Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A RANGER, by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. Poet's Biography First Line: He never made parade of tooth or claw Last Line: And he labored with the sinners of the trail. Alternate Author Name(s): Clark, Badger Subject(s): Cowboys; Ranch Life; West (u.s.); Southwest; Pacific States | ||||||||
He never made parade of tooth or claw; He was plain as us that nursed the bawlin' herds. Though he had a rather meanin'-lookin' jaw, He was shy of exercisin' it with words. As a circuit-ridin' preacher of the law, All his preachin' was the sort that hit the nail; He was just a common ranger, just a ridin' pilgrim stranger, And he labored with the sinners of the trail. Once a Yaqui knifed a woman, jealous mad, Then hit southward with the old, old killer's plan, And nobody missed the woman very bad, While they'd just a little rather missed the man. But the ranger crossed his trail and sniffed it glad, And then loped away to bring him back again, For he stood for peace and order on the lonely, sunny border And his business was to hunt for sinful men! So the trail it led him southward all the day, Through the shinin' country of the thorn and snake, Where the heat had drove the lizards from their play To the shade of rock and bush and yucca stake. And the mountains heaved and rippled far away And the desert broiled as on the devil's prong But he didn't mind the devil if his head kep' clear and level And the hoofs beat out their quick and steady song. Came the yellow west, and on far-off rise Something black crawled up and dropped beyond the rim, And he reached his rifle out and rubbed his eyes While he cussed the southern hills for growin' dim. Down a hazy 'royo came the coyote cries, Like they laughed at him because he'd lost his mark, And the smile that brands a fighter pulled his mouth a little tighter As he set his spurs and rode on through the dark. Came the moonlight on a trail that wriggled higher Through the mountains that look into Mexico, And the shadows strung his nerves like banjo wire And the miles and minutes dragged unearthly slow. Then a black mesquit spit out a thread of fire And the canyon walls flung thunder back again, And he caught himself and fumbled at his rifle while he grumbled That his bridle had weight enough for ten. Though his rifle pointed wavy-like and slack And he grabbed for leather at his hawse's shy, Yet he sent a soft-nosed exhortation back That convinced the sinnerjust above the eye. So the sinner sprawled among the shadows black While the ranger drifted north beneath the moon, Wabblin' crazy in his saddle, workin' hard to stay astraddle While the hoofs beat out a slow and sorry tune. When the sheriff got up early out of bed, How he stared and vowed his soul a total loss, As he saw the droopy thing all blotched with red That came ridin' in aboard a tremblin' hawse. But "I got 'im" was the most the ranger said And you couldn't hire him, now, to tell the tale; He was just a quiet ranger, just a ridin' pilgrim stranger And he labored with the sinners of the trail. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WESTERN WAGONS by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET DRIVING WEST IN 1970 by ROBERT BLY IN THE HELLGATE WIND by MADELINE DEFREES A PERIOD PORTRAIT OF SYMPATHY by EDWARD DORN ASSORTED COMPLIMENTS by EDWARD DORN AT THE COWBOY PANEL by EDWARD DORN A BORDER AFFAIR by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. A BAD HALF HOUR by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. A COWBOY'S PRAYER (WRITTEN FOR MOTHER) by CHARLES BADGER CLARK JR. |
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