Home Page

Western Humor

High Scorin' Links

The Old West

City Slickers

Awards and Accolades

Honorary Cowpoke

Guest Register

Send Email

Carol Tallman Jones
About The Author

Optimized for
a resolution of:

800x600
16 million colors

Best Experienced With:

Click Here to start

A horseman came riding through a dusty veil.
He rode straight-backed and his face was pale.
A long barreled Colt was tied to his hip,
With several notches carved in its grip.

Below his Stetson were eyes of steel.
He could surely see but he could not feel.
He never spoke nor looked away.
Someone would go to Boothill today.

This was a messenger straight from hell.
He knew the assassin's job too well.
Who was he after? Why was he here?
As we stood watching you could smell the fear.

"Fast" was what was said of him,
And other things like "deadly" and "grim".
A killer was he, of some renown.
Seems the Widowmaker had come to town.

He reined in his horse just up the street,
And swung from the saddle to his feet.
He stood now in front of the general store,
Where Jamison, the keeper, was sweeping the floor.

The gunman laid his duster across his horse.
The thin, gaunt figure stepped to the porch.
Jamison, with both hands, held to his broom
As though it might save him from a terrible doom.

Words passed between them, something was said,
And Jamison slowly nodded his head.
Fear then filled me without objection
As Jamison pointed in our direction.

The gunman came slow as he made his approach.
"Drew, the Shotgun who rides the Noon Coach."
That was all that the shootist said.
Drew was awash in the feeling of dread.

"Why me?" Drew pleaded, "What have I done?"
"Step into the street, boy, and bring your gun."
The assassin's intent was perfectly clear,
Drew was the target his bullet would sear.

I used the coach so I could stay hid
And from its scabbard the Greener I slid.
Both barrels were warm from the morning sun,
The steel in my heart was colder than the gun.

The Widowmaker was taking his stance
And I knew that Drew didn't have a chance.
I eased up the side to the coach's wheel.
My mind was whirling like a Virginia reel.

"Go for your gun," the gaunt figure said.
But Drew just stood there shaking his head.
"I can't beat you, but if I have to die
For God's sake can't you tell me why?"

"English Jim says you messed with his wife
And he's paid me in gold for taking your life.
Now pull that iron, boy, cause the talkin' is through.
It's hot n' I've had enough of you."

I guessed about then Drew's chips were cashed.
I swung from cover and both barrels flashed.
The buckshot slung him like a ragdoll
And he looked surprised as he took his fall.

Somewhere from behind me Charlie Mac said,
"Damned if he didn't shoot the Widowmaker dead."
With shaking hands the Greener went down
While the crowd gathered in the center of town.

Judge Henry said I didn't give no warning.
He sentenced me to hang in the morning.
I seen my folks and it hurt inside,
As I stood and watched while my mama cried.

But if I had to do it over again,
I'd do it just the same way, my friend.
Ya see, ya can cut it one way or t'other
But I had no choice. Drew's my little brother.