In the hot July of thirty-three
Joe Walker took a walk
west across the desert sands
through cactus beds and rock

He headed west from Rendezvous
in eighteen thirty-three
with a band of rugged mountain men
wild and tough and free

The Salt Lake plains were parched and dry and the huntin’ wasn’t good
they starved and got so thirsty
they drank their mules’ hot blood

They staggered through the barren wastes
and survived that first hard test
then autumn snows fell cold and deep
on the high Sierra crest

Cross they must those fearsome crags
over they must go
no choice but break a frozen trail
through passes filled with snow

That month among the glaciered peaks
that month, it was their worst
that month they ate their horse’s flesh
and froze and starved and cursed

With guts and grit Joe forged ahead
and never lost his way
through a thousand miles of wilderness
to the shores of Monterey

When Joe Walker rode across the west
in eighteen thirty-three
that winter camp it was the best
in trapper history

They drank good Spanish brandy
in the California sun
and danced with buxom senoritas
at fandangos ‘neath the moon

They toasted their old comrades
fightin’ Blackfeet on the plains
and shiverin’ in their winter camps
in the windy freezing rains

And they toasted Joe a hundred times
and each swore he’d never fail
to fall in right behind him
when Joe Walker took the trail