Twenty More Miles To Laredo Poem by John Yaws

'Twenty more miles to Laredo
I've time for a drink and a meal.'
His hand touched his hip, where they fell on a gun
It's grip made of walnut and steel.
The Ensenal Marshall behind him-
For being too quick with the gun...
The dead man drew first, but McComas was fast
And the corpse was a rich rancher's son.
The afternoon crowd in the Bon Ton was sparse
McComas walked up to the bar..
Weary and dusty, he needed a shave...
You could see he had ridden too far.
A girl quickly moved up beside him...
She smiled and said, 'I am in love
Buy me a drink, and see what you think;
By the way my name's Billie Dove'.
He tarried too long at the table-
Whiskey fumes rolled back the years,
He was a reckless, young cowboy again-
And she hadn't shed all those tears.
He said, ' I am taking you with me'.
She said, ' I am ready to go...
We'll start life afresh, and raise lots of kids
Somewhere down in old Mexico'.
McComas walked out through the batwings
His walk didn't take him too far.
There at the hitch rack beside of his horse
A tall man was wearing a star.
He had the edge and he knew it-
And knew he should go for his gun
But murder was not in his nature...
He spoke and the damage was done.
'Over here, Anse', he was drawing-
The Marshall, as fast as they come.
Both forty- four's spoke. and sent lead and smoke
He whispered, 'Oh, God! That was dumb'!
The Marshall lay there in roadway-
It was plain he was breathing his last,
McComas was bleeding, a wound in his chest,
His strength was a fading real fast.
'Here'! He heard the voice whisper-
Startled he managed to whirl...
There in the alley, holding his horse-
Was Billie, the young dance hall girl.
It's up in the saddle, he's riding..
And feeling the wind in his face...
It's funny his body is lying
There where the gunfight took place.
Billie is kneeling beside him-
The man she'd decided to love
What's that she's doing? She's picked up his gun
And turning it...'Heaven above'! ! !
The pistol is placed to her temple
The trigger is pulled and she dies
To fall on her man, as people come running
To look on in total surprise.
I've seen them at night by the river,
Walking alone in the trees...
I hear Billie's silvery laughter..
Carried to me on the breeze.
They're planning on raising a family
They're looking at long years to love
The gunman once know as McComas
And his poor, little, soiled Billie Dove.
© Copyright 2006 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved