It won't take so long from the Big Hole
                        If you don't mind a hot and dusty ride.
                        'Til you come to the ghost town of Bannack,
                        Where the outlaw sheriff, Henry Plummer died.

                        There's nothin' like new gold to start the killin',
                        Soon Grasshopper  Creek was runnin red.
                        When a miner struck it lucky at the diggins,
                        He was pannin' out a price upon his head.

                        The people stood around and talked in whispers,
                        On every face a troubled frown.
                        Human life was gettin' cheap in Bannack
                        When Plummer rode his stallion into town.

                        He sat so tall and handsome in the saddle,
                        His words brought new courage to the men,
                        When he bowed from his stirrups to the ladies
                        They dropped their eyes and blushed, and smiled on him.

                        The people chose this man to be their sheriff,
                        And heard his solemn oath to keep their trust,
                        But little did they know how Henry Plummer
                        Would drag the name of Bannack in the dust.

                        There was gunsmoke on the trail to Salt Lake City
                        And many a long-line skinner, stout and bold,
                        Lay dead beside his looted treasure wagon
                        To satisfy the sheriff's lust for gold.

                        The vigilantes met in secret council
                        And judgment was passed by candle flame
                        As witness after witness named the sheriff
                        The man behind the blood shed and the shame.

                        He made his final plea before his judges
                        And was told that this day would be his last:
                        "Well, Gentlemen, if that is your decision,
                        "then build your scaffold high and drop me fast."

                        The night when Henry died upon the gallows,
                        The town looked up and put aside its fears,
                        But many a snow-white pillow there in Bannack
                        Was dampened by a maiden's flowing tears.

                        And now they say the ghost of Henry Plummer
                        Comes riding home each evenin' at sundown
                        To share the night with rattlesnakes and spiders --
                        The only livin' things in Bannack town.

                        Up the Beaverhead the Indian summer's dyin'
                        Where the tall green willows used to wave
                        And the dry yellow grass is a-sighin'
                        In the wind over Henry Plummer's grave.
                                                -^- ^- ^-

                                                            (Postscript)
                                          But the looting never faltered in Montana
                                          And here's a thing that you should know for sure
                                          That beside the ruling mob called Anaconda;
                                          Poor Henry was a bungling amateur.