Seemed to mock with vague mirages

Every surety of love.

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When each weary day was over,

Halting near some watering-place,

Bill unpacked his meager outfit,

Turned the horses loose to graze,

Baked his varicolored dough-bread,

On a fire of cattle chips;

Coffee made of green-scummed water,

Nectar to his thirsty lips.

On the ground he spread his blanket

And reclining there alone,

Heard the swiftly sweeping breezes

Sing in dreary monotone

Strange wild anthems, weird and lonesome,

Like lost spirits floating by,

While afar in broken measure

Swelled the coyotes' yelping cry.

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