Control of the passes was, he saw, the key

To this new district, but who would get it?

He, the trained spy, had walked into the trap

For a bogus guide, seduced with the old tricks.

At Greenhearth was a fine site for a dam

And easy power, had they pushed the rail

Some stations nearer. They ignored his wires.

The bridges were built and trouble coming.

The street music seemed gracious now to one

For weeks up in the desert. Woken by water

Running away in the dark, he often had

Reproached the night for a companion

Dreamed of already. They would shoot, of course,

Parting easily who were never joined.

January, 1928