I Rode With Custer
Harold Roy
Miller
My Indian
name was” Runs From Bear”.
I was a
half-breed scout for Yellow Hair.
The reason
no one knows my story
is because
cowards receive very little glory.
I rode
with Custer that day in June.
I sensed
trouble would dog me soon.
From the
crow’s nest I saw the giant village below.
I knew it
was time for me to go!
My Indian
part wanted to stay and fight
but my
other half was lily livered white.
I was torn
between fear and honor.
I figured
if I stayed I was a goner.
I was sure
the 7th was in for a lickin’,
and this
brave scout was a cringing chicken.
I did not
wish to meet my end
at the
hand of a savage Sioux redskin!
The
impatient boy general would cut no slack
to a man
with a yellow streak down his back.
I had
always been kind of shallow,
and was pretty sure my
whole body was yellow.
So I
decided to take a chance
before my
scalp decorated some warrior’s lance.
I told
General Custer, like any good guide,
over
yonder ridge I would ride.
Over the
ridge I rode all right,
until I
was plum clean out of sight.
I found a
high spot on the sloping land
and
watched ol' Custer make his last stand