The Trail Of Death

The Jornado del Muerto, the desert trail across southern New Mexico and Arizona.

We rode from daybreak; white and hot The sun beat like a hammer-stroke On molten iron; the blistered dust Rose up in clouds to sere and choke; But on we rode, gray-white as ghosts, Bepowdered with that bitter snow, The stinging breath of alkali From the grim, crusted earth below.

Silent, our footsteps scarcely wrung An echo from the sullen trail; Silent, parched lip and stiffening tongue, We watched the horses fall and fail: Jack’s first; he caught my stirrup strap;-- God help me! but I shook him off; Death had not diced for two that day To meet him in that Devil’s trough.

I flung him back my dry canteen, An ounce at most, weighed drop by drop With life; he clutched it, drank, and laughed; Hard, hideous--a peal to stop The strongest heart; then turned and ran With arms outflung and mad eyes set, Straight on where ’gainst the dun sky’s rim Green trees stood up, and cool and wet

Long silver waves broke on the sand. The cursed mirage! that lures and taunts The thirst-scourged lip and tortured sight Like some lost hope that mocking haunts A dying soul. I tried to call,-- The dry words rattled in my throat; And sun and sand and crouching sky-- God! How they seemed to glare and gloat!

Reeling I caught the saddle-horn; On, on; but now it seemed to be The spring-house path, and at the well My mother stood and beckoned me: The bucket glistened; drip, drip, drip, I heard the water fall and plash; Then keen as Hell the burning wind Awoke me with its fiery lash.

On, on; what was that bleaching thing Across the trail? I dared not look; But on--blind, aimless, till the sun Crept grudging past the hills and took His curse from off the gasping land. The blessed dusk! my gaunt horse raised His head and neighed, and staggered on; And I, with bleeding lips, half-crazed,

Laughed out; for just above us there, Rock-caught against a blackened ledge A little pool; one last hard climb; Full spent we fell upon its hedge-- One still forever. Weak I lay And drank; hot hands and temples laved: Jack gone, alas! the horses dead; But night and water--I was saved!