The Man From the Desert, Part I
My head lolled as I rode through sun-baked land,
too parched to notice the vistas grand,
Southern Nevada had cursed me with thirst,
a kind that most people will never know.
It had been two days since I law saw a stream,
and it was a trickle, nothing that teemed,
but to try my luck in western gold fields
to fair California I had to go.
By an angry red ridge I saw a guy,
in the shade of a boulder he did lie,
with blistered, burned skin from wrist to elbow,
so ragged I thought him nearing death.
I myself did not feel too much better,
what man ever could in desert weather,
plus my canteen was only a third full,
my mouth so dry that it hurt to draw breath.
Dare I stop to help this ill-fated soul?
That I even asked this made me go cold,
what good person could do anything less?
So I rode my tired paint to his side.
He looked up with eyes blood-shot from the dust,
said,”Just keep going. I am all used up.”
He had not the strength to stop me when next
I hoisted him right up so we could ride.
He was so worn that he could barely sit,
clung to the horse, I feared he’d fall from it,
a miracle he’d not already died,
another if we made it out of here.
I gave him water, but he barely drank,
from his cracked lips muttered a quiet,”Thanks.”
I checked often to make sre he still lived,
it was a way to quiet my own fears.
But two men is a big strain on a horse,
he was sweating much more, blowing breath coarse,
and still the high Sierras were not near,
I did not know how we would get to them.
To my horse what water I had I gave,
without him, not one of us would be saved,
I drifted, half-sleeping through the cool night,
we were both desperate and dying men.
When I awoke I lay on desert rock,
from the sky it looked to be six o’clock,
and entire night had escaped me then,
I looked, frantic, but then I found my mount.
The man I rescued had my canteen,
my tired eyes saw him clearly drinking,
he filled it again from a tiny brook,
then brought it too me and set it right down.
Said,”I think this is where we have to part ways,
you’ll make the Sierras in one more day.”
Then he walked off across the arid ground,
an hour later I took to the trail.
And he had been right about those great hills,
plenty of streams, and I could drink my fill,
then found a small town and asked where I might
find the gold country, but to no avail...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2019
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