LAW OF THE GUN

LAW OF THE GUN

The cowboy's heart was blackened to a point of no return
By the seduction of the lady, the guilty party he would learn.
Lawless was this territory, except that followed in this land.
Law hung there upon his side, easy reach of his right hand.
At dusk he’d found her body in the hills outside of town,
If he must ride a hundred miles he’d track her killer down.

The red blood from her torso had turned to a shade of brown,
On this once so fair skinned body, on her torn and wrinkled gown.
He buried her not far from there, his lips drawn thin and tight,
With love for her he’d been bitten and he worked into the night.
Morning saw him at break of day throw dregs of coffee on the fire.
He quickly saddled up his horse, his mind with overflowing ire.

Following the killer's tracks he left that fateful place,
The man had left them clear to see, nursing scratches on his face.
Her killer had not traveled far before making camp that dreadful night,
Seeing no need to hurry, no one had been in sight.
Sleeping the rest of that night until afternoon of the next day,
He woke up very suddenly as these words he heard someone say,
“From those scratches on your face and the tracks that brought me nigh,
Reach for your gun or not, either way you’re going to die.”
Well the killer drew his pistol even as his blood ran in the sand.
The cowboy's aim was deadly, with that gun in his right hand.

8/30/05
Monty