Little Joe the Wrangler

Little Joe, the wrangler, will never wrangle more
His days with the Remuda, they are done
'Twas a year ago last April, he joined the outfit here
A little Texas stray and all alone

'Twas long late in the evening, he rode up to the herd
On a little old brown pony he called Chaw
With his Brogan shoes and overalls, a harder-looking kid
You never in your life had seen before

His saddle was a Southern kack built many years ago
An OK spur on one foot lightly hung
While his hat roll in a cotton sack, was loosely tied behind
And a canteen from the saddle horn, he'd slung

He said he'd had to leave his home, his daddy'd married twice
And his new Ma beat him every day or two
So he saddled up old Chaw one night and lit a shock this way
Thought he'd try and paddle his own canoe

Said he'd try and do the best he could, if we'd only would give him work
Though he didn't know straight up about a Cow
So the boss, he cut him out a mount and kindly put him on
For he sorta liked the little stray somehow

Taught him how to herd the horses, learned to know them all
To round 'em up by daylight if he could
To follow the Chuck wagon and to always hitch the team
And help the cosinero rustle wood

We'd driven to Red River and the weather had been fine
We were camped down on the South side in a bend
When a norther commenced the blowing, and we doubled up our guards
Where it took all hands to hold the cattle in

Little Joe, the wrangler, was called out with the rest
And scarcely had the kid got to the herd
When the Cattle they stampeded, like a hailstorm on they flew
And all of us were riding for the lead

Amid the streaks of lightning, you could see a horse ahead
It was little Joe the wrangler in the lead
He was riding Old Blue Rocket with his slicker 'bove his head
Trying to check the leaders in their speed

At last, we got'em millin', and kind of quietened down
And the extra guards back to the camp did go
But one of them was missin', and we all knew at a glance
'Twas our little Texas stray, poor Wrangler Joe

Next morning just at sun up, we found where Rocket fell
Down in a washout twenty feet below
Beneath his horse, mashed to a pulp, his horse had ran the knell
For our little Texas stray, poor Wrangler Joe