The Echo Returns Not

When driving in Colorado or Nevada, where twilight crimson rays on canyons burn, into ancient layers of blood red strata - on crooked roads, don't take the wrong turn. They say, in these parts, a lonesome cowman's spirit every evening returns to this despairing place or somewhere near it, just as the blazing sun adjourns. For a century his heart was laden, since his proposal was coldly spurned by a cruel, but lovely maiden; and since then his heart has yearned. The canyon's winds can chill you to the core - the doleful moan that will not learn, but waits in vain, and hopelessly implores an echo that will never return.