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On the Trail of Yesterday
THE NIGHT STAMPEDE
The thunder rolled like a thousand drums,
And the sky was torn in twain With a livid wound, and then the hiss
Of the madly lashing rain.
The herd swept on down the trail of doom,
As a flare of yellow light For a heart-beat shone on him who rode
By the side of Death that night.
Oh, the clashing horns and grinding hooves,
And the flick of pistol flame, And he who headed that wild stampede,
Lone hero without a name!
Oh, the awful rush of plunging shapes,
When the last, last stumble came, And the crash to earth of horse and man—
Death won, aye, he won the game.