The following version is from Ian Tyson's album "Ian Tyson" (Columbia FC 39362, 1984). Tyson credits Gardner and although he has a few word differences, he follows the original pretty close. The liner notes by Jay Dusard, photographer/author of "The North American Cowboy: A Portrait" and a resident of Prescott, AZ at the time, refers to the mountains as the Sierry Petes. Tyson pronounces the first word "si-ree" even though his text has "Sierra".


SIERRA PEAKS
Lyrics by Gail I. Gardner
Music Arrangement by Ian Tyson

Way up high in the Sierra Peaks
Where the yellow jack pines grow tall
Buster Jiggs and Sagebrush Sam
Had a rodeer camp last fall

They'd taken their horses and runnin'irons
And maybe a dog or two
An' lowed they'd brand every long eared calf
That came within their view

And any ole dogie that flapped long ears
An' didn't brush up by day
Got his long ears whittled an' his old hide sizzled
In a most artistic way

Now one fine day ole Buster Jiggs
Just throwed his reata down
Says "I'm sick of cowboyography
And lows I'm goin' to town."

So they saddled up an' hits 'em a lope
For it weren't no sight of a ride
For them was the days when a good Buckaroo
Could oil up his insides

They started up at the Kentucky Bar
At the head of Whiskey Row
And wound her up at the Depot House
Some forty drinks below

They then sets up and turns around
And goes her the other way
To tell you the God-forsaken truth
Them boys got drunk that day

And they was a-ridin' back to camp
A-packin' a pretty good load
Who should they meet but the devil himself
Come a-prancin' down the road

Says he, "You ornery cowboy skunks
You better be huntin' your holes
For I'm the devil from Hell's Rim Rock
Come to gather in your souls"

Says Buster Jiggs "The devil be damned
We boys is kinda tight
But you ain't a-goin to gather no cowboy souls
Without some kind of a fight."

So he punched a hole in his old sego
And he throws her straight and true
He lapped it on to the devil's horns
An' he's taken his dallies too

Now Buster Jiggs was a reata man
With his gut-line coiled up neat
He'd shaken her out an' he built him a loop
Caught the devil by both hind feet

Well they stretched him out an' they tailed him down
While the irons was a gettin' hot
They cropped and swaller-forked his ears
Then they branded him up a lot

They pruned him up with a dehornin' saw
An' they knotted his tail for a joke
And rode away and left him there
Tied up to a blackjack oak

So if you're ever up in the Sierra Peaks
An' you hear one hell of a wail
You'll know it's the devil a-bellerin' around
About them knots tied in his tail

First printing copyright by Gail I. Gardner Library Of Congress Certificate of Registration Copyright entry: Class AA No. 192120, Dee. 14, 1935. Certificate of Claim to Renewal of Copyright No. 313825, Apr. 15, 1963.
All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

IAN TYSON - Vocals, Acoustic Guitar GEORGE KOLLER - Electric Bass THOM MOON - Drums
DAVID WILKIE - Mandolin MELVIN WILSON - Acoustic Guitar GARY KOLIGER - Electric Guitar TOM McKILLIP - Acoustic Guitar JEFF BRADSHAW - Steel Guitar