The "Slim Princess" ran in the long ago
Down the grades fast, and up the grades slow.
The antelope grazed on the right of way
With the season always open any time of day.

Buffalo Bill, he rode his hoss
And shot his game as a matter of course,
We watch in front, cause we can't turn back . . . . .
Heigho, higho, hunting from the track.

Montgomery Pass is a puffing grade
And a deer lies down to rest in our shade.
Last one I missed was near Taboose,
But I'll hang this one in our little red caboose.

Animals felt it wasn't fair,
A narrow gauge railway through their lair,
But they'd come to look, and they'd end in the sack,
Heigho, higho, hunting from the track.

The trail from Basalt's a long flat place
And the jackrabbits all are pining for a race.
But we won't slow down to give them a lift
For we're bound for Mina and the change of shift.

Never knew a railroad to make it pay
Hunting coyotes on the right of way,
But a buck for a hide is clothes on my back,
Heigho, higho, hunting from the track.

When you're tired of beans and the quail are fat,
It's heigho, higho, hunting from the track

Let me climb the highest mountain,
Let Thy wind blow cool upon my face,
Let me walk the fat horizons
Know Thee in the farthest place.
Let me, lost in nature's beauty,
Find the soul Thou gavest me.
In the high grey mountain quiet,
Arms outstretched, I come to Thee.

Let me walk the lonely places,
Where no one but Thou hast gone;
Let me face the windy evening
Stand against the crimson dawn.
Let me face alone, as Thou didst,
All the thoughts that make us kin,
Only on such snow-deep summits
Can I seal my faith within.

Let me climb the highest mountains
Following the path Thou made,
Find with storm the deep conviction
That shall leave me unafraid.
Then no matter where I wander,
Whether path be rock or sod,
By the mountain heights I've conquered
I shall know I walk with God.

While I've still got a pair of rattle-chain mules
The railroad can't get rid of me.
I'll freight her out where the devil makes the rules
And the grade's too steep for the old S.P.

I'll still freight the Nadeau malapais trail,
With my rattle-chain mules and my head held high,
Oh, it's up the Darwin grade I'll go
Till it's either hell or the Fourth of July.

My old dog for company
Since Darwin Katie ran out on me.
Junction Ranch ahead I see,
Then give me my whiskey straight-o.

Old Nadeau had his soldier guards,
Camped at the end of his rocky trail,
And just as good they were to me
As a burr on the end of my lead mule's tail.

It"s a bacon and beans for Darwin lead,
And the freight I carry is on the cuff.
The price is down and the stock is dead,
If they don't pay soon then I've had enough!

Mother, mother, hold me near
It's getting close to Saturay night,
And girl's all know a freighter's right
When he's drinking his whiskey straght-o.

I love the sound of rain on the roof,
It's money in the bank, it's cattle on the hoof,
And when it rains I never have a gripe
If my old black stove keeps smoking his pipe.

I love the rain and the song of the showers,
Singing me a tune of many lazy hours.
I love the smell of an apple when it's ripe
And my old black stove is smoking his pipe.

You can see the green grass growing all around,
Popping up to greet the raindrop's sound.
Every lightening streak shows you dollars in the sky
And my cabin's warm and my wood's all dry.

Wouldn't trade my cabin for that castle on the hill,
While it keeps on raining I'll be sitting still,
For I'm a kind of lucky, lazy, easy going type
When my old black stove is smoking his pipe.

Nothing's lonely as a creaking saddle,
Nothing's empty as the clear blue sky.
Nothing's wider than the plains around me
Where the wind is going by.

Nothing's lonely as a creaking saddle,
Nothing's empty as a spring gone dry.
Nothing's bigger than the land around me
Where my days are going by.

You'll only hear the sound of your saddle
When you are lonesome too.
When you trail's empty
You'll hear it gently
Singing a song to you.

Nothing's lonely as a creaking saddle,
Nothing's empty as a desert stream.
Nothing's longer than the trail I wander
Searching always for a dream.

I face my life when anxious wind
At midnight blows across the plain;
Bleak wind that comes when hope is low
Each night to sing its sad refrain.
My troubles have been with my kind
Since time and love began --
Oh Lord, why does a woman follow a man?

By day my children cling to me
My shoulder often at the wheel;
My wagon world surrounds me with
The hurts of others I must heal.
But when the anxious midnight wind
Blows black across the land --
Oh Lord, why does a woman follow a man?

Night is the only friend I have,
My children fast asleep at last.
The men have had their day of toil,
Their present crisis met and passed.
But I must mend the days to come,
Patch with my hopes each raveled strand --
Oh Lord, why does a woman follow a man?

Deep in my heart my life is hid,
Deep in a trunk my dresses lie;
And only God knows, through my prayers,
My terror of this alien sky.
The startled pulse, the staring eye,
At anxious wind across the land --
Oh Lord, why does a woman follow a man?

The old trails, the long trails,
Are lost and gone forever.
Over the desert playa, over the lava flow.
And the men and women who walked the trails
Are the dust of today and tomorrow,
Their graves rolled flat by the wagon wheels
So that none could guess or know.

But the only gold for many
Is the gold of the setting sun,
And a lonely grave at the fork of the road
When their search for the gold was done.

The old trails, the long trails,
Lead down to the water hole.
Down in the cool of the evening, where the bedded cattle lie.
But beyond them, over horizon's rim
Lies the trail on West to horizons dim
With the sun in their face at the close of day
As a compass to travel by.

But the only gold for many
Is the gold of the western sky,
And thier hopes to carry them over the trail
And their dreams, until they die.

The old trails, the long trails,
Where westing go the wagons,
Over the glistening salt pans, over the sage-sweet plain.
While the men march on into brighter years
And the women hide in their hearts, their fears,
Till the last peaks rise in the fading light
And the clouds grow gold again.

Yes, the only gold for many
Is the gold of the setting sun.
And a lonely grave at the fork of a road
When their search for the gold is done.

Funny little river by a mountain range,
Never high and mighty, nor even very strange;
Friendly little river, you're lost before you start,
Sunny little river, meandering through my heart.

Little creeks come running down the mountainside,
Skipping through the willows to get beneath your hide;
Friendly little river, I'll bet you're lonely too,
When I'm going fishing I'll say hello to you.

Muddy when you're rolling,
Or clear as autumn sky,
Where spotted cattle stand around
And try to drink you dry;

Funny little river, you'll never reach the sea
But just keep on a-rolling
For the lonely likes of me.

Full beyond your brushy banks
Or low on gravel bars,
Reflecting high Sierra crest
Or glow of desert stars:

Funny little river, the sun's your faithful friend,
Just leave a fish for me to catch
Beyond some lonely bend.

A cowboy's bedroll is his home
Oh, deliver me, Satan.
It's filled with everything I own,
Ready and willing and waiting.
It's filled with everything I own,
From some old bobbed wire to a curry comb,
And it saves me change . . . . cause I sleep alone,
Oh, deliver me, Satan.

My bedroll's home and that's no joke,
Oh, deliver me, Satan.
It smells of horse . . . . and me . . . . and smoke,
Oh, deliver me, Satan.
Got my shaving kit and an empty jug,
An old branding iron and some fresh cut plug,
I'd go for a wife . . . . but the fit's too snug,
Oh, deliver me, Satan.

I've got a claim on the lonesome plains.
Very nice climate for it seldom rains.
Wind'll guarantee a crop of dust for me
If I can raise the money for my homestead fee!

It doesn't matter which way I go,
It's still ten miles to a water hole.
I'll dig a well when I've raised my fee
Tamping ties on the Santa Fe*.

Chorus
Seven long months I've got to be
Farming dust on the wild prairie.
Five more months to earn my fee
Tamping ties -- on the Santa Fe.

Sod hut's all that I can raise.
Wood's too dear for my batchelor days.
Harvey House gal's going to marry me
When I make good on my homestead fee.

Claim's no place for a lonely man,
Me'n my cow needs a woman's hand.
But I'm in debt for the agent's fee,
I've got to tamp ties on the Santa Fe.

Seven long months I've got to be
Farming dust on the wild prairie.
Five more months to earn my fee
Tamping ties -- on the Santa Fe.

*Santa Fee, so they pronounced it.