John Stetson Poet Cowboy Poetry

The Catamount Contralto 'for Maria Moss'

Some years ago I traveled west with a friend that I considered best
Past the dancing mountains to the west of the trail of Contrabando

We bushwhacked in as slick as sin, a place that we had never been
A place that if you've ever been you found it on the down low

We set up camp and settled back with cast iron corn and kettle jack
But before the coals could start their cracklin' heard a wild contralto

It tore right through the velvet night and each his own red face turned white
We waited for the morning light our breathing low and shallow

"Tis banshees," cried my mate and laid so low the clouds did swallow fate
The moonlight a bone china plate our blood as thick as tallow

"Tis nothing but the wind" I said, "Roll over and embrace your bed."
Gloom settled bout his head and spread like dread around the gallows

The night crawled slowly into dawn but as we pulled our leather on
We laughed and joked like schoolboys whistlin' on right past the graveyard

I climbed up to the ridge to see what lay below the likes of me
I rambled and I scrambled a good while up on that mountain

At length I sat and took my rest on stones thrown there beneath the crest
All by myself I'd left my Best down at the camp asleep I guessed

…Turning as my thoughts undressed, I caught my breath and 
   swallowed…

For neath the crest laid there exposed bones white as ghosts and hard as stone
Quick as a chisel last night's moan cut head and heart and hollow

I've never been back to that place, I've never seen as white a face
In the mirror of my soul I trace a line not meant for crossin'

But sometimes when the night grows thin I close my eyes and draw within
And think about the place a friend…	was left to his own morrow

Some years ago I traveled west with a friend that I considered best
Past the dancing mountains to the west of the trail of Contrabando

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