A Final Insult for a Fallen Engineer

It was the twentieth day of August, the weather was calm and warm. Our brother left his little shack, with his gun upon his arm. He wandered up the mountain side, where wild game doth abound; He slipped and fell and died alone, perhaps never to be found. T'was early in the evening, and as he lived alone, he was not missed 'till morning, when to work he did not come. T'was then our searching party, with hearts of fear and dread, spread out upon the mountain side, to search for him, living or dead. We found him in a rocky gulch, with a gun wound in his side, where he slipped and fell from a ledge of rock, and alone with his Maker died. We hastened back to the village, the sad news to impart, as gathered round his many friends, who listened with aching heart. He was a brother engineer, esteemed and loved by all, and many a heart was sad that day, by that fatal fall. We organized a party of men, both brave and true, to keep the watch throughout the night beneath God's mantle of dew. We bore him out next morning, from that gorge so rough and steep, to send him to his loved ones; Oh, God, how those poor hearts weep. We put him into a boxcar, poor soul, t'was the best we could do. Had it been one of his employers, they'd have had a special train through. Twenty years he toiled on his engine seventeen as an engineer, but alas, he must die in the mountain in that spot so dark and drear. He worked on the G.N. Ry., in their service was growing old; but what cared they for his body, since it could earn them no more gold. 'Tis sad when you think, dear brother, that the best part of his life was spent on his metal steed brother, with many long hours of grid. And, after all was ended, his employers, with cold head, wired back: 'We'll pay nothing. A boxcar will do for your dead.'