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We knew that old man Reynolds Had moved his traps up here; So picking up our rifles And fixing on our gear We moved as quick as lightning, To save was our desire. Too late, the painted heathens Had set the house on fire.
We hitched our horses quickly And waded up the stream; While down close beside the waters I heard a muffled scream. And there among the bushes A little girl did lie. I picked her up and whispered, " I'll save you or I'll die."
Lord, what a ride! Old Bridger
Had covered my retreat;
Sometimes that child would whisper
In voice low and sweet,
" Poor Papa, God will take him
To Mama up above;
There is no one left to love me,
There is no one left to love."
The little one was thirteen And I was twenty-two; I says, " I'll be your father 140