When we hired out for the round up
And you beat the first one through.
There she is! There's where I saw her
When we stayed there all that night;
Though 'twas dark, I saw her riding,
By those flashing threads of light;
She's been waiting! Oh, I left her
In this awful lonely place!
God forgive me! Nancy! hear me!
Oh, that face--that poor white face!"


5

One cold morning, old Zach Baxter,
Riding o'er this snowbound sea
Saw a famished pony standing
Near a queer and lonely tree.
From his frost-encrusted nostrils
Came a plaintive whinny, low,
As the man rode up beside him
Struggling through the drifted snow.
When the old man tried to lead him,
He refused to turn away;
But he pawed the drift beneath him,
Where his stricken master lay.
And below the cold, white cover,
In a deathlike stupor deep,
Old Zach found a sorry stranger
Shrouded for his last long sleep.