Westwold Way

Way down along the Salmon River

Where the whiteface cattle roam

I can hear the Curlew calling

"Ranger come back to your Home."

Far from the bright and noisy city

I would like to be,

Riding beside the Salmon River;

That is the trail for me.

Spring, and the golden sun is gleaming

O'er the mountain side.

Overhead the wild geese wheeling,

Heading for the northern wild.

Sandhill Crane and Swan are calling

Over Chapron way.

Below them the winding river

Flows every night and day.

Memories of old times come stealing 

O'er my weary heart.

I'm longing for those old companions

So long have we been apart.

Let me go back to the restless river,
Back down Westwold way,

Back to the cabin and campfire

There to the end I would stay.

Let me hear the coyote calling

His longings to the moon,

And with the evening shadows falling,

The cry of the Northern Loon.

Let me build my lonesome campfire

By old Beulah's shore.

There, 'neath the spreading pine tree

Lay down and sleep once more.

Let me hear the range bull bellow

His challenge to the world, 

And when the Aspen leaves turn yellow,

Ride home with the gathered herd.

See the Whitetail as he flashes

Through the bush to hide,

See old Bruin as he ambles

Where the wild berries bide.

Let me ride where the grouse are winging

To roost in the tall fir trees,

Where the mountain creeks are singing

And the brook trout takes his ease.

There I would hear the squirrels chatter

Mingle with the Blue Jay's scold, 

See the Magpie with his saucy patter

And the Whiskey Jack so bold.

There is a lake were mallards feed

Safe from the hunter's gun,

Down from the sky the blue teal speed

Out of the setting sun,

Hawks skimming a lakeside meadow,

Ravens circling high, 

Mud hen drifting in the shallows, 

Heron standing by.

Let me see the osprey rising

Over the depths where silvers laze,

Higher still an eagle soaring 

Above the mountains purple haze,

Redheads drumming on a dead snag,

Dippers wading in the creek,

Cottontail come lippity lipping

Cunning one who seems so meek.

Let me hear the beaver signal

As he makes his homeward dive,

Broadtail telling friend and brother

Hurry—danger does arrive.

See the muskrats gathering rushes

Building for a long cold day,

Spreading rings upon a dark pool

Mark an otters silent way.

Let me hear the summer thunder

Sounding up Round Mountain way,

Like a salvo of six pounders

Heard upon a long gone day.

See the forked flash rend the storm clouds

Sending cool drops falling fast,
Bringing to all nature's children 

Ease from summer's heat at last.

Let me hear the marmot whistle

As I near the meadow gate, 

See him scurry to his burrow

Making haste lest he be late.

Then as sunset brings its shadows

Hear the hoot owl call his mate,

"Meadow mice head for your hideout

Or you'll end on Hooty's plate."

On the trail I meet old Porky

Coming at his shambling gait,

Susan snort and shies around him;

Paddy gives him right of way.

Black hound knows by painful memories,

Memories of a fateful day,

Barbed quills taught him that old Porky

Goes unhurried on his way.

Let me ride to Robert's cabin 

On the old Jones Meadow Trail.

There's a barn for weary ponies

And corral of post and rail,

Hay and oats for Red and Baldy,

Bacon in the pan for me'

Close at hand a spring gives water,

Tastes good in that old lard pail.

Let me sit beside the pine logs

Burning in that old camp stove,

Thinking of my friends and dear ones

And of a loved one I long to hold.

O'er the strings my fingers wander

Picking out a vagrant tune,

Knowing never more I'll meet her

Riding 'neath a lover's moon.

When my days on earth are over

And the Great Spirit takes me hence,

To a place of greener meadows

Marred not by corral or fence,

Lay the ashes I leave behind me

Close beside that mountain trail,

So the wild ones will pass by me

As they go upon they ways.

[To this my friend do not fail.

As they roam o'er hill and dale.

The bruin, the coyote and the quail.]