Copied from Cowboy Frank's web site: (You can also play a sound file on that page.)

PATONIO

I'll tell you a story that'll thrill you, I know,
Of a horse I once owned a long time ago.
You will gaze at his picture with wondering eyes,
And then at the arrow that hangs by his side.

Swift as an antelope and black as a crow,
With a star on his forehead as white as the snow.
His arched neck was covered with a dark flowing mane,
I called him Patonio, the pride of the plain.

The country was new and the settlers were scarce.
The Indians on the warpath were savage and fierce.
Though the scouts were sent out every day from the fort,
Yet they never returned and we knew they were lost.

One day the captain says, "Someone must go
Across the dark borders of New Mexico."
A dozen young fellows straightaway answered, "Here,"
But the captain spied me. I was standing right near.

Patonio was by me, his nose in my hand.
Said the captain, "Your horse is the best in the land.
You're good for the ride. You're the lightest man here.
On the back of that mustang, you have nothin' to fear."

Proud of my pony, I answered, "You know,
Patonio and I are both willin' to go.
For speed and endurance, I'll trust in my black."
Then they all shook my hand and I mounted his back.

Turned down the dark pathway, turned his head to the right.
The black struck a trot and he kept it all night.
When far back behind me I heard a shrill wail,
I knew that the Indians were hot on my trail.

I jingled the bells at the end of his rein,
Spoke his name softly, and stroked his dark mane.
Patonio he answered with a nod of his head.
His dark body lengthened as faster we sped.

We were leavin' the Indians. The story was plain.
The arrows fell round us like torrents of rain.
Patonio he stumbled and I knew he was hurt,
But still he raced onward and into the fort.

I delivered the message, then turned to dismount,
But the pain in my foot was so bad I could not.
The arrow you see hangin' there on the wall
Had passed through my foot, saddle, stirrup, and all.

With good care and patience, Pat and I were soon well.
Of his death many years later, I will not try to tell.
Of all the fine horses I've rode o'er the range,
There was none like Patonio, the pride of the plain.

[As sung by Don Edwards on "Saddle Songs," Shanachie CD 6025, 1997.]