The old miner, who’d been in the back hills
for some time, hailed our small camp.
Best to announce yourself when you’re in gold country.
Firearms, gold, the dark and surprises are a risky mix there.

His friendly manner, great stories and good humor
put us at ease, earning him an offer of a spot for the night
to sleep away the whisky we kept pouring.

With first light the next morning
we discovered the old man was gone,
along with a small amount of our food.
The fare for his company, we supposed.

I remember all of us being comforted
because he hadn’t pilfered the bacon.