THE OLD COWBOY

 

The cowboy’s head turned away from the ground

As he narrowed his eyes at those sat around.

The campfire spat embers high into the air,

Shed orange light on all who were there.

‘What did you do?’ came a voice from the dark,

As the fire cracked wood and sent out a spark.

The cowboy just smiled and nodded his head,

‘Well, I’ll tell you my story,’ the old cowboy said.

‘It was Bad Jack Macauley and Little Reb Bill,

With Mad Mick Carew who came over that hill.

They sat on their horses, the sun to their backs,

Three shadows of doom dressed in nothing but black.

These men were all bad, as bad as can be,

They’d scoured the country looking for me,

For I was the man who they had to thank

For stopping them robbing the old Tulsa Bank.

Bad Jack was a man who everyone feared,

With his black rotten teeth and dirty old beard.

They said he’d killed men just for breathing too hard

Or beating Bad Jack at a fair game of cards.

Little Reb Bill was an angry young man

Who’d spent all his life in some sort of jam.

He’d steal anything that wasn’t nailed down,

One story had it, he’d stole a whole town!

But the baddest of all was Mad Mick Carew,

Whose eyes were the wildest that you ever knew.

He didn’t speak often, he never spoke loud,

But when he did, you’d better watch out,

For, it was said, if Mick spoke to you,

It was only to tell you, he’d just shot you through.

Nothing could stop them, not God, man nor beast,

These three evil men did just as they pleased.

One day they came into old Tulsa town,

And as I was sheriff I couldn’t back down.’

All round the campfire were silent and still

As everyone there was filled with a thrill.

Their eyes were all wide, their faces all pale,

As they waited for more of the old cowboy’s tale.

‘They rode into town just after noon,

And pulled up their horses outside the saloon.

With a long lazy look up and down town,

They made pretty sure there was no one around.

Then they took out their pistols and walked cross the street,

The only sound jangling spurs on their feet.

Then, cocky as dogs with steak in their jaws,

They entered the bank with nary a pause.

“Hands up!” screamed Mick with a snarl on his face,

“Or I’ll shoot everyone who stands in this place!”

But strangely enough as his voice tore the air,

He suddenly saw there was nobody there.

Then I from behind the bank teller’s grille

Stuck up my head, said “Keep very still!”.

“It’s a trap!” shouted Jack, who made for the door,

While Little Reb Bill fell to the floor.

Then as fast as a snake, Mad Mick Carew,

Fired off a shot that, between me and you,

Put a hole in my hat and one in the wall,

That made me duck down ‘fore he got me an’ all.

And in that split second while I was crouched low,

They ran out the door, guns blazing for show.

I got off a shot as they ran cross the street

But I was too late as they took to their feet.

Then they took to their mounts and fled from the scene,

As I stood on the sidewalk and watched them recede.’

The cowboy’s head shook real slow, side to side,

A faraway look in his moist, aged eyes.

It was plain to see, no matter the dark,

How the memories lived in this cowboy’s heart.

With a deep, ragged sigh, he lifted his head

And started to tell us his tale once again.

‘Now Mad Mick and Jack and Little Reb Bill

Swore they’d be back to do me some ill.

Day after day I sat in my chair,

Waiting for them to show if they dared.

I polished my badge and oiled my gun

And looked for their shadows in each morning sun.

But after a month they failed to appear,

So I figured they’d just given up out of fear.

Then one day while out on the trail,

I sensed there was something watching my tail.

I rode on a way, not sure I was right,

But the feeling persisted into the night.

I built up a fire, like the one we see now,

And stayed as awake as tiredness allowed.

Then, come the dawn, I saddled my horse,

Prepared to continue upon my set course.

But just as my journey had hardly begun,

I saw the three shadows come out of the sun.

It was Jack and Mick and Little Reb Bill,

And without any doubt they were out for the kill.

I saw all their hands reach down to their sides

To pull out their guns. I was real terrified.’

Somebody shuffled around the campfire -

‘What did you do?’ they quietly enquired.

‘Did you pull out your guns and steady your steed?

Did you gallop towards them at lightning speed?’

The cowboy’s eyes narrowed and turned into steel

His old weathered face lost in the ordeal.

‘Boy, are you crazy?’ he laughed with a grin.

‘’Twas as plain as my face that I’d never win!

So I turned my horse round and beat a retreat

And left them with nothing but dry dust to eat!’

With that the old cowboy stood up by the fire

And said, ‘Goodnight, boys. It’s time to retire.

A sensible man must know when it’s right

To stay a while longer or give up the fight.’

With a wave of his hand he went to his tent

And left us to ponder upon this event.

And after the silence he’d left in his trail

We talked through the night of the old cowboy’s tale.

And as the dawn broke and day smothered night,

We were glad the old cowboy hadn’t put up a fight.

 

And on a far hill, alone with his gun,

A shadow on horseback rode into the sun.