Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains Part 52

Come all of you, my brother scouts, And join me in my song; Come, let us sing together, Though the shadows fall so long.

Of all the old frontiersmen, That used to scour the plain, There are but very few of them That with us yet remain.

Day after day, they're dropping off; They are going, one by one; Our clan is fast decreasing; Our race is almost run.

There were many of our number That never wore the blue, But, faithfully, they did their part, As brave men, tried and true.

They never joined the army, But had other work to do In piloting the coming folks, To help them safely through.

But brothers, we are failing; 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 those days are pa.s.sed 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.

Those 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