Pistol Packin' Pete Poem by Cowboy Ron Williams

He showed up at the ranch one day;
needed a job, he said,
willing to work without no pay
except his daily bread.

A job he got; we needed men;
Thar warn't any fuss.
He got full pay from that first day,
just like the rest of us.

He packed two pistols on his hips;
most of us had just one.
I seldom use the one I've got;
I rarely need a gun.

We never knew where he came from;
nobody dared to ask.
He seemed a type left best alone,
but he'd do any task.

His work was good; he earned his pay
and soon became our friend.
I'd ride beside him any day
until the bitter end.

One day some rustlers hit the herd
we's drivin' to Cheyenne.
They thought they'd cut themselves a bunch;
Pete had another plan.

He spurred his hoss straight at those goons,
a pistol in each paw;
those blazing guns dropped six of them
before they even saw.

The rest of them just lit a shuck;
that Pete had saved our herd!
He holstered both them smokin' Colts
and never said a word.

Boss says he'll call the marshal in
to look at those dead thieves,
when Pete asks boss for his back pay,
and then he up and leaves!