falling,
Our race is almost run;
The days of elk and buffalo
And beaver traps are gone.

Oh, the days of elk and buffalo!
It fills my heart with pain
To know these days are past and gone
To never come again.

We fought the red-skin rascals
Over valley, hill, and plain;
We fought him in the mountain top,
And 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 LONE BUFFALO HUNTER

It's of those Texas cowboys, a story I'll tell;
No name I will mention though in Texas they do dwell.
Go find them where you will, they are all so very brave,
And when in good society they seldom misbehave.

When the fall work is all over in the line-camp they'll be found,
For they have to ride those lonesome lines the long winter round;
They prove loyal to a comrade, no matter what's to do;
And when in love with a fair one they seldom prove untrue.

But springtime comes at last and finds them glad and gay;
They ride out to the round-up about the first of May;
About the first of August they start up the trail,
They have to stay with the cattle, no matter rain or hail.

But when they get to the shipping point, then they receive their tens,
Straightway to the bar-room and gently blow them in;
It's the height of their ambition, so I've been truly told,
To ride good horses and saddles and spend the silver and gold.

Those last two things I've mentioned, it is their heart's desire,
And when they leave the shipping point, their eyes are like balls
of fire.
It's of those fighting cattle, they seem to have no fear,
A-riding bucking broncos oft is their heart's desire.

They will ride into the branding pen, a rope within their hands,
They will catch them by each forefoot and bring them to the sands;
It's altogether in practice with a little bit of sleight,
A-roping Texas cattle, it is their heart's delight.

But now comes the rising generation to take the cowboy's place,
Likewise the corn-fed granger, with his bold and cheeky face;
It's on those plains of Texas a lone buffalo hunter does stand
To tell the fate of the cowboy that rode at his right hand.

THE CROOKED TRAIL TO HOLBROOK

Come all y