Nancy MacIntyre Part 3

Where the willows hide the fordway With their fringe of lighter green, Is the dam, decayed and broken, Where the beavers once have been.

On the sycamore bent o'er it, With its gleaming trunk of white, Sits the barred owl, idly blinking At the early morning's light, While, within its s.p.a.cious hollow, Where the rotting heart had clung Till removed by age and fire, Sleeps the wild cat with her young.

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Plunging through the sluggish water, Scarcely halting for a drink, Toiling through the sticky quagmire, They attain the farther brink.

Here the trail leads to the westward,-- Once the redman's wild domain; Now the shallow rutted highway Of the settler's wagon train.

Here and there along the edges, Paths work through the waving gra.s.s, Where at night from bluff to river, Sneaking coyotes find a pa.s.s.

Here the meadow lark sings gaily As she leaves her hidden nest, While the sun of early morning Double-tints her orange breast.

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Up this broad and fertile valley, Tracing all its winding ways, Plodding on with dogged patience Through a score of weary days, Camping in the lonely timber, Sleeping on the scorching plain, Bearing heat and thirst and hunger, Sore fatigue and wind and rain-- Halting only when the telltale Mark was missing in the track; Only when he called a greeting, As he pa.s.sed some settler's shack; Till the valley and its timber Vanished, where the rolling sward Of the westward-sweeping prairie Marks the trail 'cross Mingo's ford.

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Here for hours he searched the crossing And the wheel-ruts leading on To the north, a full day's journey, But the guiding mark was gone.

Not a vestige here remaining Of the sign that could be told, For old Mac had traveled swiftly And the trail was mixed and old.

Two whole days Bill searched and waited, Hoping for some other clew, Weighing questions of direction, Undecided what to do.

Till, one night, while cooking supper By the camp-fire's genial glow, He was startled by a stranger's Sudden presence and "h.e.l.lo!"

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Tall of stature, dark of visage, By the wind well dried and tanned, Clad in "shaps" and spurs that jingled, With a bull whip in his hand.

Close behind him in the shadows, Eyes aglow with red and green, Stood a blazed-face Texas pony, Ewe-necked, cat-hammed, wild, and mean.

"h.e.l.lo, stranger! glad to see you, Got my cattle fixed for night; Just got through, and riding round 'em, 'Cross the bluff, I saw your light.

No, thanks, pardner, had my supper; Seems your fire is short o' wood; I just thought I'd see who's camped here-- Gee! that bacon does smell good!"

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When the frugal meal was over, When the pipes were filled and lit, And the cowboy ceased his stories Weak in moral, rank in wit, Billy plied him long with questions, Wording each with thought and care, Lest his zeal for information Should reveal his mission there.

"Tell me who you've seen go by here, Just within the last few days; What they had for teams and outfits; How the country round here lays.

Have you seen a prairie schooner-- Old style freighter--pa.s.s this way?

Both wheel hosses white-nosed sorrels, Lead team of a dun and gray?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Loaded up their prairie schooner, And vamoosed the ranch 'fore light."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "He was startled by a stranger's Sudden presence and 'h.e.l.lo!'"]

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"I remember some such outfit, If I've got 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 pa.s.sed, But from all the indications They was trav'ling pretty fast.

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"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 gra.s.s 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.

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"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.

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"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."

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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.

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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 pa.s.s, Dusky horned-toads scurried nimbly Through the withered buffalo gra.s.s.

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.

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