The Eel River Tragedy

Eel River Tragedy I’ve gold dollars for my darlin and a Stetson for my son, and in my old broke saddlebags, I keep my Schofield gun, when home I’ll make some coffee and tell a tale I’ve seen, about the Eel river tragedy, the like since never seen In sunset’s dust, ten thousand steers, drank from muddy banks, while one hundred thirsty cowboys rode into their ranks, the water soon was muddy, a bubbling rattlesnake red, and fifty cowhands underfoot, man and boy lay dead A cyclone made of hooves and horns, took them to their grave, two thousand of the hasty breed, died from drinking mud, laid poisoned in the mornin sun, did cheat the slaughterer’s thud Now that’s a lot of good men, who didn’t need to die, they’re lookin down in anger from the roundup in the sky, so if your steers need water, then split the herd in turns, and send your hands upriver, to drink by settled ferns