Nancy MacIntyre | Page 7

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 wastes stretch away.
19
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.
20
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.
21
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...."]
22
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.
23
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.
24
"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."
25
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.
26

Then the labored pace grew faster As he passed