By Ruth Margaret Muskrat
Up
in the mountains of
Away
from the dreary brown desert below,
Out
of the reach of the thorny mesquite,
Leaving
the glare and the dry, stinging heat
That scorches the desert plain;
Where
the breezes blow full of invigoration,
There
lies an Indian reservation,
Here
is the agency of the Apache,
Home
of Kenoi, Kannseah, Ballache,[1]
Here is the Indian's domain.
Far
to the North, and South, and West,
Towers
of high peaked mountain crest;
Green
as the valley's emerald green,
Touched
with the fairies' glistening sheen;
When the blue of dusk creeps in:
Lit
with the light of a thousand fires
From
the stars that come, as the day expires,
And
hang in festoons o'er the mountain's rim
As
the pine trees murmur their evening hymn
To the maker of
mountains of men.
Out
of the deepest and darkest ravine
Spirals
of white, curling smoke can be seen,
Teepees
are standing in grey somber rows,
Tent
casings flap when the slightest wind blows,
And papooses shout in their play:
Dressed
in her blanket of purple or red,
Wearing
a gay colored shawl in on her head,
The
old squaw is bending over her beads
Or
making her basket of grasses and reeds
All through the
wearisome day.
Town
of
Tint
of the sunset, soft-toned and mellow,
Nestled
so snug in this queen of all valleys,
As
the wild lily nestles the bee in its chalice
And holds it in loving delight,
You
hold in your hand a tragedy old,
And
throbbingly yearn for the tale to be told
Of
a race that is dying, to whom any chance
Is
pregnant with love, and with life and romance,
And a future of promises
bright.
[1] Apache is the collective term
for several culturally related groups of Native Americans in the
[2] Mescalero (or Mescalero Apache)
is a Native American tribe of Southern Athabaskan heritage currently living on
the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation in south central