Canadian Born

by Emily Pauline Johnson



At Half-mast


 

You didn’t know Billy, did you? Well, Bill was one of the boys,
The greatest fellow you ever seen to racket an’ raise a noise,—
An’ sing! say, you never heard singin’ ’nless you heard Billy sing.
I used to say to him, “Billy, that voice that you’ve got there’d bring
A mighty sight more bank-notes to tuck away in your vest,
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If only you’d go on the concert stage instead of a-ranchin’ West.”
An’ Billy he’d jist go laughin’, and say as I didn’t know
A robin’s whistle in springtime from a barn-yard rooster’s crow.
But Billy could sing, an’ I sometimes think that voice lives             anyhow,—
That perhaps Bill helps with the music in the place he’s gone to
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            now. [Page 36]

The last time that I seen him was the day he rode away;
He was goin’ acrost the plain to the plain to catch the train for the             East next day.
’Twas the only time I ever seen poor Bill that he didn’t laugh
Or sing, an’ kick up a rumpus an’ racket around, and chaff,
For he’d got a letter from his folks that said for to hurry home,
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For his mother was dyin’ away down East an’ she wanted Bill to             come.
Say, but the feller took it hard, but he saddled up right away,
An’ started across the plains to take the train for the East, next             day.
Sometimes I lie awake a-nights jist a-thinkin’ of the rest,
For that was the great big blizzard day, when the wind come
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            down from west,
An’ the snow piled up like mountains an’ we couldn’t put foot             outside,
But jist set into the shack an’ talked of Bill on his lonely ride.             [Page 37]
We talked of the laugh he threw us as he went at the break o’ day,
An’ we talked of the poor old woman dyin’ a thousand mile away.

Well, Dan O’Connell an’ I went out to search at the end of the
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            week,
Fer all of us fellers thought a lot,—a lot that we darsn’t speak.
We’d been up the trail about forty mile, an’ was talkin’ of turnin’             back,
But Dan, well, he wouldn’t give in, so we kep’ right on to the             railroad track.
As soon as we sighted them telegraph wires says Dan, “Say,             bless my soul!
Ain’t that there Bill’s red handkerchief tied half way up that pole?”
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Yes, sir, there she was, with her ends a-flippin’ an’ flyin’ in the             wind,
An’ underneath was the envelope of Bill’s letter tightly pinned.
“Why, he must a-boarded the train right here,” says Dan, but I             kinder knew
That underneath them snowdrifts we would find a thing or two;             [Page 38]
Fer he’d writ on that there paper, “Been lost fer hours,— all hope
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            is past.
You’ll find me, boys, where my handkerchief is flyin’ at half-mast.”             [Page 39]