Tamaker Poem by LONDIS CARPENTER

I won her on a whiskey bet, At a place called Rusty's Shack,
In a poker game in Fargo, with three deuces and a Jack.
I took her from a mountain man who had bought her in a trade,
For a rifle and a jug of Rye, off an Indian renegade.
I had no yen to keep her; I meant to set her free.
I never thought she'd want to stay, or that she'd follow me.
I told her she was free to go, no longer be a slave.
But the squaw refused to leave me, Called me her Paleface Brave.
And when I rode out of Fargo, headed for Cheyenne,
She followed every trail I took, no matter the terrain.
I couldn't seem to lose her no matter how I tried.
By the time I got to Deadwood She was riding by my side.
We rode hard through a valley, forged across Powder Creek,
When I fell from my saddle three miles from Miner's Peak.
My saddle pony stumbled and landed on my knee.
He broke his leg and I broke mine Unable to get free.
If I hadn't had that Indian squaw, a maiden called Tamaker,
I be wearing a peg-leg now, or living with my maker.
She patched me up and catered me with herbs and Indian lore,
Until my health and strength returned And I was whole once more.
And when we finally reached Cheyenne, still riding side by side,
We found a cowboy preacher and I made her my bride.
The squaw I met at Rusty's shack, won on a whiskey bet,
Became the lady of my dreams and we're together yet.