Raja and His Chuckwagon Days (Steve Dickson )

Raja and His Chuckwagon Days

«Steve Dickson »

He looked real funny dressed up in them duds

 when we come in to camp from the trail

 Washin’ tin plates in a tubful o’ suds

 Shiny derby hat hung on a nail

Who’s this little feller we want to know

 a dandy here among us old dogs

 He’s the new cookie, said the trail boss, Joe

 as we set down on one of the logs

The old cook had died ’bout three weeks ago

 We’d been livin’ just mostly on beans

 hell on our innards I want you to know

 we near blew out the seats of our jeans

Shorty brought biscuits and set em on down

 Then next up came some fine smellin’ stew

 we looked  real close as he come back around

 and poured us all some hot coffee too

Nary a word he said nothin’ at all

 ‘Til Bob asked where the hell he was from

 “I come from a village ’round old Cornwall”

 we all stared at him like we was dumb

“My name is Raja and I’ll be your man

 Cooking fine fare daily for you gents

 Now bring me your dishes and fetch those pans

 So I can earn all my meager pence

We started laughin’ and near ‘bout fell down

 This first time we heard Raja  talkin’

 Feller looked jus’ like a little ol’ clown

 Voice sounded like he was a squawkin’

The other bunch come in and asked around

 “Is that the new cookie that Joe hired?”

 Said Bob who was pettin’ his ‘ol red hound

 “If he cain’t cook he’ll surely be fired.”

Joe said “give the rascal a fightin’ chance

 Townfolks said he’s the best in the bunch

 He ain’t much to look at on the first glance

 But he’ll surely be cookin’ your lunch

We teased him, no mercy for several days

 Though his cookin’ sure tasted real swell

 We found great amusement at his strange ways

 Until he rang that ‘ol dinner bell

Raja was picky when it came to meals

 most game that we brought to him, he’d snub

 While serving he’d stand and dig in his heels

 He got mad if we called his food grub

He wouldn’t join us when we went to town

 He stayed by the chuckwagon all day

 Kept to himself but if some were around

 He’d pull out his fiddle and he’d play

Had a fine voice and he knew some sweet tunes

 That caused us hard ‘ol cowboys to cry

 He sang in a language from ancient runes

 That were written in days long gone by

One day Jim poured gin in his cup of tea

 Raja coughed and sputtered all that day

 When supper was over he came to me

 This here’s what all he managed to say

“You fellows have had enough of your fun

 I allowed you chaps to have your play

 Go choose now amongst you the roughest one

 I’ll knock his bloody block off, I say”

“Doggone it Raja, you’re too small to fight

 Most of these ‘ol boys are jus’ plum mean

 They’d stomp and whup you and turn out your light

 I’m thinkin’ you’re jus’ a bit too green”

He stared there at me with sparks in his eye

 Said “I challenge your best man right now

 Wager your eagles and I’ll show you why

 And in a few moments you’ll see how

He puffed up like a rooster dancin ’round

 He was swingin but no one was there

 We stood in wonder but looked at the ground

 Old Jubal said “Hell, I’ll take the dare”

Now Jubal’s a big un o’er six foot tall

 He claimed to have wrassled with a bear

 He never laid hand on Raja at all

 Brother, what we seen there was plum rare

Jubal went to swing but took a big lick

 Seems like Raja struck twenty more blows

 Our man was wheezin,’ just tryin’ to kick

 How Jubal kept a standin’, Lord knows

He finally fell over out like a light

 Little Raja was still fit and fresh

 You wouldn’t know he’d just been in a fight

 There weren’t a doggone mark on his flesh

We picked up Jubal, his bell was still rung

 Said his noggin was filled with a buzz

 For two hours after his head was hung

 Until Raja explained who he was

He gathered us ’round down there at the camp

 His bright curly red hair stickin’ up

 “Good fellows I tell you that I’m the champ

 Of all England and still hold the Cup

I’ve been a boxer for most of me life

 I learned the fine skill when just a lad

 I was married but had a jealous wife

 I fled when she caught me being bad

Here to the states then I made me own way

 Learned culinary art at fine schools

 I swore not to box unless ‘twas for pay

 Me hands can also be deadly tools

Honest me hearties, I’m now on the lam

 From me missus and me former foes

 If they find me gents, life’s not worth a damn

 Time on earth here would be full of woes

He fixed a platter of pork chops and kale

 With potaters and biscuits and tea

 We swore his secret was safe and this tale

 Brother you didn’t hear it from me