| OCR Text |
Show An' that's how Merry found'em: The horse at Smokey's side, The little kid a sobbin', Dave, hands clenched, eyes dark an' wide. There was nuthin' to do for Smokey, Dave's dog, but bury him. (The boys were tumble silent an' Merry's face was grim.) Marty was scared consider'ble an' Dave was bleedin' bad, He's a dead weight in Merry's arms, an' the Boss, Marty's dad,- Takes a hold an' they pick him up careful an' kinda slow, An' carry him to the house but the poor feller didn't know. He jest lay limp an' lifeless when they put him on the bed, His eyes shut tight, face twisted up an' they think shore he's dead, Till all at once he murmurs low, "Marty, wuz she hurt? Shore I wouldn't be here now, but fer Smokey, poor oP squirt." He tries to grin an' raise his self, his face goes ghastly white, "Greybird," he gets out, gaspin' like, "Hellion-fight." His head falls back, blood gushes from mouth an' nose, Marty sobs an' clings to him but Marty's mother rose. "Merry, go for a doctor, quick! Marty, don't cry dear, David isn't going to die-Dad, you help me here." Merry streaks it down the path an' saddles up the gray, Then full speed lights out for town, fifteen miles away. OF Greybird seems to understand an' lengthens out his stride, An' when they hit thet sleepy town the sweat streamed down his hide. The Doc he hitches up to onc't an' climbs into his hack, An' Merry turns thet Greybird hoss an' comes a-racin' back. They reached the ranch at midnight an' the oP Doc did his best To ease Dave's pain, he cleaned the wound but still Dave couldn't rest. An' after a lot of examinin': "There's somethin' broke inside," Says Doc, "an' if this boy pulls through yuh must never let him ride." That was the verdict the ol' Doc give in the case of Silent Dave. Better if he was dead an' buried in Smokey's grave. "Not let him ride! Silent Dave never to ride again?" "Why dammit Merry, Dave was better than any dozen men." "Hell, Dave would ruther ride his hoss an' talk to Smokey than eat!" Merry turns his head away an' stumbles to his feet, Yanks his hat down in the front an' strides out of the light. The boys couldn't sleep, an' Terry Malone ain't sung since that night-! Lucile Bradley 84 Cowboy Poetry From Utah |
