From a branch a twig he broke, and he dipped his pen of oak
In the warm blood that spurted from the wound above his heart.
"From his chaps he took, with weak hand, a little book,
Tore a blank leaf from it, saying, 'This shall be my will.'
He arose and wrote: 'Too late! Apache warriors lay in wait.
Good-bye, Bess, God bless you, darling!' And he felt the warm blood start.
"And he made his message fast—love's first letter and its last—
To his saddle horn he tied it, while his lips were white with pain.
'Take this message, if not me, safe to little Bess,' said he.
Then he tied himself to the saddle and gave his horse the rein.