Marked the first trail to Cheyenne,
Billy, following its wand'rings,
Found the missing mark again.


26

Then the labored pace grew faster
As he passed each camping place,
Marking well the lessening distance
In the long-contested race.
Riding through Wyoming's foothills,
With their rugged summit lines
Stretched across the clear horizon,
Fringed with pointed spruce and pines,
He beheld, one early morning,
Rising slowly to the sky,
Smoke--the thin and gauzy column
Of a camp fire built close by;
And, on looking down the valley
With exultant, ringing cheer,
He beheld the prairie schooner
And the MacIntyres near.


27

On an open spot of grass land
Gilded by the rising sun,
Sloping sharply to the crevice