“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.”

14

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.

15

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 pass,
Dusky horned-toads scurried nimbly
  Through the withered buffalo grass. 
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.

16

Day by day this panorama
  Passing slowly, dully by,
With the sun’s brass disc high gleaming
  From a white and cloudless sky,
Sometimes drew fantastic pictures. 
  Many a strange and gruesome sign—­
Phantom trees and fairy castles—­
  Blurred the far horizon line. 
Then they’d vanish like the fancies
  Of a fever-smitten brain,
And returning, changed in outline,
  Elsewhere on the mighty plain
Would allure the eyesore trav’ler
  Till the very sky above
Seemed to mock with vague mirages
  Every surety of love.

17

When each weary day was over,
  Halting near some watering-place,
Bill unpacked his meager outfit,
  Turned the horses loose to graze,
Baked his varicolored dough-bread,
  On a fire of cattle chips;
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.