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(written by miriam berg in about 1964 based on Ernest Thompson Seton's story)

(music to go here)

My name is Ernest Thompson Seton, a naturalist I am,
At telling stories of animals I love to turn my hand,
Well, foxes, dogs and rabbits I've come to know quite well,
But the mighty tale of Lobo is the one that I want to tell.

Now Lobo was a giant wolf, king of the Currumpaw,
A land of sheep and cattle, where Lobo made the law,
When he appeared among the herds with all his trusty band,
Terror reigned supreme among the cattle of the land,
And wrath and despair among all the sheep and cattlemen.

Yes, Lobo was a giant wolf, more cunning and more strong,
A voice that was a booming roar among his lupine throng,
Now Lobo's band was never large, but each was a wolf of renown,
There were five other noted wolves that followed Lobo 'round.

Another giant, tho' not so large, was second in command,
And Blanca was a white wolf, Lobo's mate among the band,
There was a famous yellow wolf who was so swift and fleet,
He'd many times caught an antelope for Lobo's pack to eat.

The cowboys and the shepherds all knew these wolves quite well;
And gladly would have murdered then as they cursed them all to hell,
But Lobo's pack led a charmed life, scorning hunters and poison too,
And they killed one of the best cows each day, as all of the cattlemen knew.

These freebooters lived like princes, most fastidious at their meal,
They only ate what they had killed, and never horse nor veal,
They loved the tenderest parts of a heifer freshly killed,
And they'd massacre whole flocks of sheep just for an evening's thrill.

The shepherds knowing their sheep would flee kept goats among their flocks,
And the goats would keep a panic from arising in the stock,
But Lobo diabolically killed all the goats at first,
Then chased the sheep, and slaughtered them, and made the shepherds curse.

One thousand dollars was the bounty set on Lobo's head;
A Texas ranger named Tannerey came to shoot old Lobo dead,
With his trained pack of fierce wolfhounds which were famed throughout the land,
But his dogs and horse, they all were killed by Lobo's mighty band.

The cattlemen in their fury over the killing of their stock
Asked me to come and try my hand at this predatory pack
So traps and poison I did use, most cunningly all were wrougnt,
But Lobo, he just laughed at me and all my traps as naught.

I set my traps in blood and skin and cleverly concealed,
But Lobo somehow seemed to know just when they were afield,
And to this day I'm sure that wolf was smarter far than me,
Had not Blanca proved his ruin, old Lobo might still be free.

Sometimes all did not seem quite well with the mighty Currumpaw pack,
For smaller tracks ran out ahead of Lobo's giant track,
Until one day a cowboy explained this lese-majeste
It's Blanca runs ahead, said he, so a female she must be.

So I reset all my traps about a heifer freshly killed,
And threw the useless head apart, with traps of my most utmost skill,
And my luck ran high for while old Lobo saw right through my deed,
Blanca was caught by recklessly grabbing at the bloody head.

We overtook her at the rock as she did run away,
Dragging trap and head with her on that her fatal day,
She howled for help and Lobo roared but we had beaten him there,
We lassoed her around the neck and thought not her life to spare.

His basso roar did become a heartbroken plaintive wail,
And all the cowboys with me felt the piteousness of that wail,
I never heard a wolf go carry on like that, one said,
Now indeed I know that Blanca was his mate, to him I said.

I sometimes shrink whene'er I think how we murdered Blanca there,
We might have taken both alive if we had taken care,
But a hundred and thirty steel wolftraps about the ranch I set,
And I dragged poor Blanca's body over them to leave her scent.

Now Lobo broke with misery forgot his wily ways,
And in four steel wolftraps he'd lain struggling for two days,
Before I found him there amid a jeering cattle throng,
And compunction overcame me, at this moment awaited long.
    (spoken)Grand old outlaw, hero of a thousand lawless raids,
    Soon you will be but a great load of carrion.
    It cannot be otherwise. (Ernest Thompson Seton's words)

But Lobo, he was not through yet, he struggled to attack,
He bit my lasso quite in half, and so I had to go back,
And returned with help and finally we tied his jaws and head,
And then the grand old outlaw was a helpless prisoner instead.

He bore no cross of Satan as the stories often told,
Nor about his shaggy ruff was there any collar of gold,
The mark of Juno, Tannerey's wolfhound, was there upon his hip,
But she had died when in his side she made her claws to rip.

We set him meat and water, but to all he paid no mind,
But gazed off and yonder to the open hills beyond,
We expected him to call for help, so ready we all stood,
But he'd called them once in vain, and again he never would.

A lion shorn of all his strength, a dove bereft of its mate,
Or an eagle robbed of freedom, as many tales relate,
All die of a broken heart, 'tis said, and could Lobo have stood the pain
Of the triple loss which must have rent his iron heart in twain.

Next morning there upon the ground he still lay in calm repose,
But the old king wolf was dead, his spirit gone where nobody knows.
We took the chain from around his neck, and laid him by Blanca's side,
There, now you are together again, an aging cattleman cried.

(from miriam berg's folksong collection)