They called him Cactus Jack, a bear of a man was he,
known for traveling the desert sands of Arizona to
the snow peaked mountains of Colorado in search
for that, all alluring gold.
His old Jackass was as hardheaded as a flint rock,
but he knew his way up to those mountain tops,
even when Jack was blind drunk and wearing just
one holey sock.
With pick and pan, Jack sifted a many load of black sand,
just to find a few grains of color in the bottom of that
old rusty pan.
But, it was enough to keep Jack in grub, and a cheap bottle
of wine, the devil’s brew that gave him the courage to continue
the search for that old Dutchman’s mine.
The year was 1862 and Jack knew the Highwayman well...in tall black boots
with pistol and sword in hand; stagecoaches, one after another he would rob and
with the silver and gold he would pay a 'mariachi' band, and Jack would drink, laugh,
dance and clap his hands.
Now Jack was getting middle aged, ornery as his old mule, and with his bare hands, tamed
a mountain lion, he named, Buell.
The apaches feared no man, except one, and that was Cactus Jack and
his pet mountain lion, that always covered Jack's back.
Time slipped on by, as time is known to do, and the year turned to 1892.
Jack’s beard had turned as white as snow, and in all of his adventures, Jack
never found the lost Dutchman or discovered a single glory-hole, but a life
of adventure, he had lived, and now they had better bury him deep, for
he’ll keep his trusty shovel handy, just in case, he decided to dig for the devil’s gold,
buried so hellish deep!