Page:Poems Terry, 1861.djvu/193

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Fremont's ride.
189
Keen as sword or bullet came his rapid speech:
"Give me your horses, Señor! the Puebla I must reach!
The States shall pay you eagles. Quick! for I must be gone,
I'm bound to see Los Angelos before six days are done!"

"But, Señor!"—"Quick, the horses! Los Angelos is far,
Six hundred miles of mud and flood,—the States have gone to war.
I must be in at the death-fight! Oh, I shall make good speed!"
Away went the pale vaqueros—away went every steed.

Gallop, gallop, gallop! over stock and stone,
Through the rocky gully, through creeks of the wild cañon,
Over plain and valley, past the lonely ranch,
Grazing clumps of chapparal, swimming the flooded branch.

Dead dropped mare and mustang. "Off with saddle and bit,—
Mount another, and forward! the fight is raging yet!"