CANTO III

Where the sun sinks through leagues of arid sky,

Where the sun dies o'er leagues of arid plain,

Where the dead bones of wasted rivers lie,

Trailed from their channels in yon mountain chain;

Where day by day naught takes the wearied eye

But the low-rimming mountains, sharply based

On the dead levels, moving far or nigh,

As the sick vision wanders o'er the waste,

But ever day by day against the sunset traced:

There moving through a poisonous cloud that stings

With dust of alkali the trampling band

Of Indian ponies, ride on dusky wings

The red marauders of the Western land;

Heavy with spoil, they seek the trail that brings

Their flaunting lances to that sheltered bank

Where lie their lodges; and the river sings

Forgetful of the plain beyond, that drank

Its life blood, where the wasted caravan sank.

They brought with them the thief's ignoble spoil,

The beggar's dole, the greed of chiffonnier,

The scum of camps, the implements of toil

Snatched from dead hands, to rust as useless here;

All they could rake or glean from hut or soil

Piled their lean ponies, with the jackdaw's greed

For vacant glitter. It were scarce a foil

To all this tinsel that one feathered reed

Bore on its barb two scalps that freshly bleed!

They brought with them, alas! a wounded foe,

Bound hand and foot, yet nursed with cruel care,

Lest that in death he might escape one throe

They had decreed his living flesh should bear:

A youthful officer, by one foul blow

Of treachery surprised, yet fighting still

Amid his ambushed train, calm as the snow

Above him; hopeless, yet content to spill

His blood with theirs, and fighting but to kill.

He had fought nobly, and in that brief spell

Had won the awe of those rude border men

Who gathered round him, and beside him fell

In loyal faith and silence, save that when

By smoke embarrassed, and near sight as well,

He paused to wipe his eyeglass, and decide

Its nearer focus, there arose a yell

Of approbation, and Bob Barker cried,

“Wade in, Dundreary!” tossed his cap and — died.

Their sole survivor now! his captors bear

Him all unconscious, and beside the stream

Leave him to rest; meantime the squaws prepare

The stake for sacrifice: nor wakes a gleam

Of pity in those Furies’ eyes that glare

Expectant of the torture; yet alway

His steadfast spirit shines and mocks them there

With peace they know not, till at close of day

On his dull ear there thrills a whispered “Grey!”

He starts! Was it a trick? Had angels kind

Touched with compassion some weak woman's breast?

Such things he'd read of! Faintly to his mind

Came Pocahontas pleading for her guest.

But then, this voice, though soft, was still inclined

To baritone! A squaw in ragged gown

Stood near him, frowning hatred. Was he blind?

Whose eye was this beneath that beetling frown?

The frown was painted, but that wink meant — Brown!

“Hush! for your life and mine! the thongs are cut,”

He whispers; “in yon thicket stands my horse.

One dash!— I follow close, as if to glut

My own revenge, yet bar the others’ course.

Now!” And‘ tis done. Grey speeds, Brown follows; but

Ere yet they reach the shade, Grey, fainting, reels,

Yet not before Brown's circling arms close shut

His in, uplifting him! Anon he feels

A horse beneath him bound, and hears the rattling heels.

Then rose a yell of baffled hate, and sprang

Headlong the savages in swift pursuit;

Though speed the fugitives, they hope to hang

Hot on their heels, like wolves, with tireless foot.

Long is the chase; Brown hears with inward pang

The short, hard panting of his gallant steed

Beneath its double burden; vainly rang

Both voice and spur. The heaving flanks may bleed,

Yet comes the sequel that they still must heed!

Brown saw it — reined his steed; dismounting, stood

Calm and inflexible. “Old chap! you see

There is but ONE escape. You know it? Good!

There is ONE man to take it. You are he.

The horse wo n't carry double. If he could,

‘ Twould but protract this bother. I shall stay:

I've business with these devils, they with me;

I will occupy them till you get away.

Hush! quick time, forward. There! God bless you, Grey!”

But as he finished, Grey slipped to his feet,

Calm as his ancestors in voice and eye:

“You do forget yourself when you compete

With him whose RIGHT it is to stay and die:

That's not YOUR duty. Please regain your seat;

And take my ORDERS — since I rank you here!—

Mount and rejoin your men, and my defeat

Report at quarters. Take this letter; ne'er

Give it to aught but HER, nor let aught interfere.”

And, shamed and blushing, Brown the letter took

Obediently and placed it in his pocket;

Then, drawing forth another, said, “I look

For death as you do, wherefore take this locket

And letter.” Here his comrade's hand he shook

In silence. “Should we both together fall,

Some other man” — but here all speech forsook

His lips, as ringing cheerily o'er all

He heard afar his own dear bugle-call!

‘ Twas his command and succor, but e'en then

Grey fainted, with poor Brown, who had forgot

He likewise had been wounded, and both men

Were picked up quite unconscious of their lot.

Long lay they in extremity, and when

They both grew stronger, and once more exchanged

Old vows and memories, one common “den”

In hospital was theirs, and free they ranged,

Awaiting orders, but no more estranged.

And yet‘ twas strange — nor can I end my tale

Without this moral, to be fair and just:

They never sought to know why each did fail

The prompt fulfillment of the other's trust.

It was suggested they could not avail

Themselves of either letter, since they were

Duly dispatched to their address by mail

By Captain X., who knew Miss Rover fair

Now meant stout Mistress Bloggs of Blank Blank Square.