RIDERS OF THE STARS UC-NRLF ill HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS ). J). RIDERS OF THE STARS. SUNDOWN SLIM. Illustrated. SONGS OF THE OUTLANDS. Talesofthe Hoboes and Other Verse. OVERLAND RED. A Tale of the Moonstone Canon Trail. Illustrated in Color. STEPHEN MARCH S WAY. Illustrated. LOST FARM CAMP. Illustrated. HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON AND NEW YORK Riders of the Stars Riders of the Stars A BOOK OF WESTERN VERSE By Henry Herbert Rnibbs Boston and New York Houghton Mifflin Company d&e fftoer?ite pretfjei CambriDge 1916 COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Published October iQib TO R. F. M en know him for sterling worth, For vigor and pride and wit; He who girdled the glowing earth And fashioned a song of it. Men know him of many things Master, in hall and mart, But I, yea, I know the voice that sings Deep in his steadfast heart. His shield to the world I know, And his toil-worn coat of mail, The clear, keen eye with the battle glow When hazard or wrong assail; Proud is my heart that I See more than the passing see In his love for the magic western sky And the mountains wizardry; Rifle and rope and spur, Trail and the wayside fire; Soul of the true adventurer Singing his heart s desire E en while the great wheels roll Ceaseless and grim and slow; To R. F. But the gods of gold may not grind his soul Into the dust below. Fetters that bind his hands He snaps with a magic word, As fearless., frank, and immune he stands Singing of trail and herd, Night, and the Southern stars, Dawn and a land of gold ! Leading souls through their prison-bars, Bidding their eyes behold! Men know him for sterling worth, For vigor and pride and wit To challenge tears or the leap of mirth As he strikes to the soul of it. Men know him for many things; I, standing alone, apart, *Know that an unknown poet sings Deep in his steadfast heart. Contents THE SHALLOWS OF THE FORD . 3 RIDERS OF THE STARS 6 LARGO . 10 I CHANCE 12 MESA MAGIC . 16 THE DESERT . .18 LAST OF THE CAVALIERS ... * . . . . 21 THE FAR AND LONELY HILL ... . . . . .23 THE RANGER AND THE BEAR . . . . . . .25 SUNLIGHT . 4 " * . ,. .28 THAT ROAN CAYUSE . . . . ... . . .31 THE OUTCAST ... . . . 34 THE KILTER . * . . . .36 APTJNI OYIS . . * . . . .38 THE PE.\CE OF THE HILLS 40 IN THE VALLEY 41 THE QUEST ........ ~. . . 43 THE GLORIOUS FOOL 45 THE TRAMP * .... 47 TRAIL-TO-GLORY .. . . . . .... .49 YEABO S ADVENTURE 51 THE SHEEP 54 Contents EH, JOHNNY-JO ? 56 TOBY 58 THAT INSIDE SONG 61 THE OLD-TIMER 63 THE FIGHTING PARSON 65 ROMANCE 67 I KNEW A BOY 69 BRAVES OF THE HUNT 71 THE TRAIL-MAKERS 74 IDLE NOON 77 THE COWBOYS BALL . . . , , * . ... 79 PEARL. OP THE ATOLLS . . . -. . . . , . 81 For permission to reprint certain of these poems the author s thanks are due to the Popular Magazine, the American Magazine, The Country Gentleman, Smith s Magazine, and the Los Angeles Graphic. Riders of the Stars THE SHALLOWS OF THE FORD DID you ever wait for daylight when the stars along the river Floated thick and white as snowflakes in the water deep and strange, Till a whisper through the aspens made the current break and shiver As the frosty edge of morning seemed to melt and spread and change? Once I waited, almost wishing that the dawn would never find me; Saw the sun roll up the ranges like the glory of the Lord; Was about to wake my partner who was sleeping close behind me, When I saw the man we wanted spur his pony to the ford. Saw the ripples of the shallows and the muddy streaks that followed, As the pony stumbled toward me in the narrows of the bend; Saw the face I used to welcome, wild and watchful, lined and hollowed; And God knows I wished to warn him, for I once had called him friend. 3 Riders of the Stars But an oath had come between us I was paid by Law and Order; He was outlaw, rustler, killer so the border whisper ran ; Left his word in Caliente that he d cross the Rio border . . . Call me coward? But I hailed him. . . . "Riding close to daylight, Dan!" Just a hair and he d have got me, but my voice, and not the warning, Caught his hand and held him steady; then he nodded, spoke my name, Reined his pony round and fanned it in the bright and silent morning, Back across the sunlit Rio up the trail on which he came. He had passed his word to cross it I had passed my word to get him We broke even and we knew it; t was a case of give- and-take For old times. I could have killed him from the brush; instead, I let him Ride his trail. ... I turned . . . my partner flung his arm and stretched awake; Saw me standing in the open; pulled his gun and came be side me; Asked a question with his shoulder as his left hand pointed toward 4 The Shallows of the Ford Muddy streaks that thinned and vanished . . . not a word, but hard he eyed me As the water cleared and sparkled in the shallows of the ford. RIDERS OF THE STARS TWENTY abreast down the Golden Street ten thousand riders marched; Bow-legged boys in their swinging chaps, all clumsily keeping time; And the Angel Host to the lone, last ghost their delicate eyebrows arched As the swaggering sons of the open range drew up to the Throne Sublime. Gaunt and grizzled, a Texas man from out of the concourse strode, And doffed his hat with a rude, rough grace, then lifted his eagle head; The sunlit air on his silvered hair and the bronze of his visage glowed; "Marster, the boys have a talk to make on the things up here," he said. A hush ran over the waiting throng as the Cherubim replied: "He that readeth the hearts of men He deemeth your challenge strange, Though He long hath known that ye crave your own, that ye would not walk but ride, Oh, restless sons of the ancient earth, ye men of the open range!" 6 Riders of the Stars Then warily spake the Texas man: "A petition and no complaint We here present, if the Law allows and the Marster He thinks it fit; We-all agree to the things that be, but we re longing for things that ain t, So we took a vote and we made a plan and here is the plan we writ : " Give us a range and our horses and ropes; open the Pearly Gate, And turn us loose in the unfenced blue riding the sunset rounds, Hunting each stray in the Milky Way and running the Rancho straight; Not crowding the dogie stars too much on their way to the bedding-grounds. Maverick comets that 9 s running wild, we II rope em and brand em fair, So they II quit stampeding the starry herd and scaring the folks below, And we II save em prime for the round-up time and we riders U all be there, Ready and willing to do our work as we did in the long ago. We ve studied the Ancient Landmarks^ Sir; Taurus, the Bear, and Mars, -7 Riders of the Stars / And Venus a-smiling across the west as bright as a burn ing coal, Plain to guide as we punchers ride night-herding the little stars, With Saturn 9 s rings for our home corral and the Dipper our water-hole. Here, we have nothing to do but yarn of the days that have long gone by, And our singing it does n t fit in up here, though we tried it for old-time s sake; Our hands are itching to swing a rope and our legs are stiff; that s why We ask you, Marster, to turn us loose just give us an even break ! Then the Lord He spake to the Cherubim, and this was His kindly word: " He that keepeth the threefold keys shall open and let them go; Turn these men to their work again to ride with the starry herd; My glory sings in the toil they crave; t is their right. I would have it so." Have you heard in the starlit dusk of eve when the lone coyotes roam, 8 Riders of the Stars The Yip! Yip! Yip! of a hunting-cry, and the echo that * shrilled afar, As you listened still on a desert hill and gazed at the ^ twinkling dome, And a viewless rider swept the sky on the trail of a shoot ing star? LARGO BOUGHT him of the Navajos shadow of a pony, Over near the Largo draw, runnin up and down; Twenty pesos turned the trick broke me cold and stony; Then I set to figure as I rambled into town. Tore I had the feel of him, twice he like to thro wed me; He did n t have to figure sums cause he was n t broke; Then he took to runnin and unknowin -like, he showed me Speed that was surprisin in a twenty-dollar joke. Wiry little Navajo, no bigger than a minute; Did a heap of restin up when he got the chance, But . . . ever stop a pin- wheel just to locate what was in it, Findin unexpected you was settin on your pants? That was him the Largo hoss; did n t take to schoolin ; Relayed out of Calient into Santa F; Fifty mile of kickin sand and not a wink of foolin* When he hit the desert trail windin down that way. Once they put a blooded hoss on the trail behind him; Passed me like a Kansas blow; Largo did n t mind, Kept a-runnin strong and sweet. Reckoned that we d find him Like we did, in twenty mile, busted, broke, and blind. 10 Largo Ever see a Injun race? Times I could a sold him For a dozen cattle a most interestin price; Set to figurin ag in bought the mare that foaled him. Shucks ! Her colts they could n t beat a herd of hobbled mice. Took" the brush and curry-comb thought he d under stand it ... Him a-loafin lazy with his nose across the bars; Reckon dudes comes natural; as hard as he could land it, He druv home his opinion while I gathered up the stars. That was him the Largo hoss; never saw another Desert hoss could beat him when he started out to float. Pedigree? He had n t none; a pony was his mother, And judgin from his looks I guess his father was a goat. That s him now a-standin there, sleepy-like and dreamin ; Sell him? Thought you d ask me that. Northern mail is late Just three hours. No, not to-day, pardner. Without seemin* Brash from here to Santa Fe we 11 wipe it off the slate. Bought him of the Navajos broke me cold and stony; But I got a roll to-day tell you what I 11 do Ridin south? Well, pardner, I ll just give you that there pony, If we ain t in Santa Fe three hours ahead of you. CHANCE SIXTY miles from a homestead, straight as the crow can %, We camped in the Deadwood foothills. Mineral? Yes and gold. Three of us in the outfit; the burro and Chance and I; Chance was n t more than a pup then, goin on two year old. Already he knew the music that a desert rattler makes When, glimmerin under a yucca, he d seen em coil to spring; But he did n t need no teachin to keep him away from snakes; You should seen his tail go under when he heard a rattler sing! Town-folks called him the " Killer," and I reckon that they was right; Deep in the chest, wolf-muscled, and quicker than fire in tow; But one of the kind that never went out of his way to fight, Though he d tackle a corral of wild-cats if I gave him the word to go. 12 Chance There was more to him than his fightin he was wise; it was right good fun To see him usin his head-piece when the sun was a-fryin* eggs, Trailin along with the outfit and cheatin the desert sun By keepin into the shadow right clost to my burro s legs. I knew that some day I d lose him, for the desert she don t wait long; Hosses and dogs and humans, none of em get too old; Gold? Looks good in a story and sounds right good in a song, But the men that go out and get it they know what they pay for gold! If I struck a ledge that showed me a million, the whole thing mine, I d turn it over to-morrow (and never so much as glance At the papers the law-sharks frame up and hand you a pen to sign) For a look at my old side-pardner, the "Killer," that I called" Chance." Why? Well, my eyes, one mornin , was blinkin to shake a dream, And Chance was sleepin beside me, breathin it long and deep, 13 Riders of the Stars When I saw a awful somethin and I felt I was like to scream . . . There was a big, brown rattler coiled in my arm, asleep. Move . . . and I knew he d get me. Waitin , I held my breath, Feelin the sun get warmer, wonderin what to do, Tryin to keep my eyes off that shinin and sudden death, When Chance he lifted his head up and slow come the rattler s, too. "Take him!" I tried to whisper. Mebby I did. I know Chance s neck was a-bristle and his eyes on the coiled-up snake; Its head was a-movin gentle like weeds when the south winds blow, When Chance jumped in . . . the "Killer"... Do that for a pardner s sake? I d like to think that I d do it I... Up there in the far-off blue Old Marster He sits a-jedgin such things. Can you tell me why, Knowin what he had comin , he went at it fightin - true; Tore that snake into ribbons, then crawled to the brush to die? 14 Chance Never come near me after; knew that he d got his call; Howcome I went and shot him. God ! I can see his eyes ! See where those pointed shadows run down that canon wall? That there s his tombstone, stranger, bigger than money buys. MESA MAGIC " Speakin 9 general of hosses, in a kind of offhand way" See the mesa stealing splendor from the magic of the sun, And the flowers nodding in the grass like children at their " That there Toby hoss of mine was lots of fun " " Just how much that hoss could sabe course he could n t ready but, well," While the mountain shadows mingling lay like pools above the sand, As the gentle Padre climbs the stair to ring the mission bell, " That there Toby hoss could always understand." " Did you ever know a hoss to fall in love ? Some funny, too," Making music o er the silence of the eventide, aglow With the Spanish girls scrapes, red and yellow, pink and blue, " Yes, that Toby hoss he set up for a beau." "He used to come and nicker soft, a-peekin through the bars," Till the pretty colors vanish in the swift and starry change 16 Mesa Magic Of the sky from blue to velvet-black and silver flame of stars, "At a lady-hoss he fancied on the range" "He d act pow ful polite and bow his head to get some grass" Desert magic and the mystery of an Arizona night, While across the brown adobes flitting shadows form and pass; " There is no use talking Toby was polite" "But that lady-hoss was scornful, fat, and acted like a goat," Dancing shadows of the pepper-tree by desert breeze caressed, While the little owl awakens with his hushed and plaintive note, "But of all the hosses, Toby liked her best." " T was a interestin courtin , with the line-fence in be tween," To the moonlight like a faery mist upon the mesa spread, And the world is but a bubble in the soft and silver sheen, "Say, I reckon you ain t heard a word I said." THE DESERT T WAS the lean coyote told me, baring his slavish soul, As I counted the ribs of my dead cayuse and cursed at the desert sky, The tale of the upland rider s fate, while I dug in the water- hole For a taste, a drop of the bitter seep; but the water-hole was dry. "He came," said the lean coyote, "and cursed as his pony fell, And he counted his pony s ribs aloud; yea, even as you have done; He raved as he ripped at the clay-red sand like an imp from the pit of hell, Shriveled with thirst for a thousand years and craving a drop just one." "His name?" I asked; and he answered, yawning to hide a grin; * " His name is writ on the prison-roll and many a place beside ; And last he scribbled it on the sand with a finger seared and thin, And I watched his face as he spelled it out and laughed, as I laughed, and died. 18 The Desert "And thus," said the lean coyote, " his need is the hungry s feast, And mine." I fumbled and pulled my gun and emptied it wild and fast, But one of the crazy shots went home and silenced the waiting beast; There lay the shape of the Liar, dead; twas I that should laugh the last. Laugh? Nay, now I would write my name as the upland rider wrote. Write? What need? For before my eyes was a wide and wavering line; I saw the trace of a written word and letter by letter float Into the mist as the world grew dark; and I knew that the name was mine. Dreams and visions within the dream; turmoil and fire and pain; Hands that proffered a brimming cup, empty ere I could take; Then the burst of a thunder-head; rain! it was rude fierce rain! Blindly down to the hole I crept, shivering, drenched, awake! Dawn; and I saw the red-rimmed sun scattering golden flame, 19 Riders of the Stars As stumbling down to the water-hole came the horse that I thought was dead ! But never a sign of the other beast nor the trace of a rider s name; Just a rain-washed track and an empty gun; and the old home trail ahead. LAST OF THE CAVALIERS NEVERMORE shall the ranges ring as once when ye loped along; Only the timid echoes sing old memories of your song; Now what need that ye ride the line numb in the winter snow? Fallen the far-seen upland pine; fenced are the plains below. Out where the lone coyote shrills, limned on the desert sand, Under the moon of the eastern hills baring that ghostly land, Gleams the rim of the water-hole, white, with no print of hoof; Ye would not know that yon shadowed knoll is the ridge of a nester s roof. Still in Sonera s market-place gather the laughing girls, Each a rose in the ebon lace filming her dusky curls; Gay serape and eyes alight with the glint of a southern pride Born of a kiss in the summer night: wondering where ye ride. 21 Riders of the Stars Ye rode singing down a thousand trails, drifting from change to change, Dreaming of where the eagle sails over the open range; Proud, ye held to your heart s desire scorning the newer years, Lost in the glow of the sunset fire . . . last of the Cavaliers. So ye went to your unknown end, answering jest with jest, Recking naught where the trail might wend, men of the Golden West, Spurring a rein-loose race with Chance, riding it hard and straight, Living, unguessed, the True Romance daring to love and hate. Have ye dreamed of the mesa grass starred with the flower of blue; Morning haze in the mountain-pass,, sage in the silver dew? Blush of the manzanita bloom, bud of the almond tree, Yucca hid in the canon gloom; drone of the questing bee ? Now and ye ride in the sunset glow e en as ye did of old, Twain and twain as ye used to go, brave in a flare of gold, Each his law; and all unamazed, facing the phantom plains, Foot clear home and an arm upraised to the music of bridle- reins ! THE FAR AND LONELY fflLL OVER on the Malibu we rode the range together; j Three as lively buckaroos as ever forked a hoss; Flavin jokes and singin songs in every kind of weather, And anything we tackled why, it had to come across. Sage a-skinin 9 in the rain; sun just breakin cover; Tail-to-wind the ponies standin thoughtful-tike and still, While across the mornin comes the cheepin of the plover Hidin in the shadow of the far and lonely hill. Funny, how we never saw that it was drawin nearer; Edgin closer every day that lonely hill it came; Wakin in the sunshine we could see it big and clearer, But we kept a-ridin and a-singin just the same. Little owls a-lookin back solemn-like and blinkin ; Sunlight dancin on the sand and burnin out the grass; Summer . . . round the water-hole the crowdin steers all drinkin , Just before we push em to the range beyond the pass. Seems we did n t sing so much; ropes they did the singin ; Ponies feet they played the tune; other riders told 23 Riders of the Stars All the yarns and sprung the jokes and kept the laugh a-ringin . . . Even then we did n t know that we was growin old. Two of us was left to ride the Malibu together; And sittin by the fire at night so solemn-like and still, We began to notice every little change of weather, Shiverin in the shadow of the far and lonely hill. Knew we had to climb it knew the trail was mighty narrow; Made a hand-shake on it that the next to go that way Would kind of blaze the turns with our old brand "The Double- Arrow, " So the last to follow would n t lose the trail and stray. Down below I see the herd and dust a-rollin nigher; Mornin on the Malibu where once we used to ride; Pony s frettin on the bit we can t go any higher; I reckon if we got to go, it s down the other side. Sage a-shinin in the sun that s just a-breakin cover; All around the ranges loomin high and cold and still, As from the Other Valley comes the cheepin of the plover, And I see the Double-Arrow pointin down the lonely hiU. THE RANGER AND THE BEAR UP in the high Sierras, where they overlook the Kern, There s a trail on the edge of nothing, and a mile by the plumb, below, Is a tomb for the upland rider that is fool enough to turn His hoss till he reaches the meadows beyond where the mountain-daisies grow. The sun was painting the eastern peaks with a kind of running fire, But a morning chill was in the air as keen as an eagle s claw; I was riding slouched and easy-like and singing of heart s desire, When my pony stopped, though the rein was slack, and my singing stopped; I saw Black on the cliff a something bigger than any man; Blur . . . t was a old she-grizzly blocking the trail ahead; She talked to the cubs beside her and they turned at her growl and ran As my hand slid down to my holster; but I changed my mind; instead 25 Riders of the Stars I off of my boss, stepped forward and raising my hat polite (But I raised my hat left-handed, my right being filled and pat) I said to that old bear-lady: "Now it isn t my wish to fight, Or I d set to fanning my six-gun stead of tipping to you my hat." And, pardner, would you believe it! she dropped to the ledge and swung . . . Turned where a boss could n t make it and took after them cubs of hern; I stood there looking foolish where a bunch of them blue flowers hung Over the edge of nothing, smiling down on the river Kern. My cayuse was a-shaking and sweating; he was chilly and so was I, Howcome, I swung to the saddle and got him a-moving slow, But I quit my glass-eyed gazing at the colors across the sky And took to surveying the landscape just ahead, where we had to go. Mebby a half -hour later we was pushing across the line Where the rock joins on to the timber when I spied a few rods away The Ranger and the Bear The back of that old she- grizzly; I went for that gun of mine; Then, thinks I, she is minding her business; so I ll tend to my own, to-day. Just a-guarding her headstrong young ones; doing the best she can; Willing to do the wise thing; game, but not looking for fight; Pretty good rule for a human. . . . Oh, I guess I m an easy man, But the grizzly and me broke even, cause the both of us was polite. SUNLIGHT SUNLIGHT, a colt from the ranges, glossy and gentle and strong, Dazed by the multiple thunder of wheels and the thrust of the sea, Fretted and chafed at the changes ah, but the journey was long! Officer s charger a wonder pick of the stables was he. Flutter of flags in the harbor; rumble of guns in the street; England! and rhythm of marching; mist and the swing of the tide; France and an Oriflamme arbor of lilies that drooped in the heat; Sunlight, with mighty neck arching, flecked with the foam of his pride ! Out from the trenches retreating, weary and grimy and worn, Lean little men paused to cheer him, turning to pass to their rest; Shrilled him a pitiful greeting, mocking the promise of morn With hope and wild laughter to hear him answer with challenging zest. 28 Sunlight Victory! That was the spirit! Once they had answered the thrill; Toiled at the guns while incessant sang that invisible, dread Burden of death. Ah, to hear it, merciless, animate, shrill, Whining aloft in a crescent, shattering living and dead ! And Sunlight? What knew he of battle? Strange was this turmoil and haste. Why should he flinch at the firing; swerve at the man gled and slain? Where was the range and the cattle? Here was but carnage and waste; Yet with a patience untiring he answered to spur and to rein. Answered, when, out of disorder, rout, and the chaos of night, Came the command to his master, "Cover the Seventh s retreat!" On, toward the flame of the border, into the brunt of the fight, Swept that wild wind of disaster, on with the tide of defeat. Softly the dawn-wind awaking fluttered a pennant that fell Over the semblance of Sunlight, stark in the pitiless day; 29 Riders of the Stars Riddled and slashed by the bullets sped from the pit of that hell . . . Groaning, his master, beside him, patted his neck where he lay. " Sunlight, it was n t for glory . . . England ... or France ... or the fame Of victory . . . No . . . not the glowing tribute of his tory s pen. Good-bye, old chap, for I m going . . . earned it ... your death is the shame . . . We fought for the world, not an Island. . . . We fought for the honor of men." So we have sold them our horses. What shall we do with the gold? Lay it on Charity s altar, purchasing columns of praise? Noble indeed are our courses; running the race as of old; But why should we Mammonites falter? Noble indeed are our ways. THAT ROAN CAYUSE COLT she was when I spied her, stray on the open range; Starvin poor, for the feed was thin and water-holes far between. I roped her and threw and tied her, for I saw she was actin strange; And on her breast was a barb- wire cut the worst I have ever seen. Talk about nursin ! Maybe that hoss was n t raised by hand! Boys they joshed when they saddled up and when they rode in at night; "S-s-s-h! Don t you wake the baby! Say, can t you understand Cussin don t go in this horsepital, or Doc 11 get mad and bite!" Look at her now! Like copper, shinin and sleek and strong ! Follow a mountain trail all day and finish a-steppin high. Nothin out here can stop her, and she lopes like a swallow s song. Wicked as fire to a stranger but as gentle to me as pie. 31 Riders of the Stars Look at her straight-up ears, now, listenin to you and me ! Her eyes are askin questions; wonderin what s to do. Understands what she hears? Now, watch when I call and see How she 11 circle around to my side and flatten her ears at you. Bronco? Don t pay to quirt her. I m bronco myself, some days, Pitchin when luck is a-ridin me hard and pilin it if I can. But a quick, hard word will hurt her for a hoss has peculiar ways; Use any hoss like a human and he 11 treat you just like a man. You d ride her? That s not surprisin , for judgin your legs, you could. But flowers are scarce at this time of year and there is n t a parson nigh. She sure needs exercisin ; t would do her a lot of good, But I d hate to see you a-flyin , cause you ain t built right to fly. Remember that old-time sayin , cinched up in a two-bit rhyme? "There is n t a hoss that can t be rode." And many a rider tries, 32 That Roan Cayuse But when it comes to stayin , why, you can t stay every time; "There is n t a man that can t be throwed" is the place where the song gets wise. "That roan cayuse of the Concho": when a hoss has a name like that, You can figure its reputation without askin another word. You can roll it up in your poncho, or bury it under your hat, It s just like that picture- writin means lots that you have n t heard. You straighten them ears up pronto! You, showin* your teeth at me! Here, now, you quit your bitin* do you think I m a bale of hay? You d buy her? She heard you say it ears flat and eye rollin , see! Well, she is the lady to talk to and I guess that s your answer, eh? THE OUTCAST WITH thrill of birds adown the dawn there came A golden arrow through the eastern pass, And in the gold were eyes of amber flame That burned upon me from the dewy grass. A wolf-dog, from some distant rancho strayed, Had made his bed beneath the pepper-tree ; A great, gray ghost, sore-wounded, lone, afraid, He growled deep-throated as he glared at me. With kindly word I lured him from his bed To proffer food and drink and nearer drew, But in his eyes I saw affection dead; T was only hate and hunger that he knew. Poor brute, once brave and fearless as the best, Faithful to some lost master s kindly hand, I grieved that I had so disturbed his rest, As trembling in the sun I saw him stand. Fearful, and yet assured that in my voice A friend he knew. He quivered, turned, and then, As though he had made choice against his choice, Betook him, limping, to the road again. 34 The Outcast Slowly I followed, coaxing, calling, till The very act of fleeing lent him fear, Swiftly he climbed the long, low, eastern hill, Gazed back an instant; turned to disappear; And still I followed, sick at heart for him, Sad for the strong, brave brute he once had been, As in the morning sun my eyes grew Him To see him stretched again amid the green, Resting his battered head upon his paws, Licking his wounds, then glancing wildly round; Ah, pity that his fear was without cause; I turned and left him stretched upon the ground An outcast; but if human love for beast Has any worth, I prayed that night would send An easy death. Ah, could he know at least How much, how much I would have been his friend ! THE KILLER GOT to kill to live . . . that s right . . . Trail is mighty hot and dusty; Sleepin in the brush at night, Both my guns a-gettin rusty; Sun a-burnin high and bright, On the trail to Malachite. Yonder through the blindin glare, Dreamin down the lazy hours Stands the dobe; and the air Just plumb rich with scent of flowers ! Roses bloomin everywhere . . . Wonder if she s livin there Now? I 11 light right down and see. Buenos Dios! Yes, I m back; Knew that you d remember me . . . Concho outfit s on my track? Senorita, thanks! I m goin Down to pay the debt that s owin s . No, I m goin . Won t you shake Say Adios? For I ll miss you. Life is short. I always take What I want, and so, I 11 kiss you. Sho! There s no one round to see us; Just one more and then, Adios! 36 The Killer Better ride the other way? Thanks again. That smile is winnin . Sheriff now is your Jose! Gosh! That makes a tough beginnin , But that kiss is worth a fight Any time, in Malachite. Bronc, you take your drink and I 11 Sift in here and see what s doin . Same old sign "The Forty-Mile" Old saloon is most a ruin; How, Amigo! Some hot day! Howdy, Pedro! How, Jose! Don t get nervous. Have a drink. Yes, I m on the job to buy it. Sho! Why, I can hear you think; Keep your hands still don t you try it ! I come friendly . . . Call me, eh? Take it then, you fool, Jose. Had to kill to live . . . The fool Might a downed his glass of liquor, But a Chola can t keep cool, And he knew my hand was quicker, But he had to call my hand . . . Wonder if she ll understand? APUNI OYIS (BUTTERFLY LODGE) THERE S a lodge in Arizona where the rugged pines are marching Straight and stalwart up the hillside till they gather on the crest, And around their feet the grasses and the purple flowers are arching In the dim and golden glamour of the sunlight in the West. In the lodge Apuni Oyis dwells the Chief who writes the stories Of the Blackfeet mighty hunters in the pleasant days of old Tales of love and war and friendship, tales of mysteries and glories, When the prairie moon was silver and the sun was faery gold. And the trails along the mountains, o er the mesa and the river, Lead to far and hidden canons where the sleeping red men lie, 38 Apuni Oyis Wrapped in silence as above them myriad aspen leaves aquiver Whisper secrets to the west wind as the pack-train ambles by; Where the swart Apache hunts and dreams of warriors now a-dreaming; Where the mountain stream runs swiftly, talking loudly to the day, To the rock-rimmed pool and onward as an unexpected gleaming Marks the trout that leaps to vanish in a burst of silver spray: Trails that climb the rocky fortress of the ridge and have their ending In forlorn and ravaged temples of a people all unknown; Trails we make, and did we know it on and on forever blending With the red man s, toward the sunset are no clearer than his own. Oh, the hills of Arizona in the pleasant autumn weather! Oh, the lodge Apuni Oyis where is happiness and rest! May the dreams we share come true, and may we live them all together, We who love the ancient magic of the mountains of the West. THE PEACE OF THE HILLS UP in the mighty hills where the breeze of the sea Tosses the purple bells of the budding flowers, That nod to the musical drone of the questing bee, When the sun breaks forth in a golden symphony, And life is not measured by joy or grief or the hours, There stands a castle splendid with many towers, Up in the mighty hills. Its gates are of burnished gold and ivory; Its roof is jeweled with myriad wonderful stars; And within is a throne that is veiled in the Mystery; And the Weaver of Dreams alone has the magic key The Weaver of Dreams alone may unlock the bars Of the palace where never the voice of a mortal mars The peace of the mighty hills. Have ye sought for the gates of gold and ivory? Have ye stooped to the fragrant bells of the budding flowers? Have ye followed the musical drone of the questing bee As the sun broke forth in a golden symphony, Till life was not measured by joy or grief or the hours? And so ye have entered the gates of those magic towers And the peace of the mighty hills. 40 IN THE VALLEY Ix the valley of Parnassus where we minor poets ride, There s a trail meandering upward to the parent-peak sublime, And we ve seen lone riders pass us as we reined our steeds aside, Vowing then that we would make it given elbow- room and time. One by one we ve faced the highland, dared the fate of those that seek, On and up as rhythmic echoes from the golden heights were sped; Faery sunlight, cloudy island, lofty ledge, and farthest peak, Till the trail was lost in midnight and we turned about and fled. Hastened back with bridles ringing as we neared the wider land, Turned our ponies out to pasture; found a friend to sympathize With the tenor of our singing of the beautiful at hand, In a rhythm caught from echoes flitting down from rarer skies. 41 Riders of the Stars Yet we d have no one suppose us all unfitted for the task; We have failed, but we have tried it, giving brain and heart and hand To the triumph (quite like Moses) of our failure; and we ask Just to glimpse the smiling splendor of a far and prom ised land. So we sing and oft, in chorus, though each deems the song his own, As we ride the pleasant valley spread with starry flowers of blue; We ve Parnassus still before us, high and splendid, proud and lone, And the solid satisfaction of a comrade s equal view. Fame and folk will soon forget us even as we shall forget, But there still remains Parnassus for the coming ones to dare; And perchance the Muse will let us pluck a stave or violet, As we pass beyond the valley and dissolve in upper air. THE QUEST MORNING wakes the meadowlark, adown the field he s singing, From out his glowing hermitage of poppies in the grass; The sunlight shatters on the hills and shreds of mist are clinging Athwart the dim and lofty peaks that mark the moun tain-pass. Ah, don t you hear above the song, far, faery echoes falling, Each fainter as a haze of gold rekindles bud and tree; Low, sweet, and alien melodies, still calling, calling, calling, Across the long and shadowy slopes that run to meet the sea? The fragrance of the purple sage; the trail forever wending Into the desert dun and wide through haunted lands and drear; Communion with the silences and solitudes unending Are dearer to my heart than love, though love were ever dear. You say that you would come with me and find those hid den places, Daring the hazard of the way, whate er the way betide, 43 Riders of the Stars Adventuring to dream the dream of fair, mysterious faces That haunt the outer loneliness . . . but ne er where twain abide. The dew of tears upon your eyes; your gentle fingers reach ing To clasp the vision ere it melt and mingle with the dawn; But oh, my dear, the voices call despite your lips be seeching; Love was our monarch yesterday; to-day the king is gone. To each alone the voices call; to each his own beholding Of that diviner Mystery, elusive as the gold The sun has woven with your hair a flower of love un folding, But e en so close I may not touch the Power that bids unfold. That which men seek and may not find, for that my heart is yearning; Love were less perfect should it chide the soul that fain would know; And oh, my dear, the voices call . . . and yours, for my returning, Yet through your tears the vision comes . . . and you have bid me go. THE GLORIOUS FOOL CHRIST save me from half-hearted men Who time their steps by hour and rule; Who measure life by word and pen, Too pale of mind to play the fool. For me the glorious fool that rides High poised upon the neck of Fate; Who laughs when palsied censure chides; Who dares to love, and dares to hate. Oh, fool, on your adventure trail That flames across the farthest wave, The storm that thunders in your sail, The tide that swings above your grave, Stars mirrored in the dreamless sea, White faces of the loves you knew, Great-hearted men who dare be free, Chant deathless requiem to you ! Captain of causes lost, forlorn, Drunk with the glory of the strife, You met with joy each fighting morn, Full-throated, drinking deep of life. 45 Riders of the Stars Mad lover striding overbold Through uncompanioned, loveless years, Still are you victor! Still you hold The memory of those lips, those tears! Atom of star-fire, lightly tossed To the abysmal maw of Time, Wise men foregathering whisper, "Lost!" But to their hearts they cry, "Sublime!" And I? Ah, would that I might these Rude stanzas shape to worth and rule, But like to you, I may not please Half-hearted men, oh, glorious fool! THE TRAMP YONDER upon the road he stands: Ulysses in a modern guise, Dreaming of undiscovered lands Beyond the azure of the skies, Of some Penelope, whose eyes Long years of waiting may not dim . . . Though reason whisper otherwise, Still, in his heart she waits for him. To him, no matter what it brings The game of life is but a jest. He has no time to seek the things For which we toil; supreme unrest Impels him with a wider zest Though nonchalant past all our strife; True to himself, he stands the test And as he chooses lives his life. With smooth contempt we pass him by, Or patronize him for a space. His is the larger charity, With no contempt upon his face; For he, with somewhat nobler grace, Endures the sun, the wind, the rain, And Man . . . How well he knows his place And turns him to the road again. 47 Riders of the Stars Circe may lure him with her smile, And siren melodies delight His keen, deliberate ear, the while He seeks his star and reads aright The promise of the summer night, And dawn upon the mountain dim; He knows that far beyond the height, Penelope still waits for him. TRAIL-TO-GLORY COULD old Trail-to-Glory preach! Seems he understood this land Where you have to learn first-hand (Without books and such, to teach) One brand from another brand. Having nothing much to lose, When a Sunday come around, W T e would squat here on the ground, Twenty of us buckaroos, Never making ary sound While he opened up the ball, Singing first, then praying low, Like them little winds that blow Sand around the chaparral Kind of easy-like and slow. Seemed to us just like a game; You play this and I ll play that; Trail-to-Glory standing pat; Never working any frame, Never passing round the hat: 49 Riders of the Stars For he warn t out for money, pard, Had his job, just like the rest, Riding, roping with the best, Working hard and sweating hard, Waiting for that Day of Rest. When it come he changed his clothes; Seemed to us just like a game, Staking all on just a Name; Talking quiet-like to those That he knew he could n t tame, Till, one day, the show-down came. Swung my rope and lass ed a steer; Hoss he bucked and I got piled. Steer come at me frothing wild; Trail-to-Glory, riding near, Jumped and saved me, and he smiled. That was all I knew a spell . . . Then I saw the boys around Something stretched out on the ground; T want no steer, I knew right well; Boys a-making nary sound Yes; that s all there is to tell. YEABO S ADVENTURE THERE was no other trail to choose, so Yeabo, boldly venturing, Struck out across the mesa dim beneath the budding star, And twenty happy buckaroos, with wit that needed cen suring, Retailed the joke they played on him, foregathering at the bar. Yet Romance, ever kind to those who know not ordered latitudes, But follow, wandering where she calls in sun or wind or rain, Smiled as he told the world his woes, histrionic in his attitudes, As o er the loom of Chance she drove the shuttle back again. And Yeabo, he became her knight and sported strange habiliment; Cow-puncher boots, loud spur and chaps, brass-studded belt, and gun. And found, to his untold delight, that fear was but a filament Beneath such trapping, pose or wit, but known to every one. 51 Riders of the Stars He was no poet, yet beguiled the Muse that had rare charm for him, And set his pony s feet to verse robust and tinged with red, While bland Euterpe frowned and smiled and frowned, but wished no harm to him Who dared the heights above the Lamp, where angels fear to tread. When Love threw down a golden gage, in sunny land sequestering, Poor Yeabo s heart was in his boots commingled joy and gloom, As there athwart his pilgrimage with Andalusian gesturing The immemorial Eve appeared, bedecked in almond- bloom. Then came the battle; all too soon the range reechoed, thundering, As nimble six-guns leapt and spake peremptorily and loud; A jest, a laugh inopportune; then bickering and blundering That launched the hate as lightning leaps from cloud oppressing cloud. Yet naught may veil the sun for long; and Yeabo, from his pondering, Rose valiant, riding many a mile to woo in concrete guise 52 Yeabo s Adventure The Spanish lady of his choice, the dream-girl of his wan dering, His dusky rose with slow, sweet smile and soft, alluring eyes. He married her and settled down; Romance and Love were kind to him; He ceased to rope the running steer and took to baling hay; Nor Fame nor Fortune cared he for, and they, who first were blind to him, Ran hand-in-hand to hunt him out, down Arizona way. THE SHEEP AN undulating, dusty patch, they move Along the margin of the canon stream. Beside the herder stand the watchful dogs, With ears alert and eyes that read his face. He sees his semblance by the midday sun Dwarfed on the glaring sand. The sheep move on And vanish in the slumbrous cedar shade. The drowsy lizard blinks in noon elysium; A bee clings to the nodding mountain flower Unfearful o er the sunlit faery vale Far, far below; green isles of tiny trees Dappling a sea of palpitating sand. Slow-paced the hours; yet swift the twilight change; A flare of opal spaces in the west, Shot with a crimson triumph. Then, the night; Low call and plaintive answer, till the sheep Lie bedded round the fire and Silence dreams. Star after star is blotted from the mask, And quick, cool fingers lift the wavering veil That hangs above the canon s dusky brim. 54 The Sheep The morning hills awake and rise to view The mesa-reaches sprinkled o er with bloom; The Shepherd of the Dawn has loosed his flock Of silvery sheep to graze celestial pastures, While, plunging, rears the sun, a golden ram Who leaps the fiery confines of his fold Whereon hang curling shreds of snowy fleece Torn from his eager sides. The canon stream, Unruffled, bears the aspect of the sky; Filches a floating cloud that drifts across The mirrored foliage twinkling in the deep Cool gardens of its placid underworld. The dogs are up and out. The shuffling flock Pours from the bedding-ground, and, grazing, wends Down to the foot-worn shallows. Against the blue Lone on the height the shepherd hums a song. EH, JOHNNY-JO? JUST turn me loose on them hills a spell! Hear the rein-chains jingle and saddle creak? And after chuck, that there pack-horse bell Way off, jing-janglin ; hear it speak? Say, a minute of that is worth a week In town. . . . And the wind is driftin slow, A-pilin the sand round the chaparral And them dam coyotes singin all Together. It s great, ain t it, Johnny-Jo? But, whoa! I must shine up my langwidge some, This ain t no round-up; this here is verse That s a-lopin along and it s got to come, Like the parson says, "For good or worse." So I 11 clamp my knees and just let her hum. The wind of the dawn has swept the plains, And the sun runs over the purple sage. Gone is the wrack of the winter rains, Leaving the hills like a faery page Of a book that is old, but is ever new, And fresh as the wild-flowers sweet with dew . , Gosh ! I m ridin close to the fence and low, And strainin my buttins, eh, Johnny- Jo? 56 Eh, Johnny- Jo? It ain t no use for to talk like that; It s second-hand scenery made to print. Just hand me my ole gray puncher hat And them spurs and quirt; do you get the hint? For I got to ride easy with elbows high, Mebby not style, but she sure has go; We ll all git to Heaven by-and-by, But we ll travel outdoors; eh, Johnny- Jo? TOBY HAVE you ever heard a fellow talking nonsense to a hoss, When he d stopped to pull a cincha tight or take a little rest? Have you ever seen that same cayuse stand looking at his boss With eyes that seemed to say, "I like you best." Well, my bronco, little Toby, he had eyes that talked like that; We got pretty well acquainted; understood each other right As we traveled hills and mesas; he as nimble as a cat On the stiffest trail that ever came in sight. It was: "Toby, come, we ll beat it to the reservation line; Three line-riders over yonder; if they see us we re in wrong . . ." Then the pace that Toby d set em o er the grass and through the pine, Made the wind that whistled by sound like a song. In the camp he d browse at night around his picket, by the fire; Stop to raise his head and watch me like an interested kid; 58 Toby In the morning he would nicker; seemed to say, "Let s take a flyer, Let s go somewhere"; and you bet your boots, we did. Just how much that hoss could sabe, well, I can t ex actly say; But I told him once of Yuma, the cayuse I left behind When I hit the dry and dusty coming Arizona way; Told him she was just another of his kind. Well, his eyes they did the talking, shining big and round and bright, Said "I d like to meet the lady with the blue and glassy eye; Never been in California, but if you are talking right, She s a peach; and is she married? Is she shy?" I told him she was single, fat and pinto, kind of fair; Full of ginger and affection that got badly mixed at times; That she never frizzed her mane or brushed her teeth or combed her hair, But that she was celebrated in some rhymes. He seemed quite interested; and her Arizona name Being "Yuma" set him thinking that my she-cayuse was great; 59 Riders of the Stars But he never showed him jealous, being wise and kind and game, When I talked about our California state. But since then he s acted offish with the bosses on the range; Nothing mean, but kind of proud-like; kept his place and stayed away From their runs and fights and dinners; mebby now you ll think it strange If I tell you what I heard that Toby say To the mountain-bred cayuses when they dared to ask him why; -,"Oh," said Toby, "pretty weather, just like California air; Must excuse me, but a lady with a blue and glassy eye Boss s friend is waiting for me, over there." THAT INSIDE SONG Bo, it s goin to be hot all right! Sun s a-floodin the eastern range. Mebby the camp was some cold last night, But there s nothin like havin a little change, Not money . . . but just lots of room for me, Hills and mountains and plains and such, For the eyes that I got they were made to see, And my ears to hear, but they don t hear much; Only a kind of a inside song, Like when the grasshopper s feelin glad, Singin , "Rickety-click, and there s nothin wrong!" And after the coffee, things ain t so bad. The wind is makin my bed for me, Smoothin the grass where I m goin to flop, When the quail roosts up in the live-oak tree, And my legs feel like as they want to stop. Pal or no pal it s about the same, For nobody knows how you feel inside; Hittin the grit is a lonesome game But quit? No matter how hard I tried. Oh, mebby I will when that inside song Quits a-handin me out the glad, Singin , "Buckle-em-up, for there s nothin wrong!" . . . And after the coffee it ain t so bad. 61 Riders of the Stars Bo, I ve beat it from Los to Maine, And then, not knowin just what to do, I turned and slippered it back again, Wantin to see just the same as you. Ridin rods and a-dodgin flys; Eatin at times, when my luck was good; Speilin the con to the easy guys But never just makin it understood, Even to me, why that inside song Keeps a-handin me out the glad Singin , "Ramble along, for there s nothin wrong!" . . . And after the coffee things ain t so bad. THE OLD-TIMER MORNING on the Malibu, mist across the ranges; Ponies bucking everywhere. "Whoop! and let er buck ! Bud is standin on his head; Bill is makin changes In his style of cussin and he s havin plenty luck." " When it comes to ridin broncs listen to me, stranger Takes a hoss what is a hoss to pile your Uncle Jim; Whoa! You think you re goin to dump a ole-time Texas Ranger? Just excuse me for a spell; I ll take it out of him. "Hump, you side of bacon, you! Spin till you git dizzy! I could roll a cigarette while you are doin such. Mebby now you think that you are keepin me right busy? W r ish t I had my knittin , for you don t amount to much. " As I was sayin , stranger Whump ! Now, ding that pinto devil! Gosh-and-what-goes-with-it, but he piled me sure enough ; I was ridin on the square and now I m on the level ; Serves me right for talkin and pertendin I was tough. 63 Riders of the Stars "Ought to buy a rockin* chair! Git a pair of crutches! Hear the boys a joshin me now they got the chance; Baldy s diggin angle-worms with his nose! Now such is Mighty childish joshin . . . Say, fore you was wearin pants "I was ridin broncs and did n t have to pull no leather; Broncs that pawed a star down every time they took a jump. And I wern t sixty-two them days; I didn t feel the weather; Give me forty year off and I 11 lick you in a lump ! "Laugh, you mo vin -picture kids; think you re punchin* cattle? I was raised in Texas where a steer is called a steer; I have done some ridin that would make your eye-teeth rattle; From the Tonto to Montana, ridin range for forty year. " Guess I got em thinkin now thinkin strong and quiet, Mad at them ? Why, stranger, I m a ole-time buckaroo, Don t git mad at nothin . . . If they re livin let em try it, Ridin range and ropin when they re turned of sixty- two." THE FIGHTING PARSON HE was a right good man a parson, too; Deep-chested, tall, and straight. He had an eye You could n t get away from; kind and blue, And wise to all it saw; just like the sky Out here in Arizona, always clear, Or mostly clear. Of course, sometimes it rained; But if the fighting parson shed a tear, The peace he lost, some other fellow gained. The parson sometimes had to use his hands, And save his wind to finish up a fight. He did n t just stand up and give commands In settling what was wrong and what was right; He backed his words in good two-fisted style, And never quit until the job was done. Yes, he could shoot and ride, get licked, and smile As easy after as when he begun. But mighty few could handle him, at that; He was all man religion it came next. If talking would n t do, off came his hat And coat and then his double-barreled text. 65 Riders of the Stars Once he got licked the only time I know. It kind of scared us, seeing him go down, Dropped by a lightning smash from Placer Joe Who just rode in to salivate the town. "If that s the best you got," said Placer Joe, "Go rope a real one somewhere. * No one spoke Until the fighting parson, rising slow, Brushed off his clothes, just like it was a joke; "No, not the best," he said, "and not the worst; Perhaps I was mistaken in my plan; We 11 try again, but let me tell you first, You have n t whipped religion; just a man. "What if I m whipped again? That s not the end. What if you kill me and my spirit sped Up to my Master? Let me tell you, friend, He ll send as good, or better, in my stead." That staggered Joe. He had n t thought of that; And something seemed to kill his wish to fight. He grinned and fumbled foolish with his hat, And said, "By Gosh, I guess the parson s right!" The parson was n t licked, at that, but hid The knock-down having better in his hand . . . They made him Bishop, sir, and when they did, We lost the finest parson in the land. ROMANCE No more, no more my blithe Romance Along the outland trails shall dance; And nevermore in sweet surprise And swift, shall she make glad mine eyes, Singing along the harbor slips With coaxing laughter on her lips. No more the joy of ranging spars, The stinging drift, the wind-swept stars, The shouting storm, the foam-flecked sea Shall thrill the weary soul of me. No more the flame of woodland fires Shall warm my heart with far desires. Lost mesa-reaches, hills of night, Soft Southern eyes with love alight And longing; lips that now are mute Once singing to the magic lute; Lost in the stealth of years, and fled, Leaving their silent ghosts, instead. The thunder-roll, the blind stampede; The shout, the shot, the falling steed . . . Scarlet serape, silver spur, Belt and sombrero worn for her 67 Riders of the Stars Loyally for my goddess who Replaced the laurel with the rue. The drifting herd, the blinding noon, Scant cedar-shade and lazy croon Of Andalusian cadence old . . . Dawn and the valley brimmed with gold! Mariana and the dreamy days Out where the prairie ponies graze. Crouched where the morning sunlight gleams, Gaunt at my feet my wolf-dog dreams; Yea ! and I dream here, lone, forlorn, Who once in red adventure s morn Wakened with Romance at my side, To touch her lips long since denied. And still I love her, ever young, Youth following with his songs unsung, Eyes brave with hope, heart strong and pure, While lissome fingers, beckoning, lure . . . Youth following where her steps may wend, Nor dreaming that the trail must end. I KNEW A BOY I KXEW a boy who, at the pasture gate, Shouted and laughed to see the ponies run; A barefoot urchin, sturdy, live, elate, Who rode them all the worst and best for fun. Was tumbled from the worst; stuck to the best And loved them; yea! nor deemed the old rail fence A barrier to dismount for, but made test; Aptly the soul of "Whither going hence?" Knew not nor cared no more than did his steed, Unbitted, playful-wild, and ne er in hand, Till, breathless, in the pasture mullein-weed They stopped; the "Whoa!" gratuitous command. I knew a boy perchance it was the same, Though time had wrought its certain outward change Who still though seldom silent played the game With branding-iron and rope on Western range. The clean, clear tan of sun upon his cheek, The light of morning in his laughing eye; Seeking adventure to the farthest peak, Or watching dream-led cavalcades go by. 69 Riders of the Stars Swiftly the golden shuttle of the dream Darted across the loom of sunlit hours, Till Romance, tiring of the weaver s beam, Vanished among the nodding prairie-flowers. The high trail dwindled in the sunset glow, And laughter ceased; instead came Reverie To pace beside him, silent, wan, and slow, Until his wondering eyes beheld the sea. Sadly he watched the gray gulls dip and ride The swollen ridges rushing to the shore, Then rise to wing across the sounding tide That drummed a slow, reiterant "Nevermore.** Then something, that had slept throughout the years Deep in his heart, awakened: "Nay! my joy Shall not be tarnished by these futile tears, Because** he laughed "because ... I knew a boy. . . . * BRAVES OF THE HUNT BRAVES! that go out with your guides and gold and the polished tube of steel, Playing safe with the hunting-pack, the trap and the prism-glass; Slaying the Moose or the Silver-tip, e en as you pause and kneel Loosing the power that ye wield for shame. ... So do our monarchs pass. Not for the hunger of babes ye hunt; for mother or aged sire; Not to the Red Gods offering the blood of your lust to kill; Not with the strength of your brawn and thew matching the fury-fire Of the beast that fights for the life it loves; nay! but with sneaking skill Ye speed the sting of the spreading slug, giving your lust a name; Sport! to shatter the buoyant life, to sever the silver thread! Then ye stand with a gun in hand grinning your pictured shame; " See at my feet the mighty thing that I, yea, that / struck dead!" 71 Ricjers of the Stars When ye have toiled on the foot-worn trail till the hunger- pinch is keen; When ye have stood as a man with men earning your wage through strife Of the outland ways, ye have fair excuse to kill an the kill be clean; Then, perchance, will the vaunt be lost in fostering life with life. Sport ! to slay with no cause to slay not even the pride of hate! Courage? then stand to an even chance, facing a foe- man s gun Out in the open, eye to eye, for Honor of Kin or State, Oh, ye who slink in the woven blind seeking to kill for fun! Would that ye lay by the wounded thing that crawls to the brush to die; Would that ye knew the biting pain and that lingering thirst of hell, Writhing down to the darksome pit as ye vainly implored the sky, Asking It if there once was God that made ye and loved ye well! Perhaps, when the Hand that fashioned all shall strike, and the earth be dumb 72 Braves of the Hunt Out of the dim and the voiceless vast back to their own again Herd and band and the mated beasts, fearless and free shall come, Knowing naught of the ancient fear of a tribe that were named as men. THE TRAIL-MAKERS NORTH and west along the coast among the misty islands, Sullen in the grip of night and smiling in the day: Nunivak and Akutan, with Nome against the highlands, On we drove with plated prow agleam with frozen spray. Loud we sang adventuring and lustily we jested; Quarreled, fought, and then forgot the taunt, the blow, the jeers; Named a friend and clasped a hand a compact sealed, at tested; Shared tobacco, yarns, and drink, and planned surpass ing years. Then the snow that locked the trail where famine s shadow followed Out across the blinding white and through the stabbing cold, Past tents along the tundra over faces blotched and hol lowed; Toothless mouths that babbled foolish songs of hidden gold. Wisdom, lacking sinews for the toil, gave o er the trying; Fools, with thews of iron, blundered on and won the fight; 74 The Trail-Makers Weaklings drifted homeward; else they tarried worse than dying With the painted lips and wastrels on the edges of the night. Those of us who found the gold we followed with the others, Dazzled by the glamour of the halls and women s eyes; When the poke was empty, then we borrowed from an other s, Till a grim repentance called us out to face the skies. Berries of the saskatoon were ripening and falling; Flowers decked the barren with its timber scant and low; All along the river-trail were many voices calling, And e en the whimpering Malemutes they heard and whined to go. Eyelids seared with fire of ice and frosted parka-edges; Firelight like a spray of blood on faces lean and brown; Shifting shadows of the pines across our loaded sledges, And far behind the fading trail, the lights and lure of town. So we played the bitter game nor asked for praise or pity: Wind and wolf they found the bones that blazed out lonely trails . . . Where a dozen shacks were set, to-day there blooms a city; Now, where once was empty blue, there pass a thousand sails. 75 Riders of the Stars Scarce a peak that does not mark the grave of those who perished Nameless, lost to lips of men who followed, gleaning fame From the soundless triumph of adventurers who cherished Naught above the glory of a chance to play the game. Half the toil and we had won to wealth in other station; Rusted out as useless ere our worth was tried and known, But the Hand that made us caught us up and hewed a na tion From the frozen fastness that so long was His alone. Loud we sang adventuring and lustily we jested; Quarreled, fought, and then forgot the taunt, the blow, the jeers; Sinned and slaved and vanished we, the giant-men who wrested Truth from out a dream wherein we planned surpassing years. IDLE NOON Do you remember the camp we made as we nooned on the mesa-floor, Where the grass rolled down like a running sea in the wind and the world our own? You laughed as you sat in the cedar-shade and said t was the ocean-shore Of an island lost in the wizardry of dreams for ourselves alone. Our ponies grazed in the drowsy noon, unsaddled, at ease and slow, And the ranges dim were a faery land; blue hills in a haze of gray . . . Hands clasped on knee you hummed a tune, a melody light and low: Do you remember the venture planned in jest for your heart was gay? "We ll saddle and ride to the unknown end of the long, long trail ahead . . . Sun and wind and the evening star and the flame of our evening fire; Wherever the mesa-trail may wend we ll follow and find," you said, "Haunted hills that are lost afar and the Valley of Heart s Desire." 77 Riders of the Stars " Ride to the last grim canon edge and rest on the brim of space; Find a trail to its very heart that only the eagles know; Sing as we round the riven ledge that is hewn in its mighty face That gazes down on the silver strand of a stream and the pines below. " Love we 11 leave till the quest is o er and live in a magic land; Homeless, free as the fearless wind that runs o er the mountain towers, And the upland lake, with its trackless shore, shall mirror a woman s hand And a woman s face as she bends to bind a fillet of purple flowers." Thus you sang as the ponies grazed through the heat of that idle noon, While you dreamed of a faeryland; dreamed till the sun set fire Called you back to the world, amazed that the journey should end so soon, As so must ever a venture planned to the Valley of Heart s Desire. THE COWBOYS BALL (With a change of tune) Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! tunin up the fiddle; You an take yo r pardner there, standin by the wall ! Say "How!" make a bow, and sashay down the middle; Shake yo r leg lively at the Cowboys Ball. Big feet, little feet, all the feet a-clickin ; Everybody happy and the goose a-hangin high; Lope, trot, hit the spot, like a colt a-kickin ; Keep a stompin leather while you got one eye. Yah ! Hoo ! Larry ! would you watch his wings a-floppin , Jumpin like a chicken that is lookin for its head; Hi! Yip! Never slip, and never think of stoppin , Just keep yo r feet a-movin till we all drop dead! High heels, low heels, moccasins and slippers; Real ole rally round the dipper and the keg! Uncle Ed s gettin red had too many dippers; Better get him hobbled or he 11 break his leg ! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! tunin 9 up the fiddle; Pass him up another for his arm is gettin slow. Bow down! right in town and sashay down the middle; Got to keep a-movin for to see the show! 79 Riders of the Stars Yes, mam! Warm, mam? Want to rest a minute? Like to get a breath of air lookin at the stars? All right! Fine night. Dance? There s nothin in it! That s my pony there, peekin through the bars. Bronc, mam? No, mam! Gentle as a kitten! Here, boy ! Shake a hand ! Now, mam, you can see ; Night s cool. What a fool to dance, instead of sittin Like a gent and lady, same as you and me. Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! tunirf up the fiddle; Well, them as likes the exercise sure can have it all! Right wing, lady swing, and sashay down the middle . . . But this beats dancin at the Cowboys Ball. PEARL OF THE ATOLLS Where coral atolls glimmered in the sun; Where the slow sea gave back our weary sails, We came to anchor. Long had been the run And welcome was the rest from ocean-trails. Like a lone sea-bird in the blue lagoon, Our schooner idle swung, while overside, Long, broken masts lay wavering in a moon Of moving silver mirrored on the tide. The woven hut that fronted on the sand; The crimson parakeets, the languorous fronds; The laughter of the girh as hand-in-hand They ran to bathe among the lily-ponds. We bartered with the natives for their pearls, And gained them all save one dark pearl alone, Jewel among those dusky village girls; Pearl of the atolls, love had made mine own. When fortune turned those golden days to gold, Lost voices called across the flickering foam; Again adown the trails our schooner rolled. Back to the ancient harbor we called home. 81 Pearl of the Atolls Home? Years again we sought that magic shore, With wide sea-wings alert for every breeze, But vanished was our island-dream of yore, Lost in the wide and unremembering seas. Oh, magic island, where, oh, where are ye? Sweet laughter, alien song and voices sweet ? Pearl of the atolls, rise from out the sea That answers not and make the dream complete! CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A ijj-fcr- - STA-w** OVERDUE. YB 76784 3579o,i UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA