The Unionville Chronicles
Sixth Canto
Coyote’s plan was fearful clever,
To turn Don De Dolor’s herd against him.
He skulked and stalked and found the lever
To turn the cattle against being fenced in.
Two large stones, was all it took
To plug the small but steady source
Of the narrow, silvered, babbling brook
That fed the troughs for cow and horse.
That summer day, dust and heat rose
And the cattle felt their grievance rise
Populism snorted through each bovine nose
And the stampede caught all but Coyote surprised.
Parched cattle smell water from miles away
And the Don’s garden pump had leaked that day,
And as easy to find as alfalfa in hay
Just a house and young Twyla stood in the way.
Down the valley from their grazing
Came the thundering, thirsty herd.
Their hooves were kicking, eyes were blazing
Blind to fence or stone or word.
High up above, the spirit, Crow, soared,
As hot wind lifted her by the feather,
One eye towards the horizon and one to her hoard
Of bread and baubles protected from dogs and the weather.
Nothing in this world leaves more crumbs behind
Than the generous heart of a girl,
Whose wholly holy absence of mind
Had prospered the crow and now placed her in peril.
The crow saw the cattle covering ground
As they bore down toward the yard like a storm
And the pious young girl whose eyes were so brown
Praying and playing and enjoying the warm.
Crow spun around and flew to one of her caches
And took an object there into her beak.
And turned to return to the brown eyes and lashes
That saw naught but God’s hand and the shoulders of Star Peak.
Like a black flash of shadow, crow flew past the dark eyes
Then rose with the object she carried-
A bright blue madonna taken once as a prize
From the grip of the hand of a stabbed missionary.
Crow set the icon to rest in a hammock
That hung on a scaffold between garden and sky
Twyla climbed up to worship the bird and ceramic
And was blessing there safely as the herd thundered by.
Though her prayer was drowned out by bovine complaint
Twyla never observed the parched cloven flood
That had ruined the garden, fence, well and housepaint
Nor Coyote watching and hoping for blood.
Though Twyla was saved by crow and blue Mary
The disaster was not incomplete
Cows, horses and sheep wandered aimless and wary
And Don De Dolor couldn’t catch up on his feet.
Today Northern Nevada is full of odd fellows
But back then, strange folk were more rare.
Still, a wandering cowboy heard the cows’ bellows
While searching the hills for gold, work or bear.
Putting spur to John Henry, his big bay qurter-horse,
Will Slaton gathered Don De Dolor’s stock.
He brought the herds home before setting a course
To ride off towards the sunset and town of Lovelock.
But as he locked up the cattle, horses and sheep
Pulled his hat low, and picked up the reins
He saw young Twyla Flor, whose eyes were so deep
And remembered a younger man’s pains.