I met this cowboy once
He was a real revolver
Let me tell you
He was that pistol
Smoke
There was always smoke coming out of his guns
And there was always smoke going into his lungs
He was a brave sonofabitch
Bravest man I ever met, I bet
He could really bluff, though
In poker, I mean
He loved hold em
I reckon he took a couple hundred off of me
A pale white horse with a baby blue saddle
Followed him around for years
Until she passed
I never seen a man like that get so upset about a horse dying
I reckon he really liked that horse
Sometimes that black bandanna of his would cover his face
And he'd do a bit of crime
Nothing crazy
Just a robbery or two
He might've collected a bounty or three
But between you and me
He was a good guy
He really was
There are folk around those parts that he helped
There are folk that'll remember him . . .
Tuberculosis
He didn't win that stand off
No
Death out drew him
Got him in his blackened lungs
And he was still pretty young
When that pale horse rode away
For one last fight
He was dying for awhile
And dying men often seek redemption
But usually it's too late for that
We take life granted while we have it
It's only when we are dying that we think about who we are
What we've become
And what we'll leave behind . . .
The man behind the mask
He taught me a few things
But maybe
The most important thing he taught me
Was this,
“If you're capable of evil, you are also capable of good.”
He told me that one night at the saloon before he passed.
And I know for a fact that he really hoped it was true.
CH 1/1/25
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