Nancy MacIntyre | Page 8

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 Sat the elder MacIntyre.
[Illustration: "Resting calm in fancied safety Sat the elder MacIntyre."]
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"You! Why, Billy, where d'you come from? What new game you
playing now? If you're out on posse business By the gods, jest start
your row! What you saying? You are friendly? Wal, I'm glad to hear it's
so; And I s'pose you made the journey Way out here to let me know!
Oh! you're talking 'bout our Nancy! Now I just begin to see. Set down,
Billy; you are askin' Something that sure puzzles me. Nancy ain't like
other women-- What I say may hit you queer, But it's jest as well to tell
you-- That there girl--she isn't here.
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"Don't stampede your words, now, Billy. Slow 'em down and let 'em
walk. Lord a'mighty, man! keep quiet! Never heard such crazy talk!
Where's the girl? Wal, let me tell you-- T'aint no use to take on so--
Where is Nancy? P'r'aps in heaven; I can't tell yer,--I don't know. When

we left last spring from Kansas, Travelin' mostly in the night, We was
chased up by a posse; Fourth day out we had a fight. We had jest
unhitched the hosses, Making camp at Old Man's Creek-- Gimme some
o' that tobacker, I've been out for more'n a week.
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"We had jest unhitched the hosses, Nance was riding Kelly's mare,
When we heard them all a-comin'-- They had seen us pull in there.
Nancy said,' I'll hold 'em, daddie, Get the outfit over here, And I'll trail
you in the mornin'; I will see they don't get near.' It was in that heavy
timber-- Growing dark and spittin' rain-- Where the creek runs to the
eastward, Makes that loop, and back again. We was in a reg'lar pocket;
Creek banks made a kind of bluff All around us, so it looked like We
was trapped there, sure enough.
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"Wal, we had a time in movin'; Things got mixed up in the rush; Lead
team broke a piece of harness Pulling through the underbrush. Then the
wagon turned clean over, But we drug her plumb across, Hitched with
ropes and other fixin's, Usin' every extra hoss. Wal, you never heard
such shootin', Bullets whizzin' everywhere; Pumped 'em on us till it
sounded Like they had an army there. Nancy stayed and cracked it to
'em, Kind o' circlin' round and round; I could tell the two six-shooters
She was usin', by the sound.
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"You can bet we did some trav'lin' All that night and all next day; I
could still a-hear the shootin' After we was miles away. I supposed
we'd see the girl come Ridin' up to us 'fore long, That is--I was jest
a-thinkin'-- If there wasn't somethin' wrong. But, in spite of all our
lookin', Sometimes slackin' up our gait, Always thinkin' we should see
her Every time we'd stop and wait. We have never seen her, Billy, And
I own I'm balked a bit, Fur I know that she's a critter Made of nothin'
else but grit.

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"I wish I could go and find her, But 'twould be too hot for me; Long
before I got back that fur I'd be strung up to a tree. So I've been a kind
o' thinkin', Since I see what's both'rin' you, 'Bout a thing--I hate to ask
it-- That I'd like for you to do. I don't think that girl has ever-- It sure
hurts me, what I say-- But I'm sure that in the scrimmage Nancy never
got away. Billy, you go back and find her; You are all I've got to send,
You can sort o' fix things decent, Where she is--in Old Man's Bend."

THE RETURN
1
Every life is but a journey-- Trav'ling on from place to place-- Starting
from the point God gave us With an ever-varying