Nancy MacIntyre | Page 4

So
when our descent awoke him Sitting bolt upright in bed, With the
flying hoofs above him, Kicking hair off of his head, He aroused his
sleeping helpmeet; Loud his curses and abuse, "Mary, hike your lazy
carcass, Hell has turned the devil loose."
[Illustration: "Bringing back a hat of water, Through the dim light and
the rain."]

13
While ole Jim was shooting at us-- Couldn't make him understand;
Kept his blamed old gun a-going Till he got me through the hand-- Not
a whimper did you utter, But you grabbed the hosses' heads, Coaxed
and helped them in their trouble, While they strove like thoroughbreds,
Lunging, plunging, you stayed with them Till they both were clear and
free. Riding one, you lashed them forward, Circled round and picked
up me, Helped me mount, while Jim was loading; Then we struck off
through the night, Right across the storm-swept prairie, Till the East
was streaked with light.
14
I was faint and sick and dizzy, From my shattered, bleeding hand, And
it seemed as if the jolting Gave me more than I could stand. Once I
reeled, and would have fallen, If you hadn't held me there; Put your
dear arm tight around me, Whispered, "Billy, don't you care." Then you
headed straight for water, Threw the lines, dismounted first, Smoothed
the grass down for my pillow, While the hosses quenched their thirst.
Then you bathed my throbbing forehead,-- Love and healing in the
touch,-- Sayin', "Billy, pardner, listen: That there shootin' wasn't
much!"
15
From your skirt you tore a piece out, Dressed my wounds so neat and
quick, That I felt the Lord had sent you Just to soothe and heal the sick.
Bringing back a hat of water, Through the dim light and the rain,
Thought I saw your face turn paler, Like you felt a twinge o' pain; But
as you knelt down beside me I could hear you humming low Some
mysterious song, stopped short by, "Billy, man, we sure must go!" And
the sun turned loose his glory, Through the tempest-riven sky, Till it
touched us like a blessing From the Father there on high.
16
I am standing by her dug-out; Open swings the sagging door, Every

grassblade speaks of Nancy; But she's gone, to come no more, For her
father and her mother, And her brothers, late last night, Loaded up their
prairie schooner, And vamoosed the ranch, 'fore light. There's the bed
poles and the stove hole; Not a thing is left for me, As a keepsake of
my Nancy, Anywhere that I can see. What! a paper, pinned up yonder,
Kind o' folded like a note! It has writin', sure as blazes! It is somethin'
Nancy wrote.
17
"My dere billy, you will wunder Why I ever rote you this; I am sorry I
am leevin Daddie needs me in his biz. I don't reely like this quiet Kind
of sober farmer life; I like something allus doin, But for this, I'd be your
wife. I got two of old Jim's bullets, Didn't like to let you know, Cause
the one that you was luggin' Seemed to fret and hurt you so. Daddie cut
them out that evenin; I don't mind a little such, But, dere billy, don't
you worry, Old Jim's shootin wasn't much."

THE DECISION
1
Since that girl went off and left me, I can't plan just what to do. Saw
Tom Frothingham this mornin', He says Johnson's gone off, too. My
old mother used to tell me, When I lagged at any task, "Keep on
working, do no shirking, You will bring the thing to pass." That advice
has been my motto: Everything that I've begun, I've stayed with it, sick
or weary, Till the job was squarely done. But this case is kind o'
different; Though I ain't the kind that grieves, How you goin' to work
that motto When the job gets up and leaves?
2
S'pose, in thinkin' and decidin', I refuse to do my part;-- Just sit down
and let my mem'ry Finish breaking up my heart-- S'pose I give up like a
coward, Let the world say I ain't game, 'Cause by leavin' I should
forfeit My poor eighty-acre claim. I ain't 'fraid to do my duty If I'm

clear what it's about, But this scrape is so peculiar That my mind's
smoked up with doubt. I believe that Nancy loves me, And it may be
she'll stay true; But I wonder why the blazes That durn Johnson's gone
off too.
3
Blamed if I don't get my hosses, Saddle Zeb and lead old Si, And we'll
search the wind-swept prairie Till we find that girl, or die! Who'd a
thought a man's whole future Could get twisted up like this? All