And three on a chalk-stone ledge.
And three have won to the Bon Homme Run
And stuck in the marsh-land sedge.
But Black Bear's horse still holds the course,
Though her breath is a thick-drawn moan,
And a length behind is the straining stride
Of the Captain's steel-limbed roan.
The Sergeant rides with a loose-thrown rein,
Nor sabre nor shoot will he
Till the pony has pitched at a gopher mound