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.


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