Here's one from the gold rush of 1874 in the Black Hills of Dakota. There was a small amount of gold in the Black Hills; just enough to perpetrate a legitimate hoax. An officer of the Northern Pacific railroad started the rush to stimulate business. General George Custer was part of the plan and he spread the word. The folks that came forced the Sioux Indians off their treatied/native lands. This was a travesty as the Black Hills were sacred to the Indians. Eventually Custer was repaid by the Sioux for this offense at the Battle of Little Big Horn where Custer and his Seventh Cavalry was defeated and slain. The army took out it's frustration on the Indians at the battle of Wounded Knee by slaughtering everyone there--mostly women and children. I first learned this from Frank Hamilton, a former member of the WEAVERS, about 1961---a tape of him I made of a concert he did at the University of Illinois--Chicago (Navy Pier--2 year branch.)---We used to say that was the only university that could be torpedoed! ;-) Later, Jim Ringer did a great version of this song on his wonderful Folk Legacy LP---the one with "California Joe" (Folk Legacy will make custom cassettes from any of their wondrous LPs for anyone desiring to purchase one---a great service and resource.Check out their website ! I'm there too.

THE DREARY BLACK HILLS

Kind friends won't you listen to my horrible tale,
I'm an object of pity and I'm feelin' quite stale,
I gave up my job selling Wright's Patent Pills,
To go hunting for gold in the dreary Black Hills.

CHORUS)
Don't go away, stay to home if you can,
Stay away from that city--they call it Cheyenne,
Where Chief Crazy Horse and old Sittin' Bull,
They,ll lift up your scalps in the dreary Black Hills.

As I went out ridin' one morning in May,
I spied old Kit Carson---he was ridin' away,
He was riding out west with Buffalo Bill,
Gone to huntin' the gold in the dreary Black Hills.

The roundhouse at Cheyenne is filled every night,
With loafers and bummers of most every plight,
On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills,
Each day they keep startin' for the dreary Black Hills.

When I got to Cheyenned no gold could I find,
I thought of the lunch route that I'd left behind,
Through rain, hail and snow---froze plumb to the gills,
They called me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills.

I wish that the man that started this sell,
Was captive and Crazy Horse had him in hell,
But there's no use moanin' or swearin' like pitch,
'Cause the man who'd stay here is a son of a bitch.

And so, my kind friends, this advice I'll unfold,
Don't go to them Black Hills a-diggin' for gold,
For the railroad speculators, their pockets you'll fill,
From takin' that trip to the dreary Black Hills.