Wily coyote on to a dinner winner

An old prairie wolf kept on howling, He’d had nothing to eat for a week. He gazed up at the sky that was cloudless and dry, And a mountain that had a big peak. From a distance the wolf heard a rumbling, Was it thunder that heralded rain? The noises got nearer and shapes became clearer, Horses pulling a long wagon train. Smoke signals snaked out of the mountain, Then tom-toms commenced with a beat, An Injun yelled: ‘White men, we’re in for some fightin’, ‘They’re not having our bison to eat.’ The wolf crawled along on a stomach That would soon be digesting some meat. His tongue hung from his mouth as he made for the south, And dust pothered up from his feet. The wagon train came to a standstill, A circle was formed right away. Cowboys fingered their rifles and got a right eyeful Of the feather and arrow display. Quite soon there was hollerin’ and shoutin’, And arrows all over the place, But the wolf kept on going, he was cunning and knowing, And in no time was feeding his face. A big hunk of pork had been hanging In a wagon tipped up on its side, The wolf took one look, snatched it off the steel hook, Then looked round for somewhere to hide. The Indians ran out of arrows, They decided to call it a day, The Chief let out a cry, he was saying goodbye, Then in no time they all rode away. Wagons rolled on again through the valley, Women laughed ’cause they’d kept on their hair, Men rode alongside, chests bursting with pride, Smoked cheroots and guzzled strong beer. The prairie wolf followed the wagons, But kept a safe distance, of course, And as he surveyed just how much it all weighed He was thankful he wasn’t a horse. Joan Wallace, Nottingham.