The Devil and Trevor Nitty

With apologies to Robert Service

Photo by omid roshan on Unsplash

It ain't much fun in the desert sun when your skin is blistered red,
And your thirst is strong as the day is long and you're just about half dead.
What you'd do for a drink you'd dare not think, but what some would do is worse;
They'd sell their soul for some water cold and forever carry the curse.

Now Trevor Nitty was from New York City, a geologist by trade.
He came out west to try his best at the fortune to be made
By digging around in the hot, dry ground for copper and silver ore.
Like a key knows locks he knew his rocks and he figured he'd really score.

Back in sixty-four (or maybe before) he decided he'd take the chance.
Though city bred he'd certainly read lots of books on the desert expanse.
He saved up his dough to give it a go; after all, it couldn't be hard
To drive around and poke at the ground and assay some broken rock shards.

In a second hand Jeep he bought real cheap he took to the desert trails.
With compass and maps he drove long laps in search of his mineral Grail.
He hiked for miles on desolate files, with never a hint of cool shade,
Gathering rocks for his growing stock of stone to be assayed.

One day in June, just before noon, he busted a rock and swore.
From the glitter inside his eyes opened wide--this is what he'd been looking for!
The vein was flush as an old maid's blush, gilded in copper red.
It sparkled and shone like a cut gem stone, there in its craggy bed.

He poked around at that arid mound and what he saw brought a grin
To his wind chapped lips, for each rock he chipped was full of copper within.
With a shout and a jig he went back to his rig; he needed to file his claim.
A whole hill of copper! He'd file it proper!  Then ownership he could proclaim.

He loaded his gear and jumped in to steer, and backed right up off the road.
His rear axle clung to the edge, it just hung--and he jumped from the jeep like a toad.
The vehicle teetered, its rocking just petered to nothing, but then it slid down
The side of the slope with a bounce and a lope to the bottom, and turned upside down.

How he was dismayed at his plans now waylaid; survival became his concern!
It was eighty-odd miles through arid defiles, and a landscape admittedly stern.
He'd have to hike out; of that there's no doubt, and of water he'd need quite a lot.
It was scorched, sere, and dry 'neath the pale desert sky and each day was unbearably hot.

With a sigh and a frown old Trevor slid down to the jeep in the dry canyon bed.
He picked through his stuff to gather enough to hike out before he was dead.
All his water and food 'cross the canyon was strewed, but his journal he found quite intact.
With his notes on the site, if he lived, he still might make it rich, if he claimed this here tract!

There wasn't enough of the watery stuff to keep him for long or for far,
But at least he would try--otherwise he would die, cooked by the desert day-star.
He rummaged around, found his pack on the ground, and filled it with all he could carry.
Then he set on his way in the middle of day--there wasn't a reason to tarry.

He hiked through the day and the sun went away and the stars came out overhead.
Because of his plight he hiked on through the night until light to the east slowly spread.
As the sun rose he stopped, to the ground he just dropped his pack and his half full canteen.
He'd made twenty miles aware all the while his water supply was quite lean.

He slept until noon in an exhausted swoon; when he woke up he set out once more.
The day seemed much hotter; by sunset his water was gone and his throat was real sore.
He kept walking on until it was dawn and he felt nearly dead on his feet;
Then he fell to the ground with nary a sound and in seconds was soundly asleep.

He awoke to the blaze of the sun's hellish rays and a thirst that was terrible rough,
He shouldered his pack and set foot on the track but by sunset he'd had quite enough.
He sat on a rock and took bitter stock of his prospects for making it home,
And regretted the day he'd decided to stray from the asphalt to this sandy loam.

He knew he would die 'neath this dark desert sky and he swore to the empty expanse;
"My soul I would sell for a drink from a well if given just half of a chance."
Behind his left ear a voice said "I hear you'd be willing to deal for a drink?
I've water to spare if there's something you'd care to part with.  What do you think?"

Trevor turned round, and there on a mound of rocks stood a dapper old chap
In a top coat and tails with nicely trimmed nails, all neat from his feet to his cap.
Trevor could see who had answered his plea; the Devil himself was right there.
"I suppose it's my soul that you have as your goal; I think that's a bargain that's fair."

"Your soul would be nice, but that's just not my price," said the Devil with glee in his voice.
"A nice copper mine would suit me just fine, and it seems that you've really no choice.
For, truth it be told, I've now owned your soul for years, or a decade, in fact.
But copper?  Why, son, it will give me such fun with what I can do with that tract!"

"Imagine a world where hatred is hurled in seconds clear 'round the planet!
Where lies and deceit are more common than wheat; of vices you'll have the whole gamut!
In the palm of your hand will be things that were banned for eons at your beck and call;
Such sin there will be!  And most of it free!  Oh, my, but I'll have such a ball!"

"But here is the rub; to build such a hub of sin and and debauchery vile
Will take me some time, and more than a dime, and resources, research and guile.
It'll take copper wire to build that empire, and for that I'll be needing your claim;
Just sign on this line and I'll take that there mine; Diablo would make a good name!"

So Trevor endorsed, although he was forced, and the Devil was true to his word.
Water was shared and his life, it was spared, though how he got home was all blurred.
He had nothing to show for his months in the glow of the sun in the hot desert sky
Save the clothes on his back and his worn out old pack and a tale that all thought was a lie.

So Trevor Nitty went back to the city, he prospected nevermore.
The Diablo Mine?  It did just fine extracting that red copper ore
To make all the wires that light all the fires of infernal machinery--
The highway to Hell is the internet's spell that's cast over you and on me!

5/5/2025