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The Sky Pilot - by Neal Torrey

It was the Nighthawk who spotted him first, just after we’d set down to chuck.
The old man had the look of a drifter, or maybe someone well down on his luck.
His horse was old and quite common, the rider’s black suite was threadbare,
But he rode tall and straight in the saddle, like he had a right to be there.

He nodded in greeting to our motley crew, and smiled as he looked all around,
Cookie asked him to sit down for some grub, which he looked in no shape to turn down.
He took his old horse off a decent ways, eased the cinch and patted him, too.
Then the stranger accepted some coffee, and a tin plate of mulligan stew.

He sat down on a log near the campfire, for the sunset had brought on a chill.
His tin cup he carefully placed on the log, the plate on his knees he held still.
But he didn’t start eating, although he looked starved, but took off his hat instead.
"Dear Lord, I thank You for this food, and bless these young men," he said.

We all exchanged looks at his saying grace, ‘cause none of us bowed our head.
"Well, it looks like we’ve got us a Sky Pilot here!" Big Red sneeringly said,
"There must be a preacher behind every bush! Well, I never saw the beat!"
"Sky Pilots can appear out of nowhere...as soon as there’s something to eat!"

"Wherever you go, they’re bound to show up, if they think the vittles are free,
And they’re ranting and railing ‘bout Hell...to the likes of sinners like me!"
The stranger sat quiet, not seeming to hear all the things Big Red was saying.
"It appears to me," Big Red said with glee,"That your God ain’t too good about paying!"

"Your clothes are ragged, your saddle is old, your horse a worthless crow bait."
"If your God is taking care of your needs,--Well, He’s more than a little bit late."
The stranger was silent, and just ate his meal, like he’d been though all this before,
And Big Red got madder the longer he talked,-’cause he didn’t like being ignored.

Big Red ranted and raved at that poor preacher man, who never looked up from his plate.
Now Big Red was swearing’ and shaking his fist, and becoming much more irate.
Then the Sky Pilot stood, with his cup and his plate, and walked to the chuck wagon fly.
His dishes he placed in the wash tub, and told Cookie, :Thanks, and goodbye."

Then he reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out something that flashed in the light.
Thinking the preacher had pulled a gun, Big Red drew and threw his long knife,
which buried itself in the Sky Pilot’s chest, and he sank down, unable to stand,
And the new silver dollar he held in his hand, dropped and lay in the sand.

Big Red stared at the coin, which gleamed in the light. He couldn’t believe his mistake,
"Forgive me!" he cried. "I thought you were armed!" His voice was beginning to break.
"You are forgiven," the Sky Pilot said, "But listen close -’cause I have things to say.
You must be the one the Lord sent me to find -’cause my job is to gather His strays."

"I don’t have too much of what this world affords, but I am content with my lot.
I carry some money to help others out, -so I could pay for the food that I got.
Don’t you feel bad about what you have done, because surely it is the Lord’s will.
The Devil attacks using whatever means, and tonight he used you for his shill."

"Once I used to be a cowboy like you, headstrong, and wild as they come,
But the Lord called me out and made me his Rep-to see that his mavericks got home.
Now the Devil has put his ear-mark on you, and he’s fixing to give you his brand.
The Lord sent me here to turn you around, and pluck you from old Satan’s hand."

"Now go over there to that faithful old horse - that you called worse that a nag,
And bring to me that big black book you’ll find there in my saddlebag."
Big Red did as he said, and hurried right back, ‘cause the Preacher was failing fast.
"Find the Book of Romans," the old man said. After searching, Red found it at last.

"Chapter three, verse twenty-three,--it’s all underlined," His head was beginning to nod.
The cowboy read, "For all have sinned, and come short of the Glory of God."
"Chapter Six, twenty-three, For the wages of sin is death," The old man’s voice broke.
"But the gift of God is Eternal Life, through Christ Jesus,"Red managed to choke.

"Read Chapter Five, verse Eight, where it ways, "But God commented His love toward us..."
Red began reading, "--in that while we were yet -sinners-Christ died for us."
"Chapter Ten, Verse Nine, "If you shalt confess the Lord Jesus.."The old man weakly led.
Red finished the line, "--and believe in thine heart, God raised Him from the dead."

"Thou shalt be saved," came the whisper. "Son, do you believe this is true?"
And Red, now in tears, his sinful heart broken, solemnly told him, "I do."
The old man smiled and squeezed the hand of the one who laid him low,
"God bless you and keep you, my son. Now it’s time for this old man to go."

The old head lifted one last time, "Now It’ll be your job to Rep for the Boss,
Searching to find all of His strays, and branding each one with His cross.
Now you give me your faithful promise to me, so that I won’t have any doubt,
That you’ll study and learn from this big black book, ‘til you know what it’s all about."

Red said, "I promise." And the Sky Pilot smiled, and as he drew his last breath,
He looked beyond Red, and said, "I’m coming, Lord," then his head fell forward in death.
Well, we buried the old man there on the plains, and we all had a feeling of loss.
Red found a psalm in the Preacher’s black Book, which he read as we made him a cross.

Well, we haven’t seen Red since that fateful night, but here sure was a change in his life.
He packed his war-bag, then called the young Nighthawk, and gave him his Colt and his knife.
He left out on the Preacher’s old crow bait, but it wasn’t like he took flight,
‘cause he was carrying the old Preacher’s Bible, when he rode off alone in the night.

Now some night when the moon isn’t shining, and the shadows play tricks with your eyes,
You might think that you hear soft wing beats, like the sound of an owl when he flies.
As you’re riding alone, looking after the herd, you may get caught up in your fears,
And somewhere behind in the darkness, muffled hoofbeats might come to your ears.

When a cowboy forgets his upbringing and sins-by living too wild and free,
There might come a winged, Heavenly scout, who’s searching for one such as he.
He might hear a sound like an angel’s wings--led to him by all his wild ways,
And somewhere behind, a Sky Pilot, who’s out looking to brand the Lord’s strays.

When the last trumpet sounds, at the ending of time, and they open the great tally book,
And they’re getting ready to cut out the culls, and give the brands one final look,
It will be too late then to start mending your ways, and hoping they’ll cut you some slack,
When the Sky Pilot comes to talk of the Lord,--better listen--he may not be back.