Poetry

A TURKEY HUNT ON THE COLORADO

Joaquin Miller

(AS TOLD AT DINNER.)


  • No, sir; no turkey for me, sir. But soft, place it there,
  • Lest friends may make question and strangers may stare.
  • Ah, the thought of that hunt in the cañon, the blood
  • Nay, gently, please, gently! You open a flood
  • Of memories, memories melting me so
  • That I rise in my place and—excuse me—I go.

  • No? You must have the story? And you, lady fair?
  • And you, and you all? Why, it's blood and despair;
  • And 'twere not kind in me, not manly or wise
  • To bring tears at such time to such beautiful eyes.

  • I remember me now the last time I told
  • This story a Persian in diamonds and gold
  • Sat next to good Gladstone, there was Wales to the right,
  • Then a Duke, then an Earl, and such ladies in white!
  • But I stopped, sudden stopped, lest the story might start
  • The blood freezing back to each feminine heart.
  • But they all said, "The story!" just as you all have said,
  • And the great Persian monarch he nodded his head
  • Till his diamond-decked feathers fell, glittered and rose,
  • Then nodded almost to his Ishmaelite nose.

  • The story! Ah, pardon! Twas high Christmas tide
  • And just beef and beans; yet the land, far and wide,
  • Was alive with such turkeys of silver and gold
  • As men never born to the north may behold.
  • And Apaches? Aye, Apaches, and they took this game
  • In a pen, tolled it in. Might not we do the same?

  • So two of us started, strewing corn, Indian corn,
  • Tow'rd a great granite gorge with the first flush of morn;
  • Started gay, laughing back from the broad mesa's breast,
  • At the bravest of men, who but warned for the best.

  • We built a great pen from the sweet cedar wood
  • Tumbled down from a crown where the sentry stars stood.
  • Scarce done, when the turkeys in line such a sight!
  • Picking corn from the sand, russet gold, silver white,
  • And so fat that they scarcely could waddle or hobble.
  • And twas "Queek, tukee, queek," and twas, "gobble and gobble!"
  • And their great, full crops they did wabble and wabble
  • As their bright, high heads they did bob, bow and bobble,
  • Down, up, through the trench, crowding up in the pen.
  • Now, quick, block the trench! Then the mules and the men !

  • Springing forth from our cove, guns leaned to a rock,
  • How we laughed! What a feast! We had got the whole flock.
  • How we worked till the trench was all blocked close and tight,
  • For we hungered, and, too, the near coming of night,
  • Then the thought of our welcome. The news? We could hear
  • Already, we fancied, the great hearty cheer
  • As we rushed into camp and exultingly told
  • Of the mule loads of turkeys in silver and gold.
  • Then we turned for our guns. Our guns ?

  • In their place Ten Apaches stood there, and five guns in each face.
  • And we stood! we stood straight and
  • stood strong, track solid to track.
  • What, turn, try to fly and be shot in the back?
  • No! We threw hats in the air. We should not need them more.
  • And yelled! Yelled as never yelled man or Comanche before.
  • We dared them, defied them, right there in their lair.
  • Why, we leaned to their guns in our splendid despair.
  • What! spared us for bravery, because we dared death?
  • You know the tale? Tell it, and spare me my breath.
  • No, sir. They killed us, killed us both, there and then,
  • And then nailed our scalps to that turkey pen.
  • * * * * * *