A western tale
|LAW OF THE GUN
The cowboys heart was blackened
To a point of no return
From 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 would 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 smitten,
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 killers tracks,
He left that fateful place,
The man had left them clear to see,
Nursing deep 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 cowboys aim was deadly,
With that gun in his right hand.