Along the wintry valley, reached the place
Where from the west flows in the Laramie.
Thence, fearing to encounter with the Ree,
They headed eastward through the barren land
To where, fleet-footed down a track of sand,
The Niobrara races for the morn—
A gaunt-loined runner.
Here at length was born
Upon the southern slopes the baby Spring,
A timid, fretful, ill-begotten thing,