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Poem

I set out from Chicago town
in spring, eighteen seventy-nine,
offered one hundred and a stake
in the new Kennevor gold mine.
Had to provide security
and keep all of the miner’s safe,
in the mountains of Montana,
out beyond the Missouri breaks.
I rode swiftly across the plains,
thinking it wouldn’t be much more,
when a passing cowboy said,
“It’s six more days to Kennevor.”

I did not want to believe him
setting out on that first morning,
but I felt that I was spied on,
then heard the thwock of some bow strings!
A party of a dozen Sioux
has all taken up on my trail,
I pushed my horse to outrun them,
but it was to no avail.
Finally I some rocks to ride,
and shot two to their horror,
thankfully then they galloped off…
Five more days to Kennevor.

The second day the weather changed,
a swirling funnel tore the grass,
I spurred my horse to run for in,
towards mountains racing fast.
Such a howling I never head,
the great winds even took my hat!
When we reached those high, rocky crags,
I had never felt more glad.
Then I foolishly asked myself
what more could this trip have in store?
I jinxed myself that very night,
four more days to Kennevor.

One the third day I found the road
blocked and closed by a landslide,
so I rode to a known back-route,
that wandered through the mountainsides.
The trail was made of broken stone,
loose granite that skittered and slid,
bad to lead my horse, keep him safe,
but then I felt my own feet skid.
Then I tumbled one hundred yards,
until my sin was bruised and scored,
angrily I trudged back on up,
three more days to Kennevor...

CONCLUDES IN PART II.

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