Like a troop of charging horsemen Sweeping on with maddened roar, Mowing down the grass battalions, Crackling flames swept all before. Then the driftwood's rifted breastwork, Left there by the waters high, Flashed up in a hissing furnace, As the red-armed fiends leaped by. Clinging to the swaying saddle And the plunging horse's mane, Billy dashed through falling embers To the level, open plain. On the right and left, the head fires Rushing on at furious pace, Stretched beside the horse and rider In the life-and-death-fought race. 27 Here the gale with venomed fury Met in vortex from afar, Raising high the flaming pennons Of the fiery fiends of war. Flashing by, the blazing grass stems Sped like arrows through the air, Falling on the distant prairie, Kindling fresh fires everywhere. Pressing through the low-flung smoke clouds-- Stifling fumes of Hades' breath-- Fiercer with each flying moment Drove those scorching blasts of death. Thrice his horse, 'neath quirt and rowel Bravely struggling, almost fell, As he fled in desperation O'er the trail that led through hell. 28 One poor singed and panting coyote Through the perils of the ride Hemmed in by the flames pursuing Ran close by the horse's side. Scarce a meager pace behind them, Pressing hard the coyote's rear, Raced a frantic old jack rabbit, Ears laid low in speed and fear. Reaching now a stretch of upland, Here the coyote changed his course, Breaking through the narrow side-fire, Followed fast by hare and horse; And, upon the smoking prairie Over which the fire had passed, Steaming horse and stricken rider Found a breathing space at last. [Illustration: "Fiercer with each flying moment Drove those scorching blasts of death."] 29 When the morning sun in splendor Rose upon the blackened plain, His red beams revealed the lover Back at Old Man's Bend again. Waist deep in its soothing waters Bathing blistered brow and hands; While near by, in pain a-tremble, Faithful Zeb impatient stands. Through the bend he searched and wandered, But except the furrowed bark, Of a gnarled and aged elm tree Which revealed one bullet-mark, Naught was left save blackened embers; And the words he "knew in part"-- "Dust to dust and then to ashes"-- Told the story of his heart. 30 Back along the Solomon River, Trailing towards the humble claim He had lost when love and duty Fired his soul to "being game"; Back, across the beaver fordway, Where love first had found the track, Now returning with the rankling Sting of hate to bring him back-- Hate, that hunger made more bitter When his last jerked beef was gone; Climbing trees to cut off branches For his horse to browse upon; Back, where once the flower-decked prairie, Spread its bloom of hope and bliss, Now a blackened field of mourning, From the fire of one sweet kiss. 31