Published 5 years ago
My trail led out of wilderness,
a goat path headed down.
For years somehow I'd stood the test
of mining desperate ground.
Now with rifle cradled like a child
and pistols here and there.
With eyes this world had not beguiled,
that had a look that said: "Fair's fair."
I was halfway down Wolf Mountain
when several shots cut loose.
I reigned my horse still, spun him round,
gave him both my boots.
He scrambled to the trails first bend where
with a spank to his flank while jumping.
I turned and shot that first fool.
Then kept my lever carbine thumping.
They gave up on the ambush,
and turned their thoughts to sneaking.
Now they'd try and work a flush,
that set my brain to thinking.
Once five to one, now four to gun,
for they're not through with me.
Then, one dashed, I shot. He crashed
and I'm just hunting three.
Then a nervous voice said; "Toss your gold!
We'll let it go at that!"
I dropped down, crawled, half circled sound
and kept my body flat.
I rose behind that nervous voice
that now sounded ill at ease.
I said; "Bushwhacker's pay is lead, not gold."
As my finger squeezed.
The other two, was of one mind.
I guess they'd had enough.
I never saw their faces.
Lord, they rode their ponies rough.
I gentled out my mount.
Nudged him heading down.
That night I fed him oats.
That night I slept in town.