The Americans took the trussed-up boy to a place called Fort Whipple
A fly-blown group of tents surrounded by a stone and timber stockade
An American called Willis was the boss there
And he glared at the man of God as he entered with his captives
He noticed the boy when he was brought in with a few Yavapai girls
And he looked into the color of his eyes

What do you make of him?, he asked the God-man
He may be the young, O'Brien boy who was lost here years ago
Or he could be from the Jebson party that never made it to New Mexico; said the God-man back
They named the boy Jebson O'Brien
But the natives and frontiersmen called him Blue because of his eyes
But also because of the awful and most sad expression he carried on his face
The expression of someone who kills with compassion but not mercy

Although he was still a boy, the men mostly kept away from him, all except for one
A trapper who understood his skills, and in return, fed him and taught him the white man's way
In a short while, he could speak, and read, and write their language
And he also added the calm, fast dignity of a gunman to his arsenal

He was so fast that men treated him with care
But he was slow to anger and when angry, swift and final in his reply
In the Arizona desert in the 1860s
He had every skill that you needed to survive, and he was just 17