Classic Poem

From mountains covered deep with snow,
Uncompahgre's clear, bright waters flow,
Down which they plunge, leap and surge and roar,
Then on they sweep by a cabin door,
Where once dwelt Ouray, the king of the land
With Chipeta, his queen, brave and grand.
This brave, wise chief, and his Wild West queen,
Here lived and loved in that home serene.

The setting sun in the golden west,
Had said “Good night” to this home so blessed,
A silence hangs o'er that darkened vale,
Is broken by hoofbeats on the trail,
A weary horse flecked with dust and foam,
Staggers, falls dead, at this chieftain's home,
A courier from the dead steed sprang—
His words in the ear of the chief rang:

“Thornburg and most of his men are slain!
Meeker and his men lie dead on the plain!
The survivors led by Captain Payne,
Whose name should adorn the scroll of fame—
Behind great piles of dead horses lie,
If help comes not soon those boys will die!
Shots fired from the guns of Colorow's braves
Are fast sending them to Wild West graves.

“The four fair women of Meeker's land,
Are captives of Douglas and his band,
Who in passion vile, with cruel hands
Will wrest from them virtue God demands.
A thousand miners in yon high hills,
Their cries for vengeance all this land now fills,
If men who behind those horses lie,
By bullets shot by red hands should die.

“Or should those white women be defiled
To satisfy lust of brutes so wild,
Not a Ute will live to tell the tale,
Or chase the deer o'er mountain trail.”
At the words the Chief from his couch then sprang,
His words through the silent night then rang—
“Bring my horse, I ride to stop this fight,
I will be there by tomorrow night.”
Quick reached for his gun, shining and bright,
That had served him in many a fight.

Bright's dreaded disease he long had bore,
And would have fallen to the floor
Had not his queen caught him in her arms,
With loving words with which woman charms
Gently bore him to his bear skin bed.

“My dear Chipeta,” he faintly said,
“A message from Ouray you must take,
To Colorow before it is too late,
Tell him not another gun to fire,
Or the Utes will meet with vengeance dire!”
“To serve thee, Ouray, I'd ride through fire,
Thy wish is ever my great desire.”

With the proud step of her graceful race,
See her move, quickly from place to place,
Now she stands attired in humble pride,
In all the wild grandeur of her tribe,
“I'll go, brave chief, I am ready now.”
Placed her red lips to his noble brow.

Like a fawn into the dark, she ran,
Her eager cry was “Sultan! Sultan!”
A chestnut horse with flowing mane
That well loved her call, swift to her came.
Quickly she bridled and saddled him,
That mountain horse, fleet of hoof and limb,
Then, she lightly to the saddle sprung,
From which the horn of Shavano hung.

Oh I wish you could have seen her there,
To her waist hung braids of long black hair,
Her slender form was a sculptor's dream,
Her soft dreamy eyes, a poet's theme,
Alone, brave, ready to make the ride,
To that land where raged the battle tide,
Her dark eyes raised to the sky to pray,
The good Lord to guide her on the way.

Women who walk in city's bright light,
On that dark night would have died of fright,
Not so, this our heroine of the west,
For with courage grand she was possessed,
She slacked her reins, Sultan bounded to the trail,
That once led down Uncompahgre's vale,
Along the gliding shining river,
Born in the land of gold and silver.

Now she rides where naught but cactus grow,
A sound she hears, 'tis a river's flow,
Gunnison's waters before them roar,
They must swim to reach the farther shore,
Now rides where deep, swift, wild waters wave,
Her hand is the helm, his limb the oar,
A boat they glide to the other shore.

She leaps from horse to give him rest,
For thirty miles he has done his best,
Precious is her time, she must not wait,
On, on, she rides at a rapid gait,
Through lands, then in a wild desert state,
Now the sweet homes of a people great,
Where Eckert and Cedaredge now stand,
Then up they rush to the higher land.

The horse brave of heart, and fleet of limb,
Still flies on a mountain crest to win,
See him climb to high Grand Mesa's rim,
And on its top they stop to view now,
Leon Lake's waters, deep, dark and blue,
The stars above reflected there,
Are a wonderous sight her soul to stir,
Enthralled as a poet in a dream,
Her dark eyes are fixed upon the scene—
Its wonderous beauty fills her soul,
But on she must ride to reach her goal.

Sultan gallops down a winding stream,
That flows through primeval forest green,
To where Colorado's waters flow,
Which are children of their mother snow,
From that river bank so high and steep,
They into the seething waters leap,
And they swim across those waters wide,
And land safely on the other side.

Rider and horse are feeling the strain
Of that ride over mountain and plain,
The saddle she takes from her tired steed,
And turns him loose on the grass to feed—
Forty more miles she must ride today
And finish the trip without delay.

In five hours she gallops over the space,
A terrible sight she now does face,
Chief Douglas, a fair young girl has bound,
Is dragging her over the rough ground,
Up the hill to his gray deer skin tent,
Hill and valley with her shrieks are rent,
A rider and horse fly to her side,
And the brave western heroine cried—

“This sweet girl now is one of our tribe,
For I do adopt her as my child,
She and all these women are now free,
And home I will take the four with me.”

Three loud blasts from her horn she then blew,
Which startled hills, vales and mountains too,
A minute more, Colorow and his band,
Of four hundred painted warriors stand,
Around their lovely queen brave and grand,
All these watch the movement of her hand,
With which she gives Ouray's last command.

Silent and still these dark warriors proud,
Vanish from sight as a passing cloud,
And never again their shouts will fill,
With echoes, mountain valley or hill.
Then into the canon she took her way,
Where piles of dead men and horses lay,
A blast from her horn, sounds loud and clear,
Is heard by brave Payne, the pioneer,
He and his men climb over the dead
Behind which for days they've fought and bled—
Beheld the Ute queen lovely and brave,
Who had ridden far, their lives to save.

From their breast burst forth a mighty cheer,
That swept through the canon far and near,
For that woman of a savage race,
Whose history has the proudest place,
Among heroines whose names are placed
Upon the enduring scroll of fame.

Of all her heroic deeds the grandest
Was to give up the home she possessed,
When the Utes were driven from their land,
A sorrowing, lonely, homeless band.
Then devote to them, her precious life,
Away from dead Ouray, yet his loyal wife.

In a land she never loved, she died,
Neglected, poor, no friend at her side,
When daughters of men of nobles fame,
Who fought with Washington, freedom to gain,
Their souls aglow with patriot fires,
Inherited from their gallant sires,
Erected a tomb near Ouray's shrine,
Where Uncompahgre's bright waters sing,
Then brought her body from Utah's land,
And placed it in that Mausoleum grand,
Where in peaceful sleep it is at rest,
In our own dear land she loved the best.

I tell this tale, as she told it to me,
In the year of eighteen ninety three.