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Frontier Ballads
Oh, the horses, sleek and stout
When the squadrons started out, How they pranced along the column as the bugles blew the "Trot!"
They might weaken and go lame,
But they'd never quit the game, And they'd bring us back in safety if they weren't left to rot.
When there came a sudden tack
In the travois' dusty track And we knew the reds were headin' for the timber and the rocks,
With the infantry and trains
Thirty miles back on the plains, Then the horses were the boys that got the knocks.
Oh, the horses, roan and bay,
Without either corn or hay, But a little mess o' dirty oats that wouldn't feed a colt;
Who could blame 'em if they'd bite
Through the picket-ropes at night? When a man or horse is hungry, ain't he bound to try and bolt?
When the trail got light and thin
And the ridges walled us in, And the flankers had to scramble with their toes and finger-nails.
While the wind across the peaks
Whipped the snow against our cheeks, Then the horses had to suffer for the badness of the trails.
Oh, the horses, lean and lank,
With the "U. S." on their flank And a hundred-weight of trumpery a-dangle ail around;
How they sweated, side by side,
When the stones began to slide And they couldn't find a footing or an inch of solid ground.
But they'd stand the racket right Till the redskins turned to fight And up among the fallen pines we heard their rifles crack; |
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