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2010LITTLE JOE THE WRANGLERWriter: Tex RitterCalled him Little Joe the wrangler, he''ll wrangle never moreHis days with the remuda, they''re all doneIt was a year ago last April, he rode into our campJust a little Texas stray and all aloneLong late in the evening, he rode into our campOn a little old brown pony he called ShawIn his brogan shoes and overalls, a tougher lookin'' kidYou never in you life ever saw.His saddle was a Texas kack made many years agoAn OK spur on one foot idly slungWith his hot roll in a cotton sack loosely tied behindHis canteen on the saddle horn was swungHe said if we''d give him work, he left his home quite youngHis new pa beat him every day or twoSo he saddled up old Shaw one night and lit a shuck this wayNOw, he''d try to paddle his own canoe.He said if we''d give him work, he''d do the best he couldThough he didn''t know straight up about a cowSo the boss, he cut him out a mount and kinda put him onHe sorta liked this little kid somehow.Taught him how to wrangle horses and know''em all by nameGet ''em in by daylight if he couldAnd to follow the chuck wagon and to always hitch the teamAnd help the carsonaro rustle wood.We were camped out at Red River, the weather was just fineDown by the south side of the bendWhen a Norther started blowin'' and we doubled up our guardIt took all hands to get the cattle in.Little Joe The Wrangler called out with the restscarcely had the kid reached the heardWhen the cattle all stampeded, like a hailstorm they fledAll of us, we were ridin'' for the lead.Beneath the streaks of lightnin'', we could see a horse aheadIt was little Joe The Wrangler in the leadHe was riding old Blue Rocket with a slicker over his headTrying to check the leaders in their speed.At last, we got''em millin'' and kinda quieted downThe extra guard back to the camp did goOne of us was missing, we all knew at a glance''Twas that little Texas stray, poor Wrangler Joe.Next morning, just at day break, we foudn were Rocket fellIn a washout forty feet belowBeneath his horse smashed to a pulp, his spur had rung the knellWas that little Texas stray, poor Wrangler Joe.OH BURY ME NOT ON THE LONE PRAIRIE''Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie,''These words came sad and mournfullyFrom the pallid lips of a youth who layOn his death bed at the close of day''It matters not, so I''ve been toldWhere a body lies when the heart grows coldBut grant, oh, grant one wish to me:Bury me not on the lone prairie''Oh, bury me not--''But his voice failed thereWe did not heed his dying prayer;In a narrow grave six by threeWe buried him there on the lone prairie