In the hardships we've gone through.
If we'd stayed, and I had never
Seen her face or touched her hand,
We should still have been contented,
On our little piece of land.
This strange spell won't let me falter,
Though the chasing never ends;
Seems that nothing ever'll stop it,
Sickness, death, or loss of friends.
Where this love will drive a fellow,
I ain't wise enough to tell;
Sometimes think it leads to heaven
By a trail that runs through hell."


25

Weeks thereafter, plodding northward
Crossing over Lodge Pole creek,
Threading Colorado's stretches--
Sandy deserts wild and bleak--
Where the sun wars on the living,
Struggling 'neath his blinding light,
Then resigns his work of ravage
To the chilling frosts of night;
Where the bleaching bones of horses
Here and there bestrew the plains,
Telling many a ghastly story
Of misguided settlers' trains--
Where the early frontier ranger