Patanio The Pride Of The Plains

You look at the picture with a wondering eye

And then at the arrow that's hanging close by

Say tell a story as there's one I know

Of a horse I once owned down in New Mexico

He was swift as an antelope and black as a crow

With a star on his forehead as white as the snow

His arched neck was hidden by a long flowing mane

And they called him Patanio the pride of the plains

The country was new then the settlers were scarce

The Indians on the warpath were savage and fierce

Scouts were sent out everyday from the post

But they never came back so we knew they were lost

One day the Captain said someone must go

For help to the border of New Mexico

A dozen brave fellows straight way answered here

But the Captain he spied me and said son come here

Patanio beside me his nose in my hand

Said the captain your horse is the best in the land

You're good for this ride you're the lightest man here

On the back of that mustang you've nothing to fear

I'm proud of my horse sir I answered you know

Patanio and I are both willing to go

They all shook my hand as I mounted the black

Patanio sped forward and I gave him his slack

For eighty long miles over the plains we must go

For help to the border of New Mexico

The black struck a trot and he kept it all night

Till just as the east was beginning to light

When back from behind me there came a fierce yell

We knew that the redskins were hot on our trail

I rose up and jingled the bells on his rein

And I stoked his neck softly and I called him by name

He answered my touch with a toss of his head

And his black body lengthened as onward he sped

The arrows fell round me like showers of rain

When in my left leg oh I felt a sharp pain

The red blood was flowing from Patanio's side

But he never once shortened his powerful stride

Patanio poor fellow I knew he was hurt

But still he dashed onward and on to the fort

By good care Patanio and I were soon well

Of his death long years after it hurts me to tell

They write songs about him the cowboys still sing

The legend lives on of his long flowing mane

So look at the arrow that hangs on the wall

It was shot through my leg boot stirrup and all

On many fine horses I've since drawn the reins

But none like Patanio the pride of the plains