Six Days To Kennevor Poem by David Welch

I set out from Chicago town
in spring, eighteen seventy-nine,
offered one hundred and a stake
in the new Kennevor gold mine.
Had to provide security
and keep all of the miner's safe,
in the mountains of Montana,
out beyond the Missouri breaks.
I rode swiftly across the plains,
thinking it wouldn't be much more,
when a passing cowboy said,
"It's six more days to Kennevor."

I did not want to believe him
setting out on that first morning,
but I felt that I was spied on,
then heard the thwock of some bow strings!
A party of a dozen Sioux
has all taken up on my trail,
I pushed my horse to outrun them,
but it was to no avail.
Finally I some rocks to ride,
and shot two to their horror,
thankfully then they galloped off…
Five more days to Kennevor.

The second day the weather changed,
a swirling funnel tore the grass,
I spurred my horse to run for in,
towards mountains racing fast.
Such a howling I never head,
the great winds even took my hat!
When we reached those high, rocky crags,
I had never felt more glad.
Then I foolishly asked myself
what more could this trip have in store?
I jinxed myself that very night,
four more days to Kennevor.

One the third day I found the road
blocked and closed by a landslide,
so I rode to a known back-route,
that wandered through the mountainsides.
The trail was made of broken stone,
loose granite that skittered and slid,
bad to lead my horse, keep him safe,
but then I felt my own feet skid.
Then I tumbled one hundred yards,
until my sin was bruised and scored,
angrily I trudged back on up,
three more days to Kennevor.

On the fourth day I awoke to
a great grizzly snuffing about,
he had smelled the blood of my wounds,
what he wanted I had no doubt.
He gave a bellow and I shot,
my Winchester I did fire,
had to empty the magazine
before that damn beast expired.
To this day I sometimes hear
that great bruin's awful roar,
barely escaped with all my limbs,
two more days to Kennevor.

On the fifth day I ran into
a pair of bandits with cruel eyes,
They said, "Your horse, and all your coin,
or cowboy you're going to die."
But my pistol flashed from the belt,
before that bandit could react,
caught him had in the forehead,
he hit the ground with a hard crack.
His partner was the follower-type,
and away from me his horse tore,
these peaks have been naught but trouble,
one more day to Kennevor.

On the sixth day supplies ran low,
I started feeling those hunger pangs,
the creeks all tasted sulfurous,
not fit to be drunk by a man.
I got real woozy as I rode,
hot sun beating down upon me,
almost thought it was a mirage
when tents I believed I could see.
They quickly brought me a canteen,
did not even have to implore,
a small man came dressed in a suit:
"Welcome friend, to Kennevor."

Now after I'd rested all night
that same fellow did reappear,
said, "I have a proposition,
if you would be so kind to hear.
I'll buy out your stake right now,
one hundred dollars for your claim—"
I pulled my gun, said, "Speak one more word,
I'll put a bullet through your brain.
After all that I have been though
I'll take my share of the gold ore.
You will live up to the contract,
or you will not leave Kennevor! "

The man slinked back, out of the tent,
and never spoke of it again,
I did my job and kept the peace
amongst the rough-hewn mining men.
The camp grew into a full town,
and I invested in the range,
sold land to all the settlers
who were moving out this way.
That kept me rolling in the coin
when the gold mine closed its doors,
I've suffered but I have become
the richest man in Kennevor.