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.