And now my friends you’ve asked me, what makes me sad and still,
And why my brow is darkened like the clouds upon the hill?
Run in your ponies closer, and I’ll tell to you my tale,
Of Utah Carol, my partner, and his last ride on the trail.
We rode the range together, and rode it side by side,
I loved him like a brother, and I wept when Utah died.
We were rounding up one morning, when work was almost done,
When on his side the cattle started on a frightened run.
Underneath the saddle that the boss’s daughter rode
Utah that very morning had placed a bright red robe.
So the saddle might ride easy for Lenore, his little friend.
But it was this red blanket that brought him to his end.
The blanket was now dragging behind her on the ground,
The frightened cattle saw it, and charged it with a bound.
Lenore then saw her danger, and turned her pony’s face,
And leaning in the saddle tied the blanket to its place.
But in leaning lost her balance, fell in front of that wild tide.
“Lay still Lenore, I’m coming!” were the words that Utah cried.
His faithful pony saw her, and reached her in a bound,
I thought he’d been successful and had raised her from the ground.
But the weight upon the saddle had not been felt before,
His back-cinch snapped like thunder, and he fell by Lenore.
Picking up the blanket he swung it over his head,
And started cross the prairie, “Lay still, Lenore!” he said.
When he got the stampede turned and saved Lenore, his friend
He turned to face the cattle and meet his fatal end.
His six gun flashed like lightning, the report rang loud and clear,
As the cattle rushed and killed him he dropped the leading steer.
On his funeral morning I heard the preacher say,
“I hope we’ll all meet Utah at the roundup far away.”
Then they wrapped him in the blanket that saved his little friend,
And it was this red blanket that brought him to his end.