"All that mankind has done, thought, gained or been: it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of books."
-Thomas Carlyle

by Paul Lytle

NOTE: I’ve read this story in a couple of books, but the best version is in Goodbye to a River by John Graves. It is upon this version that I base my own.

Old man Goodnight,     grizzled up and aged,
and, in fact, lived     a mite longer than he'd've guessed,
was on the ranch again,     where also was rounded up
a herd of buffalo,     which he had caught and hoarded.
They were disappearing then,     dying slowly, but noticeably.
So Goodnight found a few,     fenced and kept them,
in defense against the new,     destined to devour the old.

The herd was known,     not hidden or such,
and time brought a couple     of Comanche braves;
on horseback they sat     (and thank the Spanish for that one),
riding languidly o'er     the Texas land,
up the dirt road     to Charlie's ranch,
and at his doorstep     they dismounted and stood,
austere and waiting     for an audience.

Goodnight recognized them     from when he rode the trail.
He drank with them some,     another day fought them.
And so he came out     and candidly greeted them,
his hat not enough to shade     the hot morning sun.
"What y'all come down here     to discuss?" he asked.
"It's a long ride     from Colorado."

"We want a buffalo,"     one said. "A bull."
They came unto him then,     these two Comanches,
their spears beside them     as walking sticks.
Charlie squinted and frowned,     but did not feel threatened.

"Go get your own,"     Goodnight told them.
"Took me a long time     to trap these here."

"There are none left,    Buenos Noches,"
said the second.     "A few scattered,
but we've not seen more     in many moons."

"Go to hell,"     huffed Charlie Goodnight.
"You can't have them.     These are mine."

"They once belonged     to no one, white man."

"You'd claim 'em quick,     Comanche,
you get a shot at 'em.    You caused the shortage too."

They stood there for a time,     without talking,
and Goodnight thought,     They must have killed them all,
to travel all the way     to great Texas,
willing to herd that bull     high into the Rockies
to renew the buffalo,     to breed them back.
They wished as he did,     yet both were damned to
defend against the new,     destined to devour the old.

But Goodnight's heart     was hard that day,
and he spit and said,     "I'm sorry, but I can't."
He retreated then,     trying to forget the meeting,
but the Comanches lingered,     laying their mats down
upon the dirt road     before Goodnight's ranch.
They tied their horses     tight to the fence
and waited, seated,     while the sun passed by.
At supper they started a fire,     and sat still after eating.
And when the morning came,     the two Comanches still waited,
waiting patiently     for Goodnight's presence.
When he appeared,     they spoke one word: "Please."

The statement shook him,     stopping him a second.
Those people did not beg,     particularly not to whites.
But Goodnight went on,     still grasping at the statement.
He tried to work,     but the ranch hands trembled.
They did not know     what dire events were destined,
and they went to Goodnight,     saying, "Give the bull.
Let them have it     and they will leave."
But Goodnight refused,     and another day was gone.

As the third day began,     Charlie brought out a buffalo,
and took it to them,     the two Comanches.
Grumbling as he went,     Goodnight suddenly grinned.
What work they would have,     wandering back!
What trials would they face     as they fought the bull each step!
They'd have the animal,     but they might never get home.

So he went to them,     with the bull in tow,
and gave it over,     growling as he did.
"There's your damn buffalo.     Get before I change my mind."
He watched them a while,     them with the bull,
and he saw them     as they set it free,
and hit it 'til it ran.     They mounted their horses,
and rode behind it,     their weapons ready,
and slew it there,     their spears in its stomach.

And for a while,     they watched it as it died.
And die it did,     and the hunt was done.
Once it was through,     they took their things;
saying not a word,     daring not to speak,
they rode into the Texas hills,     back toward their home.
They had not desired     to fight the dawn,
But had gathered there     to say goodbye.

And Goodnight watched,     wishing he had not seen,
but with a sadness     sulked back inside,
knowing the old was done,     devoured by the new.