White West land Echoes THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ESTLAND HOES V PRICE $1 OO estlanb Ctfjoe* A BOOK OF POEMS BY NED WHITE COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY NED WHITE. BlSBEE ORE PRESS. BISBEE. ARI/ONA 1916 Snbex At the Gate. 14 Babe of the San Simon 35 Beyond the Hills 41 Bones of the Desert 39 Don't Be a Knocker 64 Down Along the Hassayamp Forsaken IT Fugitive, The Si> Funeral Range, The 60 Ghost of Cactus Flat 43 Grand Canyon, The 66 Gringo Wizzard, The : . 34 Happy Jack 47 Hermit, The .... 27 Hobo Miner, The 51 Hobo's Farewell, The G2 Hope 48 Horse Thief, The .. 54 In Campo Santos . 7 In the Cactus Land ]:', In the Land of Manyana . . 30 Introduction ... :; Jack, the Silent ' 25 Knocker, The 65 Legend of the Pi mas 82 Life Has Been Only a Day 12 Mothers of Men 5i; Mud Digger, Th- 57 My Bast Friend, Adios t;7 Old Prospector, The i Only a Greaser 37 Only a Miner .............. 10 Outlaw's Lament, The Hi Tombstone In Early Days 2:; What Will You Do? When the Law Is Satisfied Sntrobuction Ye who have heard the desert voices, Ye who have heard the wild things cry; Ye who have camped in lonesome places, 'Neath the stars of the western sky; Ye have heard the tales repeated By the campfires, o'er and o'er; Told by gray haired, old prospectors These simple tales of desert lore. And ye who dwell in distant cities, Ye may scoff and pass them by; Ye -may call them myths or fables From the country of blue sky- Still to me each line is sacred In the simple stories told, Of the Westland's lonesome places, Of the land of wealth untold. COPYRIGHT, iyi6, BY NED WHITE. BISBEE ORE PRESS Cctjoes DOWN ALONG THE HASSAYAMP In remote and silent places Down along the Hassayamp, Mid the foothills of the Bradshaws Where the placer miners camp, Where they used to dig the nuggets From the ground in days of yore, Now they sit Dy smoldering camp fires, Telling tales of wealth galore, Telling of the Horsethief canyon, Telling of the Vulture peak, Of the big strike down at Weaver, Of the Frenchman's lucky streak; Telling of the Harquhalas That was once a booming camp, 'Way down toward the Colorado . Westward from the Hassayamp, Ccfjoes Stop with me and hear the stories By the campfires burning low, By the ashes of the camp fires That were kindled long ago, Hear the stories of the mountains, Stories of the desert wide; Hear them tell of good old timers, Who have crossed the big divide. Here and there, in lonesome places, Twixt the canyon's rocky walls, Where the flowers bloom in summer Where the snow in winter falls, Where the hungry coyotes wander, Where the giant cactus wave, Here and there a ruined cabin, Hem and there a lonely grave, Now and then some old prospector With his gray head bending low, Sits and tells the passing strangci, Stories of the long ago May their memories live forever, 'Round the ashes of their camp, the foothills of Bradshaws Down along the Hassayamp, NoTK The II:iss;iy:iMipa Kivrr, in Arixmia. IN CAMPO SANTOS Yes, Senor, I'm very feeble, Heart grown weary, foot steps slow, But I once was proud and happy- Senor, that was long ago; 'Fore the snow of many winters Left its traces on my brow; 'Fore the sun of many summers Made me as you see me now, Why I weep? Senor, you ask me, Why the bitter tears do flow? I am thinking, ever dreaming, Of the happy long ago- Thinking of a young ranchero In a valley, green and wide, Of a Mexican caballero And a blushing Mexican bride, How the saints -did smile upon us, Sent a babe to cheer our way- How we treasured little Alma, Worshipped her from day to day, See the white clouds yonder sailing. By the gentle breezes blown; As light her heart was as the cloudlets Til a maiden she had grown, 8 USlestlanb Ccljoes Thus I weep Senor, forgive me Thus the bitter tears do start! Ch, the mem'ries that are living In this poor, old, aching heart! Must I tell the wretched story How a handsome gringo came, Wooed and won our little darling, Killed her happiness with shame? Cast a shadow o'er her young life? Broke her heart of love and trust? Left her then alone to perish, Like a rosebud in the dust; Like a flower that's lost its fragrance, Or a poor forbidden toy; Like a bird that has been crippled By a cruel, thoughtless boy! With her poor head bowed in sorrow, Never did she raise her face Now, at last, in Campo Santos, She has found a resting place! Adios! I soon shall follow Where her fait' ring foot steps led; To the Pueblo de los Muertos To the City of the Dead, NOTE Campo Santos, meaning cemetary. f'url.lo <]<> los Mvu'rtos. town or city of tli^ dead. THE OLD PROSPECTOR He has gone, the old prospector! With his burro and pack saddle, Rusty now his pick and shovel, Rusty now his old canteen, Never more on lonesome hill sides, Or the desert's wasted places, Looking for the hidden treasures, Is the sturdy fellow seen, No more by the camp fire gleaming Is he sitting now and dreaming Of the ivy covered cottage And the promises he made, He has crossed the silent river, To the peaceful Eldorado; On the mystic shores up yonder He is resting in the shade, Silent now the old log cabin In the canyon deep and lonely, With its doors on rusty hinges In the night winds swinging free- Where he dwelt with life contented In the good old days no W ( vanished; Never prince in stately mansion Was more satisfied than he! NOTK- The old time prospector is only a mining' man. 10 fcUrstlanb ctjoes ONLY A MINER Blow the shrill whistle, call him to labor, Hurry him in to the darkness below; Away from the sunlight, to gloom and to danger, To peril that only a miner can know. Cheer'ly he goes, the big hearted fellow, To meet every task with muscle and will; Toiling awa> by the light of a candle, With pick and shovel, with hammer and drill, He seeks not for praise nor for laurels, Though many a brave deed we recall- Brave acts of his never recorded. Because he's only a miner, that's all! Why gather the men in the shaft house? What is it that lies on the hill side? ''Killed in the mine," sadly, they answer; Another poor fellow has crossed the divide, Tell the sad news to the wife who is waiting For her above all he lived for in love; Say he has gone from the dark, lower levels Gone to the station of light that's above, tt)ors II Just another new grave in the canyon down yonder, And a home plunged in sorrow they miss him tonight! May he rest in peace! He was only a miner! He was true as a friend; he did what was right! NOTK - One of many who are killed by accidents in the bi mines everv year. 12 Olltsaaiit) Ccijoes LIFE HAS BEEN ONLY A DAY See the boy with golden hair In the garden, bright and fair, Watching in his merry glee The ever busy little bee As so eagerly it goes To sip the honey from the rose, This is in life's early morn When all happiness is born; Could he always be a boy, 'Mid nature's beauty, love and joy! But, Ah me, how very soon Morning hours have turned to noon? The garden scene has passed away, Scattered dead the flowers lay, And the boy, so happy then, Mingles now with busy men Giown to manhood, true and tall, When the evening shadows fall! The shades of night have fallen now On an aged, drooping brow; Eyes grown feeble, heart grown old, Silver locks that once were gold; Faltering lips that softly say: "Life has only been a clay," Ctlwti 13 IN THE CACTUS LAND This is the beautiful picture That is seen in the Cactus Land- Ail Arizona sunset, Painted by nature's hand; All of tlie glowing colors At twilight are combined In this wonderful picture By God's own hand designed, In rapture I look upon it At its ever changing glow, While in the quiet valleys The darker shadows grow, No artist's hand, though cunning, Could paint the picture true The sky all gold and amber, The hills all purple and blue! Purple, blue aiid golden, With the valleys green below, And the foot hills in the distance Where the giant Cactus grow The picture fades in the gloaming And the night birds softly call, Then a peaceful .benediction Seems to hover over all! NOTE Meaning an Arizona Desert. 14 'd and silver camps of NYvada and California, l>y way >f the old sta^e i-oach. 25 JACK, THE SILENT Eastward from the Harquhalas At a place called Cactus Flat, Lived and toiled an old prospector, Just a gray, old Desert Rat; Free of heart and open handed, All were welcome to his camp We used to call him "Jack, the Silent," The best old man on the Hassayamp! Liked he was, by all who knew him, Liked because his heart was good There was something in his make-up That we never understood, Some great secret in his memory, Something 'neath his old white hat, Some great sorrow borne in silence, In the heart of the desert rat, Many a weary, passing stranger, Derelicts on the whirlpools cast, Were helped and sent along rejoicing By the silent man with the buried past, Years of hardship told their story And the desert claimed its own- Where he lived and helped the weary, There the old man died alone, 26 fcfclefitlaub Ccijoes There he left a letter written, Left this message, carefully penned; "God forgive you, Bill, I cannot "Her, I trusted; and you my friend," Then we knew the old man's secret, Why he came west to forget; In the past there was a woman In the east she's living yet. "Jack, the Silent," now is sleeping On the slope of Cactus Flat, A noble heart is stilled forever In the grave of the Desert Rat- Eastward from the Harquhalas Lie the ruins of his camp, There we still may hear the story Of the best old man on the Hassayamp. NoTK A Desert Rut is u/i old prospector who frequents I IK- desert, like nistnv others he wandered awav and died.