The Hallelujah Trail

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Hallelujah, hallelu, hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelu, hallelujah

Don't know where we're goin'

or where we been

Hallelujah Trail

It's written in the dust

and blown by the wind

Hallelujah Trail

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelu, Hallelujah Trail

You can't tell a horse

from a stubborn mule

Hallelujah Trail

You can't tell a hero

from a doggone fool

Hallelujah Trail

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelu, Hallelujah Trail

Love a woman and she'll love you

Hallelujah Trail

Just do unto her like she wants you to

Hallelujah Trail

There ain't no such thing

as a perfect man

Hallelujah Trail

You girls gotta do the best you can

Hallelujah Trail

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelu, Hallelujah Trail

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelu, Hallelujah Trail

The girls are sweet as sugar candy

Hallelujah Trail

But look out, boys,

their lips are sandy

Hallelujah Trail

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Hallelujah

Early in the morning, almost day

Hallelujah Trail

Rise and shine, we're on our way

Hallelujah Trail

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelu, Hallelujah Trail

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelu, Hallelujah Trail!

The land at first.

Mountains thrust forth

from the molten darkness of the earth.

Mountain and valley.

The virgin West.

High plateau

and red rock of sandstone.

Wilderness West.

Prairie land, rolling on and on

to the end of sight.

Oh, pioneer West.

What fervent dreams lay half-buried

in this land of promise?

Dreams crushed by a cruel nature

or the lance of an Indian warrior.

Every page in history

must have its beginning,

and ours takes us to the year 1867.

An army that had fought

in the war between the states,

that had bravely battled

in many an Indian campaign,

now patrolled the West

in a time of peace,

with ever-present thoughts of home.

The Indian was back

on the reservation,

where the Peace Commission of 1867

had met with various warlike tribes

and secured certain promises

from them.

In return,

papers were given to Indians,

certifying them to be good citizens

who would obey the laws of the land.

Many gifts were distributed.

Beads,

pieces of cloth,

ammunition,

and war-surplus rifles.

Naturally, these rifles were

quite unfamiliar to the Indians.

Of course, it was understood

these weapons were to be used

solely for the purpose

of hunting game.

The leaves turned early in that year.

It could be a long, hard winter.

The signs were everywhere.

In the high country, the morning frost

would sometimes last until afternoon.

Buffalo were feeding ravenously.

Beaver were damming

and storing with strange vigour.

Horses and dogs were becoming

shaggy-haired as never before.

And it could be sensed in the booming,

bustling mining town of Denver.

Most historians agree that the events

leading to the Battle of Whiskey Hills

and the subsequent disaster

at Quicksand Bottoms

began here in Denver,

at a miners' meeting.

Such meetings were frequent

and held as part

of the political fabric of the town.

But the meeting of November 4th

had a marked air of grim foreboding.

Quiet! I got an announcement

I gotta make.

In 10 days from now

the city of Denver will be bone dry.

No!

Not one drop of whiskey anywhere.

Speak up! We can't hear ya!

I said Denver will be bone dry

in 10 days.

You heard what I said.

I said plumb out and I mean out!

Wait a minute,

wait a minute.

I thought Bert Keeler was gettin'

in a big order, but he was sick.

Sam Buford was gettin' in 60 barrels,

but Sam got his foot caught

in that bear trap.

He didn't tell Shelby

to get his 50 barrels, so...

So with four big orders outta reach,

there ain't nobody else put in.

- Now, take this here saloon alone.

- That's all there is.

Look at it. And there's already been

snow flurries along Gunner's Pass.

If we get ourselves a hard, cold winter,

there won't be a wagonload of whiskey

in Denver till spring.

And it could be a late spring.

Hold it! So what we need,

we need us a plan.

Hey! What does Oracle say?

Afternoon, gents.

Oracle, what about this here winter?

The buffalo are feedin' ravenous.

The beaver are workin' somethin' fierce.

The horses and dogs are growin'

shaggy-haired like never before.

What else? Have you seen anything else?

Yep, I had me a vision on, uh...

Oh, it come on me two days ago.

- Well?

- What'd you see?

Uh...

Why, thank you.

At the feed store, it was.

Come on more sudden than most.

I was lookin' up, and there it was.

- What was it?

- Snow.

Heavy, white snow.

Yep, it's gonna be a long, hard winter.

And when a long, hard winter hits us,

by damn, she hits.

- No wagons gettin' through, no supplies?

- And no whiskey.

- You know.

- Yep.

It come on me two days ago.

We gotta have a plan.

- What kinda plan, Oracle?

- Uh, let me just...

Hallelujah!

There! Now I see it!

I see all of us a-comin' together.

I, um...

I see us...

puttin' all the whiskey orders into

one big shipment for the whole winter.

I see us gettin'

an ironclad guarantee from, uh...

from some good company like, uh, uh...

Thank you. Like Frank Wallingham...

to get them drinkables to our saloons

right now afore the snows hit.

I, uh...

I see a wagon train, a whole

wagon train loaded up with whiskey

a-comin' down on us from Julesburg.

I see 20...

30...

40 wagons.

- Are you Hobbs?

- I am, sir.

- Did you print that?

- I did, sir.

- And who, may I ask, are you?

- Frank Wallingham.

I see. How do you do?

Won't you sit down, Mr. Wallingham?

No. I wanna know why.

Why did you do it?

I've done nothing but print the truth.

600 barrels of Philadelphia-brewed

whiskey moving from here to Denver.

Yes. Then what happens when the Indians

get wind of 40 wagons full of firewater?

- They'll scalp us from head to foot.

- Indians don't read newspapers.

- Who says they don't?

- The Indian problem's all settled.

Haven't you read

the Peace Commissioners' report?

All right, then. Worse than Indians!

Revenue agents!

Oh... Haven't paid

your federal taxes, huh?

Of course I pay my taxes!

I'm an honest businessman.

And a good Republican.

But give those snoopers a taste of honey

and they'll swarm down

from every direction but up.

- You have my sympathy.

- Sympathy?

It's because

I didn't advertise in your rag,

- because I didn't give you free whiskey.

- You'd better get outta here.

You listen to me. I've got every cent

that I own tied up in this cargo.

By damn, I'm gonna see it gets to Denver.

You can print that, sir.

I shall.

I'm sending a telegram to

Colonel Gearhart at Fort Russell.

I am demanding an entire troop of

US cavalry as escort. Print that, sir!

- I shall.

- Good.

You should also put in your paper

that I say

that any tax snooper, white road agent

or Red Indian that comes near my wagons

had better be wearin'

cast-iron underwear.

And if you try to blackmail me

one more time,

I'll come back here and cram

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