Nancy MacIntyre | Page 7

wastes stretch away.
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As he crossed this barren prairie's Sweeping waste of poverty, Billy paused beside the cripple Of a wind-torn twisted tree, Standing there, marooned forever, Where its hapless seed had blown, Miles on miles from forest neighbor, Struggling out its life alone. Here he stopped, with head uncovered, Conscious of a strange appeal, Yielding to the voiceless longing Human hearts are bound to feel When their lot is isolation, And a field of sterile soil Dwarfs and twists the struggling spirit As the body bends with toil.
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Here, that subtle, silent craving, Which with life will never end, Of the lonesome and the needy For the comfort of a friend, Drew the trav'ler to this tree waif, And he spread his outfit near, And they held that sacred converse Which the soul alone can hear. While the horses browsed the sage brush, And the sun withdrew his light, And the moon in mournful splendor Ushered in the lonely night, He lay down beneath the branches, Wrapped in musings strange and deep-- Thoughts that bore him off in silence O'er the placid sea of sleep.
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In his dreams he saw a monarch Decked in sumptuous array, Seated on a throne of glory Bearing royal title, Day. Then some mighty power transcendent, Thrust him from his gorgeous throne, Turning all the realm to darkness, And the world was left alone. As the shades of gloom were spreading, By strange flashing threads of light He beheld in dim-drawn outline, On the background of the night, Phantom horse and girlish rider, Speeding on in reckless race, Till she turned directly toward him And he saw her fearless face!
[Illustration: "Faithful Simon, weak and starving, Groaned and fell beneath his pack...."]
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With the journey's slow progression Slipped away the summer days, Merging with the sleepy beauty Of the lazy autumn haze; And the frosts and drought combining Waged relentless battle there, Withering up the scanty ranges, Leaving all the country bare. When he entered Colorado, Following still the barren plain Where for months the mocking heavens Never spared a drop of rain, Faithful Simon, weak and starving, Following feebly in the track Pulled upon his straining halter, Groaned and fell beneath his pack.
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Vain were all the kind entreaties, Vain the simple nursing done To relieve his palsied weakness-- Poor old Simon's course was run. Billy spent the night beside him, But with next day's early dawn, With the east's first flush of scarlet, Simon's faithful soul passed on. Then, with hands outstretched before him, Half remembering what was said When a child he saw the sexton Sprinkle earth upon the dead-- "Dust to dust, and then to ashes-- I forget the other part-- I can't say the words I want to, I can't think--all's in my heart.
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"Over twenty years, old pardner, We have been companions true; You have always kept your end up In the hardships we've gone through. If we'd stayed, and I had never Seen her face or touched her hand, We should still have been contented, On our little piece of land. This strange spell won't let me falter, Though the chasing never ends; Seems that nothing ever'll stop it, Sickness, death, or loss of friends. Where this love will drive a fellow, I ain't wise enough to tell; Sometimes think it leads to heaven By a trail that runs through hell."
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Weeks thereafter, plodding northward Crossing over Lodge Pole creek, Threading Colorado's stretches-- Sandy deserts wild and bleak-- Where the sun wars on the living, Struggling 'neath his blinding light, Then resigns his work of ravage To the chilling frosts of night; Where the bleaching bones of horses Here and there bestrew the plains, Telling many a ghastly story Of misguided settlers' trains-- Where the early frontier ranger Marked the first trail to Cheyenne, Billy, following its wand'rings, Found the missing mark again.
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Then the labored pace grew faster As he passed each camping place, Marking well the lessening distance In the long-contested race. Riding through Wyoming's foothills, With their rugged summit lines Stretched across the clear horizon, Fringed with pointed spruce and pines, He beheld, one early morning, Rising slowly to the sky, Smoke--the thin and gauzy column Of a camp fire built close by; And, on looking down the valley With exultant, ringing cheer, He beheld the prairie schooner And the MacIntyres near.
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On an open spot of grass land Gilded by the rising sun, Sloping sharply to the crevice Where the mountain waters run, Ike, reclining, watched the horses, Now increased to quite a band, While above him, in the timber, Brother Bill, with gun in hand, Held it poised in sudden wonder, Half in attitude to shoot, As he saw the coming rider, Heard his loudly yelled salute. Near an old abandoned cabin, Huddled by the breakfast fire, Resting calm in fancied safety