The Death Of The Old Hunter

For a third of a century William Reavis, the “Old Hunter,” “The Hermit of Superstition Mountains,” lived alone with his traps and rifle and burros, and died at last as he had lived: “Alone with the wind and the stars and the sky.” In his life and death he was a type of frontiersman now passed and almost forgotten.

Out! Carry me out! I choke in these cabin walls! Lay me down on the earth under the wide night sky: Straight on the strong, clean earth--no idle blanket between; Cheek to cheek with the dust I will watch my last lean hour go by.

Farther! Push back that bough till I face the stars: North star--Dipper--Pointer that still holds true; Many a night ye have led--through storm and wind-whipped cloud; Lead still, old guides--I line my last long course by you.

Hark! The night wind sweeps through the crackling grass, Nosing the thin, sere weeds that hide in the prairie swale; Rattling the hunted reeds that shiver and shrink in the marsh, With whimper and snarl and whine, like a hound that bays on the trail.

Lift me up! My soul hunts with you tonight, Old mate of a hundred trails; speed on the eager pack; There was never a road ye knew too wild for my feet to take-- Tonight they will keep the way when even ye turn back.

Lift me up! To my feet! A hand-clasp each! May your trail be long as mine--knife keen--and powder dry! Eye true to the bead! Now go--quick--while I keep my feet! I die as I lived--alone with the wind and the stars and the sky.