Out of a dark and old hidden cave
Near the ghost-town they call Devil’s Eye,
Arose the foul stench of a reopened grave
On a hot, moon-lit night in July.
The Indians told that the cave was the tomb
Of the crazy, young maiden Runs Wild
Who was banned to the cave, for the babe in her womb
Was the Devil’s Eye sheriff’s white child.
Now the sheriff, they say, found her dead in the cave
And he pinned a gold brooch to her breast,
And he fought back the tears as he dug her a grave
Where he lovingly laid her to rest.
The earth fell around her, trapping her tight
In the cave she continues to stay,
And sometimes at night when the wind is just right
You can still hear her wailing today.
Well, one day a drifter named Big Red Calhoun,
Riding through on the Lost Canyon Trail,
Stopped in for a brew in the local saloon
When he heard of the old Indian tale.
He rode to the cave with a lantern that night
And he dug up the corpse and the pin,
But there in the light, it was only pyrite!
He’d been played for a fool — taken in!
Her soul now released, the young maiden fled
And he let out a thunderous roar
That shook the cave walls and stone ceiling o’erhead
Til they buckled and crashed to the floor.
The stones fell around him, trapping him tight
In the cave he continues to stay
And sometimes at night when the wind is just right
You can still hear him wailing today.
michaeljordahl 