|Share page||Visit Us On FB|
I 'LL sing you a song, though it may be a sad one, Of trials and troubles and where they first begun; I left my dear kindred, my friends, and my home, Across the wild deserts and mountains to roam.
I crossed the Missouri and joined a large train Which bore us over mountain and valley and plain; And often of evenings out hunting we'd go To shoot the fleet antelope and wild buffalo.
We heard of Sioux Indians all out on the plains A-killing poor drivers and burning their trains,— A-killing poor drivers with arrows and bow, When captured by Indians no mercy they show.
We traveled three weeks till we came to the Platte And pitched out our tents at the end of the flat, We spread down our blankets on the green grassy
ground, While our horses and mules were grazing around.
While taking refreshment we heard a low yell, The.whoop of Sioux Indians coming up from the dell; We sprang to our rifles with a flash in each eye, " Boys," says our brave leader, " we'll fight till we die."