Nancy MacIntyre | Page 6

your idee right. Think they camped a mile below here Week ago last Thursday night. Pulled in sometime 'long 'bout sundown, Turned their stock in yonder draw, But an oldish sort of fellow Was the only one I saw; Rode a speckled chestnut pony With a white star in his face; Asked some questions 'bout the country, 'Bout the proper crossing-place. Pulled out sometime long 'fore daylight. Didn't see them when they passed, But from all the indications They was trav'ling pretty fast.
11
"Crossed right here where we are settin', Saw their trail that very day; Struck plumb north, and by my reck'nin' Towards the north they'll likely stay. North of here, by my experience, He'll find grass that's mighty fine. Chances are that he'll keep goin' Till he strikes Nebraska's line. It was just the next day after That my cattle scattered so; Some strayed off 'way south to Jimson's, One bunch in the bend below. That's the day I met that feller (Eyes so black he couldn't see) Who kept pumpin' me with questions Like you've just been askin' me.
12
"Asked about that prairie schooner, Said that they was friends of hisn, Like to wore me plumb to frazzles With his everlasting quiz'n. Rode a piebald, knock-kneed broncho; Coat was battered, ripped, and torn; He was yaller, long, and g'anted Like a steer with holler horn. An' you oughter seen his breeches! He must sure be shy on sense; Why, they looked like he'd been riding On a bucking barb wire fence. You won't meet him, 'cause I saw him Coming back across this way, Going eastward where he come from; Took the back trail yesterday.
13
"Said he'd found the old man's outfit Moving westward on North Fork. Can't remember all he told me, For he runs a heap to talk. Said he'd found out what he wanted; Said he 'had a plan or two, And the folks that knowed Jim Johnson, Knowed that he would put 'em through.' Then there's others took the west trail; They got that way huntin' range-- Funny how folks when they come here Get to itchin' for a change! I've been stayin' too confinin'; Never left this herd but once. I'm the oldest puncher round here,-- Been here over fourteen months."
14
Long before the sun had risen, While the night mist's ghostly veil Hid from view the sloughs and hollows, Billy took the northern trail. Through the sunflowers in the low land, Plodding over sandstone knolls, Winding through the level stretches Dotted thick with treacherous holes Where the prairie dogs sat chattering, Bolt upright upon their mounds, While the ground owls sought their burrows, Startled by the warning sounds; Stumbling into buffalo wallows, Dug out in an earlier day By the halting herds that rested, Rolled and bellowed in their play.
15
Now and then the sheltered hillside Waved its varicolored flowers As a greeting to the trav'ler, Solace to the toilsome hours. Old Jack Rabbit hopped before him, Then sat up, to watch him pass, Dusky horned-toads scurried nimbly Through the withered buffalo grass. Here and there the buzzing rattler Whirred a warning, head alert, Then retreated from the snapping, Stinging strokes of Billy's quirt. Day by day the wild breeze flying, With'ring in its scorching heat, Hummed a tune to labored beating Of the plodding horses' feet.
16
Day by day this panorama Passing slowly, dully by, With the sun's brass disc high gleaming From a white and cloudless sky, Sometimes drew fantastic pictures. Many a strange and gruesome sign-- Phantom trees and fairy castles-- Blurred the far horizon line. Then they'd vanish like the fancies Of a fever-smitten brain, And returning, changed in outline, Elsewhere on the mighty plain Would allure the eyesore trav'ler Till the very sky above Seemed to mock with vague mirages Every surety of love.
17
When each weary day was over, Halting near some watering-place, Bill unpacked his meager outfit, Turned the horses loose to graze, Baked his varicolored dough-bread, On a fire of cattle chips; Coffee made of green-scummed water, Nectar to his thirsty lips. On the ground he spread his blanket And reclining there alone, Heard the swiftly sweeping breezes Sing in dreary monotone Strange wild anthems, weird and lonesome, Like lost spirits floating by, While afar in broken measure Swelled the coyotes' yelping cry.
18
All the varied information Gathered from the few he passed-- Some from herders, some from stragglers Gave the missing clew at last As to where old Mac was heading; For that telltale band of steel Stamped along the endless roadway Printed by the turning wheel, Pressed its image on the memory Of the settlers coming back, Who, when questioned by the searcher, Told him that the telltale track Had begun to veer to westward After crossing by the way Leading up the North Platte River, Where the sand