There's an empty cot in the bunkhouse tonight Pinto's head hanging low His spurs and chaps hang on the wall And he's gone where the good cowboys go There's a range for every cowboy And the foreman looks after his own There'll be an empty saddle tonight But he's happy out there I know He was riding the range last Saturday noon When another started to blow With his head in his chest heading into the west He was stopped by a cry soft and low There a crazy young calf had strayed from its mom And lost in the snow and the storm It lay in a heap at the end of the draw Had a long and a bunch to keep warm Limpy hobbled his feet Tossed him over his hoss And started again for the shack The wind blew cold and the snow piled high And poor Limpy strayed from his track He arrived at three in the morning And put the maverick to bed He plopped in his bunk Not able to move In the morning poor Limpy was dead There's an empty cot in the bunkhouse tonight Pinto's head hanging low His spurs and chaps hang on the wall Limpy's gone where the good cowboys go There's a range for every cowboy And the foreman looks after his own And someday he'll ride old Pinto On the range up there above