The Belly River Bandit (From A Lost Critique) Poem by WES Vogler

They called him the Belly River Bandit,
though his mama had christened him Abel.
Was fast with a smile, faster with his gun
he had long earned his gunfighter label.
On the banks of the Waterton River
where the Rockies shadowed the plains,
he killed his last man, then hatched him a plan
to bury the drifters remains.

But the Bandit was not much on labor,
avoiding the same like the plague.
The last job that he had was so long past
that the memory of such became vague.
Took the easy path when it was possible
so he made up his mindthen and there.
to make his work light he'd use dynamite
and he'd blow that dern corpse in the air!

Now sometimes a plan's worth rethinking
and a bad idea often needs chucked.
The fuse was too short for the outlaw's speed,
and ran out long before he had ducked.
The crater it left was enormous
but neither corpse nor Bandit were found.
Some say he still rides coulee bottoms
but more likely he rained on the ground!

I tightened it up so's it can be sung.
It is a very good tale.