Toiling through the sticky quagmire,
They attain the farther brink.
Here the trail leads to the westward,--
Once the redman's wild domain;
Now the shallow rutted highway
Of the settler's wagon train.
Here and there along the edges,
Paths work through the waving grass,
Where at night from bluff to river,
Sneaking coyotes find a pass.
Here the meadow lark sings gaily
As she leaves her hidden nest,
While the sun of early morning
Double-tints her orange breast.


6

Up this broad and fertile valley,
Tracing all its winding ways,
Plodding on with dogged patience
Through a score of weary days,
Camping in the lonely timber,
Sleeping on the scorching plain,
Bearing heat and thirst and hunger,
Sore fatigue and wind and rain--
Halting only when the telltale
Mark was missing in the track;
Only when he called a greeting,
As he passed some settler's shack;