Behind the board fence at the banker's house
The slender, tawn-gray creature starves and thirsts
In agony of fear. A dog may growl,
It cowers; the cockcrow shakes it with alarm.

White frost lay heavy on the buffalo grass
That winter morning when three graceful shapes
Slipped by the saddle-back across the ridge
Along the rutted pathway to the creek.
In former years the track was bare, and worn
With feet of upland creatures every day.
A boy spied these three outlaws. Two hours' chase,
Fifty pursuers, and the ways all stopped, —
Guns, dogs, and fences. Torn by the barbed wire,
Drilled by a dozen buckshot, one; the next,
O'erheaped by snapping jaws, cried piteously
An instant; but the last on treacherous ice
Crashed through, a captive.
Ropes — the jolting wagon —
Its heart was audible as you touched its fur.

Behind the board fence at the banker's house, —
Oh, once it capered wild on dewy grass
In grace and glee of dancing, arrowy bounds! —
At the banker's house, behind the high board fence
The last slim pronghorn perishes of fear.