Then we'll mount and away for another year, other Court House Rock.

On the prairies green, in the mountains drear, To trap the beaver,, and hunt the deer, From Arkansas to Yellowstone.

Jim Bridger is one, John Nelson's another,

And Gilman, he's two by himself, And we'll count him the third ; then Dick, and

me, Jack Jones, Jack Morrow, Jack Grey --

Jacks three, A good poker hand, but by yonder tree, Is a flush -- Bill Cody -- himself.

Nine in all -- ■ only nine. Oh, how I do wish, Slippery Ben could have bluffed death a year.

But what's done is did, we can't bring him back, So catch us your horses, and hurry and pack,

And we'll push on ahead in the same old track We have followed so oft without fear.

You are ready I see, Well, move on ahead,

While Dick and I stop awhile. For something is raising a dust back behind,

And if it is Indians, we will soon make them find They have no business here, when we go it

blind,

And must take tother road, or strike ile.

Why there's only one -- a horseman at that,

Dick, us two can get off with him, Easy enough, can't we, be he friend or foe, For there's no two men have better rifles, you know. Don't appear to you though, that he's comin' darned slow; That horse and his rider so slim.

Gimme your coat tail to wipe out my eyes,