.
The little cayuse that shore tickled me wasn't none less than the little Bar Zee.
His eyes was so soft, gentle and mild, a man would suspect
that he belonged to a child.
I said to them, "Fellers, I'm shore glad ya come, got here just in time,
and ya might see some fun:'
I throwed my rope on him, and to my surprise, he trotted right up
with them kind-Iookin' eyes.
I slipped on my hackamore, bound 'er down tight; that little Bar Zee
showed no sign of fight.
24
I throwed on my saddle and pulled up my cinch; that little 01' bay
never did flinch.
I stepped in the saddle, he jumped up and squealed, high in his neck
I'm hangin' my steel.
I reached fer his ears with a flick of my quirt, but the poppers got tangled
in the tail of my shirt.
I lost my right stirrup, my spur's in the cinch, I'm pullin' the horn
an' startin' to clinch.
He wipes his 01' face, both sides on the ground, while high in the air
he turns clean around.
I hear a faint yell, "Stay with him, 01' man!" I've lost track of time
doin' all that I can.
This little 01' pony squeals just like a shoat; I'm tellin' ya, boys,
he's shore got my goat.
He jumps in the air, up there he swaps ends, comes down on all fours
and he's spinnin' agin.
He jumps high, then he kicks, and I feel my neck crack,
the cantle of the saddle's a-diggin' my back.
He comes down so hard that he made the earth shake, then quit like a pup
that was caught stealin' steak.
I'm back on the ground, and I've changed my idees - no horse fer a kid,
that little Bar" Zee.
(1963)
25
Escape from Reality
Did you ever ride out on a warm sunny day,
When you didn't have nothin' to do.
Not much on yer mind, just killin' time,
There's only yer pony and you.
Got nowhere to go so ya ride along slow,
Find yerself at the top of a hill.
Got nothin' to do, that 01' hoss and you,
And a whole lotta time fer to kill.
You loosen yer cinch, let the 01' pony graze,
Then you set in the shade of a tree.
All God's creation so peaceful and still,
How perfect 01' nature can be.
You let yer mind stray in a peace-lovin' way,
As you gaze at the life down below.
There's horses and cattle down there on the flats,
And you watch as they move to and fro.
26
Ya feel plumb contented in body and soul,
In the shade of that 01' cedar tree.
In a sort of a daze, you set there and gaze,
At a world that seems to be free.
Little dust devils dance down there on the flats,
You watch as they disappear.
The clinkin' of the bit as the horse munches grass
Is the only sound you can hear.
The troubles of life and the sins of the world
Have all taken leave from yer mind.
The things that you've done that wasn't much fun,
You've fergot all of that fer a time.
What tomorrow may bring is a very small thing,
As you set a t the top of a hill.
The picture below burns deep in yer mind,
It will be there when you land in Boot Hill.
No matter how far you travel, my friend,
In the city er busy freeways.
You will never fergit the life that you loved,
Er the peaceful scene of the day.
The sun is slidin' far to the west,
When you cori1e back to reality.
You go catch yer horse; it's time fer to go,
But fer one whole day you was free.
(1974)
27
Do Ya Think Ya Could Dolt Agin?
Do ya think, 01' boy, ya could do it, the things ya used t' do?
Or do ya think that maybe ya'd blow it? Ya either do one of the two.
Ya know that yer a lot older; the world hain't like it was then.
It's been a long time since ya tried it; do ya think ya could do it agin?
Would ya like to roll out in the mornin', when the mornin' star
starts to shine.
Co untie that 01' night hoss, got him tied to a cedar er pine.
Turn him around, step up in yer saddle, feel the bridle reins burn
through yer hands,
His head goes down, he goes skyward. Do ya think ya'd be there
when he lands?
Do ya think ya could set there, 01' timer, when he bawls, twists and spins?
There's one time you could shore do it. I bet ya can't do it agin.
Do ya think ya could bring in the remuda, unhobble 'bout forty-five head,
Cit 'em to camp by daylight, while the cowboys are rollin' their beds?
Would ya like to saddle a bad one, step aboard and lift up the blinds,
Squall like a drunken Comanche, and let that 01' devil unwind?
Do ya think ya could reach up and spur him, from chin back to his hips,
Or do ya think that maybe he'd throw ya, now maybe you done lost yer grip?
28
Could ya go down the rope like ya used to, and flank
a big four-hundred-pound calf,
Tie him, mark him, then brand him? Er do ya think he might
break ya in half?
Ya know, 01' pard, that ya couldn't, not like you used t' do
When you was out with the roundup and worked
with the spring brandin' crew.
Do ya think ya could pack that 01' pack mule, and still throw
the 01' diamond hitch?
Go out and work the rough country, fer ya had some wild cattle to catch.
Could ya catch a wild steer in the cedars when he goes through the brush
like a deer?
Rope him, throw the trip, then bust him, could ya tie
a big four-year-old steer?
Do ya think ya kin still pull yer pistol in two seconds
less than a flash,
If a big wild steer had ya cornered and was aimin' to settle yer hash?
Do ya think ya could still put a bullet just a little in front
of his ear,
Or do ya think ya might miss him and git yerself killed by a steer?
Those horses ya rode 'are just memories, their bones bleachin' now
in the sun,
But yer feelin' some sad when yer thinkin' of a great way of life
that is done.'
Now ya know that yer jist an 01' has-been and will soon
reach the end of yer rope,
So you'll jist have to live with yer memories till ya take
yer last ride down the slope.
(1980)
29
How They Lived
The people that used t' live out in the west, their standards of livin'
wasn't always the best.
They had some chickens, and maybe a cow, a dog and a cat,
a team and a plow.
They had an 01' wagon fer goin' t' church; the menfolks was lucky
with one Sunday shirt.
The women all wore long dresses back then, with a big sunbonnet tied
under their chin.
High-buttoned shoes made a gal look her best, with some fancy ruffles
round the hem of her dress.
They had git-t'gethers back in them days, and they rode that 01' wagon
fer a mighty long ways.
Them folks were happy if maybe by chance they all got t'gether
at some country dance.
Cowboys 'n sheepherders rode in fer miles; the menfolks would nod,
'n the gals would just smile.
An 01' squeaky fiddle, a guitar with six strings, some folks would recite,
while others would sing.
Kids wrapped in a blanket against the wall on the floor, the fiddle would
squeal and the kids they would snore.
r mind those" 01' folks at a country whing-ding; the fiddle would squeal
and the caller would sing.
He'd call a square dance er perhaps a Paul Jones; they'd waltz
and'they'd two-step before they went home.
Then there would be trouble, most everyone knowed, at the little
schoolhouse there at the crossroads.
Some cowboy er sheepherder would git way too tight, pull an 01' pistol
and spoil fer a fight.
Those God-fearin' folks were shore t' jump in and try t' stop violence
before it begin.
Fer out in the bushes was a jug fulla corn, and the trail that led to it
was mighty well worn.
Somehow er other when the dance ends, everyone was alive
like when it begin.
Those folks would head home with a lotta good-byes, and some of the ladies
had tears in their eyes.
There was no one that really got hurt, though some of the boys had blood
on their shirt.
Those cowboys would mount up and leave on a run, with long streaks
of flame spittin' from a six-gun.
Those boys with the sheep would head fer their camp, step up in the wagon
and light the 01' lamp.
30
<
Then in the momin' they'd usually find the remains of a sheep
where a coyote had dined.
Those God-fearin' people was all headed home to an 01' lumber shack
a-standin' alone.
With a wood-bumin' stove against the far wall, some chairs and a table,
a bed and that's all.
The whole shootin' match in them days could be bought
fer two hundred bucks if it's cash on the spot.
There was no politicians a-pesterin' their lives, just a dog and a cat,
their kids and their wives.
When we think back and yearn fer the best, it's that 01' way of livin'
when they settled the west.
(1980)
31
.....-<.~ ''' ~. ~. --..
. C""'l\~ .
• "', , .\";: ~. "7>-":";'
As I wrangle with my memories I'm thinking of the past,
I started wranglin' horses as a kid.
Just watch that 01' remuda, and keep 'em on good grass,
How I long to do the things that I once did.
Phantom pictures of the prairie, through the sunset's purple haze,
I see the boys come ridin' back to camp.
Gathered round that 01' chuck wagon, the cook beats the supper dong,
"Come and git 'er while she's hot, you saddle tramps."
How I'd like to live it over, rollin' out with the mornin' star,
Yes, I'd love to ride that night horse once again.
To be the cowboy out on wrangle, just listenin' fer bells,
And see the daylight breakin' o'er the range.
To be back punchin' cattle, ridin' all day long,
See the dust a-boilin' high from the millin' herd.
Just ropin: tyin', brandin', cuttin' out those ornery strays,
And hear the cowboys drop a careless word.
I know that I'd be happy, once more a-ridin' guard,
Out there I'd sing my 01' night-herdin' song.
Ridin' round the sleepin' cattle, meet and pass my pard,
Then I'll tell ya, boys, I'd be where I belong.
To hear that 01' coyote as he serenades the moon,
Ever now and then you'd see a comet fall.
Then it all comes back to me, just like it used to be,
Hear that lonesome cowboy sing the cattle call.
(1965)
32
Tranquilizer Pills
I hung up my chaps and saddle, then I up and bought a farm,
Please don't worry, little darlin', there's no cause to be alarmed.
We will sell our home and rancho, then northeastward we will go,
Goodbye, Arizona, Colorado there, hello.
"On this farm we'll make a fortune;' that's the very words he said,
"No more high-heeled boots er stetson, buy a straw hat fer yer head:'
The farm agency man told me that these 01' bowlegs of mine
Was just right to fit a tractor, break it, clutch it, let 'em hang.
Call him a dawgone liar, our mailbox is fulla bills,
My little darlin' has got ulcers, I take tranquilizer pills.
Uncle Sam, our great adviser, made an agricultural change,
Sign up in the federal office if you want to plant some grain.
Then the mailman brought a letter, yes, our county taxes come,
And my heart almost quit beatin', see that large six-figgerd sum.
Finance company holds our mortgage, my six-shooter's on the shelf,
Can't afford to file bankruptcy, so I think I'll shoot myself.
Then I wonder why I worry, takin' tranquilizer pills,
Uncle Sam's a great-provider, passed a brand new poverty bill.
Call that real estate man a liar, that dern bailer doesn't tie,
Cattle's back in the alfalfa; watch 'em bloat and watch 'em die.
Then I dreamed I went to heaven, but couldn't git inside,
Didn't have no reservations, turned away with tear-stained eyes.
For a moment I just pondered, then I took the downward trail,
The air kept gittin' hotter, till I heard the devil wail.
Go away, yer not a farmer, just an 01' time buckaroo,
There's no place in hell er heaven fer the likes of folks like you.
Little darlin', how's yer ulcers, the mailman just brought more bills,
Finance company wants a payment; pass the tranquilizer pills.
(1964)
33
The Orejana Bull
'Twas the spring I worked fer Mathis, the spring of fifty-three.
We left Pine Springs one mornin', Reed Mathis and me.
Reed was ridin' Lucky, a big stout blaze-faced bay;
I'm settin' on 01' Chapo when we left the ranch that day.
We headed out fer Mokaac to see what we had caught,
Fer we had shut the triggers out at the water lot.
We could hear some bawlin' comin' on the mornin' breeze,
And see the dust a-risin' through a clearin' in the trees.
We makes a little circle, from the south comes ridin' in,
And our rope arm starts to twitchin', fer the fun would soon begin.
We had caught a bunch of cows and calves, two maverick yearlin' bulls.
Their hides was slick and shinin', their ears was long and full.
'Twas then we finally seen him, his horns was long and keen,
He's wild and he's excited; 01' pard, he shore looked mean.
A big 01' orejana bull, four er five years old,
He's crafty as a timber wolf, cunning, wise and bold.
We cinched up our saddles, the gate we opened wide
Of a slab c9rral in the corner, aimed to put those cows inside.
We started 'em out easy, whistlin' sorta low,
Figgerd we might corral 'em by workin' sorta slow.
" The big bull's gittin' restless, we're holdin' 'im too tight;
He left that bunch of cattle, to the north he took his flight.
Mathis tried t' turn him, but he never had a chance;
We both knowed we would lose him if he ever hit the fence.
He circled round the water lot, come back among the stock,
And I know what he would call us, if he could only talk.
He's mad and he's not bluffin'; if we wanta save the day,
We're gonna have to rope him; next time he'll git away.
It wasn't long a-comin' till he made another try,
01' Mathis right beside him and he's spittin' in his eye,
01' Luck he's a-flyin', bellied dern near to the ground.
When that orejana hit him, made a sicknin' bell ern' sound.
Lord! I seen those sharp horns hit him and open up his side.
A look of holy terror was in Reed Mathis' eyes.
I'm tryin' fer position, but I couldn't git a throw,
And I knew I couldn't help him fer I had too far to go.
34
Reed pulled Lucky to a side, and let the big bull pass,
That hoss and bull was movin', and they're really movin' fast.
Reed reached out and caught him; it was a bad mistake;
Then he turned the other direction when he seen the 01' rope take.
01' Lucky he's a-flyin', headed fer the slab corral,
But the hard twist never tightened; Mathis hollered, "What the hell!"
01' Lucky he's a-runnin', he's movin' like a jet;
That big bull's right behind him; I thought he'd ketch him yet.
Reed's still a-tryin' to keep the slack out of his line,
About that time it happened - they forked a ponderosa pine.
Reed and Lucky took the left, the big bull took the right;
I heard a grunt and beller when they jerked the catch rope tight.
01' Lucky he was heavy, weighed around twelve hundred pounds,
You could feel the 01' earth tremble, when the big bull hit the ground.
I stepped right down to tie him, then I seen it was no use.
His eyes was gittin' glassy, horns all broke and loose.
One horn was drove into the ground, the other scarred the tree,
But two cowpokes were happy, once agin breathin' free.
Reed finally got his color back, I seen him coil his rope,
He loosened up his 'saddle, then he finally spoke.
"Well, it shore looks like we whipped him, guess the 01' boy's dead.
We'll drag him off tomorrow;' that's the very words he said.
Those two cowpokes are gittin' old, that craved t' stretch their line,
But they still thank God fer plantin' that ponderosa pine.
(1963)
35
Yula Whipple (right) and her grandmother, Annie Whipple, 1949
Cowpuncher'S Wife
In a quaint little cabin beside a cool stream,
Where the wild roses twine and the mockin' birds sing.
Oh! I'll be so happy the rest of my life,
For I'm dreamln of bein' a cowpuncher's wife.
But romance all ended when I said I do,
In a cabin' so bare I'm so lonesome and blue.
There's a ring on my finger, a simple gold band,
It's a symbol of affection from a bronc-ridin' man.
In an old lumber cabin - the stream isn't there­Gravy
and beans is our plain bill of fare.
He's up in the mornin' ridin away,
He'll be gone on a roundup fer twenty-one days.
He straps on his gun and goes out the door,
While I stay at home and do all the chores.
It's lonesome at night when the babies all scream,
To be a cowpuncher's wife was a young maiden's dream.
I'll tell all you girls, it's bondage fer life,
If yer plannin on bein' a cowpuncher's wife.
He's ridin' and ropin, there's sweat on his brow,
And you'll play a poor second to a horse er a cow.
(1964)
36
When the Homesteader Came
He came to this country a long time ago, had a team and a wagon,
a rake and a hoe.
He plowed up the grass and fenced up the range; it's been a long time
since the homesteader came.
He built him a shack and planted some corn; in the 01' lumber shanty
his ten kids were born.
He dug him a well and planted some grain; in his prayers to the Lord,
he prayed it would rain.
But the rains didn't come, and his well it went dry; he fought drouth
and cowmen with tears in his eye.
Both ragged and dirty, they slept on the floor, was the fate of the nester
with ten kids er more.
But let's give him credit fer starvation and tears; he played a big part
when they tamed the frontier.
He had troubles and hardships, now he's buried and gone,
But his shack is still standin' as time travels on.
But the fondest of memories at times wander back to a cast-iron stove
and a floor fulla cracks.
Yes, it's been a long time since the homesteader came and fenced up a section
of good cattle range.
(1965)
37
Back Qn the Old Home Range
The even in' sun was gittin' low, and long dark shadows fell,
A cowboy set on his trusty steed at the top of a rocky hill.
He looked out o'er the old home range, a rough and rugged land,
Out there he'd spent his youthful years and growed into a man.
The 01' hoss stood there half asleep and switched his tail at flies,
The cowboy's thoughts was goin' back t' the good 01' days gone by.
He's thinkin' now of the boys that's gone, the 01' pals he used t' know,
The boys that left this country many long years ago.
He knows the fate of some of them in the big war overseas,
He knows that they died fightin' t' keep this 01' range free.
Then there was those that drifted on, too old t' go t' war,
Those pals he'd never see agin, then there was a dozen more.
Ed was killed by a bronco horse; his body layed fer days,
And when at last they found him, his old carcass was decayed.
01' Bill and Jim, old age got them in some old folks' home,
The cowboy finds himself at last dem near all alone.
38
June died in a foreign land, 'The good Lord knows where:'
George was killed on a South Pacific isle, raisin' the flag up over there.
01' Dode got his in a rodeo when his rope horse fell.
The cowboy strokes his horse's mane, "01' pard, the cow country's gone
t' hell:'
The cowboy muttered to his horse, "01' friend, the country's gone:'
There hain't no cowboys any more, now it's time we're movin' on.
Barbed wire fence and pickup trucks rule the range t'day.
The Bureau of Land Management has come out west t' stay.
A federal man patrols this land, and counts the grass and trees,
And now barbed wire hems us in; 01' hoss, we're just not free.
The mustangs are gone, the wild horse bands that used t' roam this range.
They call it all progression, now there's nothin' quite the same.
He's got a bunch of white-faced cows, gentle as a milk-pen calf.
To watch this new cowman at work would make the old hands laugh.
The roundups that we used t' know are gone ferever, pard,
An' I'll never ride out agin and take my turn on guard.
On a quiet summer night, a storm a-movin' in, a big loud clap of thunder
And a little gust of wind.
When the sky opens up like a funnel, and the rain comes pourin' down,
When the cattle all leave t'gether, I've heard that rumblin' sound . .
The boys back at camp would be comin'; there's times that I've rode fer
the lead,
When the lightnin' flashes lit the way as we rode with a mad stampede.
Most any kid on an 01' brood mare kin round up these gentle cows,
And there's a lotta hands out there would look better on a plow.
The big trail herds have ceased t' roll; I've drove that long, long trail,
They ship 'em out in trucks t'day, no longer ship by rail.
The cowboy's usefulness has passed, but he served his purpose well,
01' hoss, I'm tellin' you agin the country's gone t' hell.
You may see this 01' cowboy t'day, ridin' in some feed yard,
Or maybe in some old folks' home, shufflin' a deck of cards.
A way down deep those old hands are all about the same,
They'd like t' live their life agin, back on the old home range.
(1980)
39
The Big Horseshoe Bend
Let's saddle up, pardner, and ride once agin,
Out to the canyon and look off the rim.
We'll just take it easy and ride along slow,
Take in the scenery and talk as we go.
'Twill bring back 01' memories that's long in the past,
When the trails were so long and the days couldn't last.
We'll laugh at the hardships we used to know then,
Let's ride out once more to the Big Horseshoe Bend.
To the end of 01' Kelly, where the Grand Canyon turns,
There the 01' Colorado boils, foams, roars and churns.
We'll look at the color in the Grand Canyon walls,
And see the great ledges where the tall shadows fall.
We've rode those 01' trails a long time ago,
They're rough, and they're steep, and ya have to go slow.
There's big granite ledges, sandrock and lime,
It's a mighty steep trail to the 01' Snyder mine.
Thousands of stories the Grand Canyon holds,
If you kin read picture writin', their secrets are told.
Pictures are chisled deep in the rocks,
Tell stories of hunters and the game that they stocked.
The eagles build nests 'long the Grand Canyon walls,
Where the slimy red water makes a great waterfall.
It looks sorta peaceful where it runs smooth and quiet,
But it's awful deceivin' in the moon's silver light.
There're eddies and whirlpools waitin' fer you,
Many folks tried to cross 'er that didn't git through.
Their bodies was found a long way below
The point of 01' Kelly where the rough waters flow.
Remember the time yer horse bucked off the rim?
You bailed out in time, er you'd went off with him.
A hundred-dollar saddle and those blankets you praised,
Went with that 01' pony fer a mighty long ways.
We'll pretend that we're tourists with eyes big as bowls,
We'll gaze at the beauty the Grand Canyon holds.
We just couldn't see it when we rode those 01' trails,
Let's live in the past and tell big, windy tales.
40
We're both gittin' old, and we'll tell our grandkids
About this old canyon and the things that we did.
Down on Blue Mountain you can't see the sun,
The brush is so thick that yer pony can't run.
Let's look off Sighwest, there's red, yellow and gold,
The great granite walls standin' rugged and bold.
No artist can paint it; their colors won't blend.
'Twas made by the master, the Big Horseshoe Bend.
(1964)
41
Why Am I Ball-Headed?
"Why am I ball:-headed?" Well, in case you'd like to know,
It's a wild mixed-up story, and it happened years ago.
No! It wasn't any redskin that took away my scalp,
But I tangled with a polecat, and shore did holler help!
The year of 1941, the snow lay on the ground,
'Twas in chilly 01' November, and the night had settled down.
We was sleepin' in a cabin; our beds was on the floor.
I had a Snyder kid fer company, Lord! how that boy could snore.
One night we had retired, the 01' kid was stretched out flat,
And I listened to his snorin', and the noisy mice and rats.
Then I hears another racket, come above all other sound,
Away back in the corner, something's stompin' up and down.
42 ...
I raised up in my blankets, reached and got my gun,
Ear'd back the hammer, swore I'd kill the ornery son.
I struck a match and fired, Lord, the air turned blue and thick,
Fer my bullet found the target and dern shore done the trick.
I fell to the floor gaggin', yes, I fought and gasped fer air,
I'd lost my gun and pullin' my thick brown wavy hair.
I thought I was a-dying, my face all puffed and red,
I floundered like a chicken that just up and lost its head.
My brain was kinda foggy, and tears was in my eyes.
I prayed, "Oh Lord! please save me, I think I'm gonna die:'
I must of hit a gas pipe! How it spewed, and how it stunk,
Then I finally got the feelin' that I must have shot a skunk.
My company had left me, headin' down a rocky slope,
Through the snow, sagebrush and cedars, boundin' like an antelope.
Each stride was long and mighty, that boy was gainin' speed,
Wasn't long until I passed him, and was way out in the lead.
No! Never will fergit it, that cold November night,
When the moon was in first quarter, the stars so thick and bright.
From the cracks of tha.t 01' cabin slowly seeped the thick perfume.
Weren't cologne er Nights of Paris that floated up toward the moon.
Today I am slick-hfaded, just like a billiard ball.
No! I never will fergit it, that night I still recall.
My curly hair is gone ferever, guess the stink must killed the roots.
And I'd rather fought a grizzly than go git my pants and boots.
The years have passed so swiftly since that cold November night,
The Snyder kid fer company, the stars so thick and bright.
That night I got my forty-five, and shot so straight and fast,
That night I hit the target, the damned thing was fulla gas.
(1963)
43
Lonesome Nights
Lord! it's lonesome here tonight, in this little lumber shack,
A blizzard's blowin' from the north, and the walls and rafters crack.
The walls are thin, some cleats are gone, the snowdrifts cross the floor.
The only sound is the howlin' wind and the rattlin' of the door.
Only once have I been outside; I chopped a little wood,
Grained my horses and cussed my luck, cuz things don't look too good.
It snowed all night till noon today, then a blizzard starts to blow.
Shore makes one helluva noise out there, and drifts the powdery snow.
The varmints have all found their holes, and I know they've all crawled in,
But my ponies out there with turnin' hair, humped up with their tails
to the wind.
All day long I've had this chair damned near on the stove,
Git up, set down, turn around and cuss the driftin' snow.
Nothin' to do but walk the floor and keep the stove red hot,
It's gittin' time to light the lamp and put on the coffee pot.
I've spent all day in the same damned way, a-turnin' to the heat,
Walk the floor, and cuss my luck, kick and stomp my feet.
This shack's aU right in summertime, on hot and sultry days,
A many a time I've set right there and watched the pack rats play.
With my forty-five I'd give 'em hell, shoot my cabin fulla holes,
Now I'm payin' fer my fun, shiverin' in the cold.
I tangled once with a skunk polecat, the bullet hole still there,
Tonight the snow comes siftin' through, along with the winter air.
I used to ride with some reckless guys; it filled my soul with joy.
Then like a fool I quit goin' to school, now I'm just a dumb cowboy.
'Twas over in that corner, many times I've heard it said,
They tell me that a rattler grabbed 01' Booger Red.
He swallerd his tabacker, 01' Red is still alive,
But I'll bet five bucks the reptile crawled away and died.
Boy, this shack could tell some tales, if it could only talk.
Lord! but that's a wicked wind, shore makes this shanty rock.
There's time to think of things I've done when I rode on moonlight nights,
Out there rustlin' cattle; now I know it wasn't right.
I think of the kids that went to school, they lead a different life;
They live in town, and they work inside, and they're always warm at night.
They go to those western movies, see those shoot-ern-up cowboy shows,
But they'll never know just what it's like when a ragin' blizzard blows.
44
But I chose my life and here I am shiverin' in the cold,
I've had my fun, and I've made my play, now I guess I'm gittin' old.
I don't know what's the matter, or why I think this way,
Because I'm just a cowboy and will be till my dying day.
But Lord! shore gits lonesome when a man's cooped up alone,
Nothin' to do but set and think, and listen to the blizzard moan.
(1963)
45
The Big Hell Hole
Away out on the Hell Hole rim the long leaf timber grows,
Just below Death Valley Lake is fed by rain and snow.
The yellow pines are clustered there, oak and cedar trees,
Malapie rocks, manzanita brush, grows thick as it kin be.
'Twas there the mountain lion leaped, and a yearling met its death,
The lion ate the choicest meat, the coyotes got the rest.
The buzzard circled overhead, then he swoops down low,
The gray fox watched with a cunning eye and waits till the coyotes go.
In days gone by dusty trails led down to the water brink,
In early dawn the big wild steers would come down there to drink.
The cowman built a water lot round the clearin' in the trees,
The big buck deer bound o'er the top just graceful as could be.
'Twas there a many an old bull died that never wore a brand,
The Hell Hole rim was a perfect place to torture souls of man.
The maverick bull pawed the ground and bellered his challenge call,
Where the brush grows thick as hell and the long leaf pines grow tall.
46
The drouthy years have took their toll; you kin see by scattered bones,
Bleachin' skulls half-buried there; once chokin' cattle moaned.
There's a rocky rim to either side, above Death Valley Lake,
There the mountain lion roams; it's home to the rattlesnake.
Up o'er the rim and to the south lies the Big Hell Hole,
Down in the bottom water seeps, there the outlaw steers grew old.
A many a cowboy made his run and when he reached the top,
The cattle was slidin' off the rim, rocks rolled, and their tails would pop.
'Twas there the cattle rustler rode, a-Iookin' fer his prey,
A many a calf was stolen there back in the bygone days.
Then the lion hunter came with horses and his hounds;
He brought some dudes to see the fun as he trailed the big cat down.
The bounty on the cougar's head lured the hunter to the kill,
Their bloodhounds bayed when they hit the tracks;
The dudes came fer the thrill .
The cowman fought a losing fight, rustlers, drouth and ticks.
He coiled his rope and sold his range, the elements had him licked.
He cursed when he left that brushy range, where wild cattle used t' hide.
Their bleachin' bones decayin' there, where the rustlers used t' ride.
Today it's fenced, and many a road leads to the mountain top.
The Big Hell Hole, still a giant bowl, and still one helluva drop.
(1964)
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Glossary
cayuse - horse
deadfall- area covered with fallen trees
kack - saddle
malapies - from the Spanish, mal pais, meaning bad country.
In northern Arizona, frequently refers to lava rocks.
manzanita -evergreen shrub found in several varieties in the
southwestern United States
orejana - unbranded animal, i.e., a maverick
peeler - bronco buster
roman-nosed -long-nosed
rough string-wild horses that are difficult to handle and train
triggers - one-way gates to a corral, constructed so that stock
can enter but not escape
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