The dust swirled as he reined the black in,
They stood before a town,
An old western town.
Dusty manure-filled stables,
A General store stored with tobacco,
Rowdy saloons with no empty tables.
The black urged forward to the waterin' trough,
The cowboy there threw himself in,
Feeling the cool water upon his burning skin.
Upon the cuts and the bruises that came from the outlaws fist.
Rolling himself out he heard a gruff voice,
"Howdy cowboy, looks like ya came a long way."
The cowboys swollen lip kept him silent,
But he nodded in agreement,
Full agreement.
"Come on in here an git yerself a drink."
The cowboy strode sullenly into the saloon,
His eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom.
He saw before him cowboys,
Rough and unmannerly,
Gambling and drinking.
The sat with a drink in his hand,
Savoring the slow burn of the whiskey,
Warming his worn out body.
As sat he thought ,
He thought about the dusty trail behind.
Suddenly the bar went quiet,
A man strode in,
Not the cowboy kind,
The cowboy thought: "Desperado"
The man big and tall,
Spurs two inches,
He looked solid as a wall.
He was known as "Lassiter"
All this did not come to the cowboy's immediate attention.
NO!
No, but the gun leveled at his head did.
With slurred speech,
Ungracious and gruff,
Lassiter demanded:
"Who rode the black in?"
Silence,
Lassiter's black eyes pierced in everybody,
They met with the cowboys,
He strode forward,
"Did YOU?"
"What if I did?"Was the ungracious reply.
"What'd ya do with my Pardner?"
"He's down in the desert with his face full of sand 'n' burrs in his britches"
Lassiter's trigger finger quivered.
Yet all that he said was:
"I'll reckon i'll be seein' more of ya later"
That was the way the west was built.
By Rebekah
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