The Legend
His knife was sharp . . . the scalp was lifted
	quickly from the white man's head
Then turning . . . with a single jump
	he mounted pony . . . then he fled
That night beside the fire he'd built
	. . . mesmerized by flickering flame
He thought of those the white man killed
	and softly murmured each one's name
Remembering how his parents died . . .
	pure hatred swelled within his chest
His Indian heart with vengenance throbbed
	and night and day he felt no rest
He'd lived an orphan's life because
	adoption he refused to take
Rebellious he had come to be . . .
	since his own way he had to make
He'd licked the bowls and fought the dogs
	for bones and tiny scraps of meat
No buffalo skin to keep him warm
	no teepee shade from summer's heat
But somehow he survived and now
	he lived a life of solitude
And through death's doorway white man's life
	with gun and knife he would extrude
But white man also hunted him
	in hopes his vengeance could be stopped
His toll of life brought fear and strife
	and now much hate in them outcropped
They once had seen him from a cliff
	into the swirling river fall
And found a trail of blood that proved
	they'd shot him with a musket ball
They hired another Indian scout
	to track him to his mountain lair
The scout succeeded . . . fiercely fought
	and blood was splattered everywhere
They only found the Indian scout
	where through death's doorway he'd been sent
Yet no one found a trace or track
	that showed which way the other went
As years went by the tales grew wild
	exaggeration . . . truth forsook
The stories soon became a Legend
	quite enough to fill a book
Each time a red man took a scalp
	though maybe ten years later on
The mystery Indian got the blame
	and larger had the Legend grown
Then one day surely it was he
	who rode so boldly into town
Yelling  screaming bullets streaming
	guns a-flashing all around
Each man claimed he took dead aim
	and fired a shot that should have killed
Yet he and pony rode away
	that day . . . once more the Legend filled
Now wolves that prowl and nightly howl
	sing anthems how he's living still
The Legend gives no proof he lives
	yet many say he always will
Poem by Ron Baron
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