V.

He's the man from Eldorado, and they found him stiff and dead,

Half covered by the freezing ooze and dirt.

A clotted Colt was in his hand, a hole was in his head,

And he wore an old and oily buckskin shirt.

His eyes were fixed and horrible, as one who hails the end;

The frost had set him rigid as a log;

And there, half lying on his breast, his last and only friend,

There crouched and whined a mangy yellow dog.