Post by wildfire on Feb 3, 2005 22:39:51 GMT -5
I’ll tell you a story that’ll thrill you I know
Of a horse I once owned, a long time ago
You’ll gaze at his picture with wondering eyes
Then at the arrow that hangs by his side
Swift as an antelope and black as the crow
with a star on his forehead as white as the snow
His arched neck was covered with a dark flowing mane
I called him Patonio the pride of the Plain
The country was new and the settlers were scarce
The Indians on the warpath were savage and fierce
Though the scouts were sent out everyday from the fort
Yet they never returned and we knew they were lost
One day the captain said someone must go
Across the dark borders of New Mexico
A dozen young fellows straight away answered “Here!”<br>But the captain spied me, I was standin’ right near
Patonio was by me his nose in my hand
Said the captain “Your horse is the best in the land.
You’re good for the ride; you’re the lightest man here.
On the back of that mustang you have nothing to fear.”<br>
Proud of my pony I answered “Ya know
Patonio and I are both willin’ to go
For speed and endurance, I’ll trust in my Black”<br>Then they all shook my hand and I mounted his back
Turned down the dark pathway, turned his head to the right
The Black struck a trot and he kept it all night
When far back behind me I heard a shrill wail
I knew that the Indians were hot on my trail
I jingled the bells at the end of his reins
Spoke his name softly and stroked his dark mane
Patonio he answered with a nod of his head
His dark body lengthened as faster we sped
We were leaving the Indians, the story was plain
The arrows fell around us like torrents of rain
Patonio he stumbled and I knew he was hurt
But still he raced onward and into the fort
I delivered the message then turned to dismount
But the pain in my foot was so bad I could not
The arrow you see hanging there on the wall
Had passed through my foot, saddle, stirrup and all
With good care and patience, Pat and I were soon well
Of his death many years later I will not try to tell
Of all the fine horses I’ve rode or the range
There was none like Patonio, The Pride of the Plains
Of a horse I once owned, a long time ago
You’ll gaze at his picture with wondering eyes
Then at the arrow that hangs by his side
Swift as an antelope and black as the crow
with a star on his forehead as white as the snow
His arched neck was covered with a dark flowing mane
I called him Patonio the pride of the Plain
The country was new and the settlers were scarce
The Indians on the warpath were savage and fierce
Though the scouts were sent out everyday from the fort
Yet they never returned and we knew they were lost
One day the captain said someone must go
Across the dark borders of New Mexico
A dozen young fellows straight away answered “Here!”<br>But the captain spied me, I was standin’ right near
Patonio was by me his nose in my hand
Said the captain “Your horse is the best in the land.
You’re good for the ride; you’re the lightest man here.
On the back of that mustang you have nothing to fear.”<br>
Proud of my pony I answered “Ya know
Patonio and I are both willin’ to go
For speed and endurance, I’ll trust in my Black”<br>Then they all shook my hand and I mounted his back
Turned down the dark pathway, turned his head to the right
The Black struck a trot and he kept it all night
When far back behind me I heard a shrill wail
I knew that the Indians were hot on my trail
I jingled the bells at the end of his reins
Spoke his name softly and stroked his dark mane
Patonio he answered with a nod of his head
His dark body lengthened as faster we sped
We were leaving the Indians, the story was plain
The arrows fell around us like torrents of rain
Patonio he stumbled and I knew he was hurt
But still he raced onward and into the fort
I delivered the message then turned to dismount
But the pain in my foot was so bad I could not
The arrow you see hanging there on the wall
Had passed through my foot, saddle, stirrup and all
With good care and patience, Pat and I were soon well
Of his death many years later I will not try to tell
Of all the fine horses I’ve rode or the range
There was none like Patonio, The Pride of the Plains
