Joe Cosley

The Snowshoe Panther

Holed up in the mountains, livin’ off the land,

trappin’ Belly River, though mostly it was banned.

From Glacier up to Waterton, he’d find a beaver run,

he’d skin ‘em out and sell em’, then head to town for fun.

Dancin’ through the night, swing them gals just right,

drink ‘til mornin; light, and maybe start a fight.

He’d spin a real tall tale, or spend the night in jail.

then pickin; up his mail, he’d head out on the trail.

Up Ahern Pass he’d ride, to cross the Great divide,

he’d still be bleary-eyed, when he reached the other side.

They need rangers in the Park, signin’ up’s a lark,

carves his old trademark, underneath the bark.

Hired to stop the poachin’, he don’t need no coachin’,

there’ll be no reproachin’, on how the Law is broken.

The poachers he will catch, their peltries he will snatch,

‘cuz Poachin’ Joe’s a natch, that none of them can match.

The Park has lots of game, it would be a shame,

if anyone should claim, ol’ Joe could be to blame.

They fired him in Fourteen, just before the war,

coulda’ used his carbine, to even up the score.

The Cardston Mounted Rifles, need a dead-eye shot,

no airs and no trifles, Cosley’s what they got.

He’s the terror of the Hun, with his Enfield gun,

before the war is done, he’ll pick off Fifty-One.

Goes back to Belly River, to live his life alone,

he didn’t have a flivver, and he didn’t have a phone.

In Twenty-Nine they caught him, but he tried to get away,

with prospects lookin’ grim, no longer could he stay.

Bonded out by friends, he’d never make amends,

o’er the trail he wends, to Alberta he ascends.

He traps a frozen line, thinkin’ he’ll be fine,

a cabin in the pine, at Seventy-Three he’s fine,

Like a Robert Service rhyme, up comes his dyin’ time.

In Forty-Four he is found, they put him in the ground,

sad he ain’t around, his stories to expound.

LDT Apr 2, ‘22

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