A light breeze brought the men to town, with horses black as night. They strode in side by side, bloodied victors of a fight. Each man was scarred and bruised; two survivors of a brawl, though they were beaten and bemused, they looked fearsome walking tall.
The men came in the ale house, as skies began to storm. They asked for shots of whiskey, ‘because the beer was surely warm.’ Dawson was the second man, and Sedgwick was the first. They shot the Brothers Brody, (now mostly dead they reckoned,) but McNaughton got away, they said; they said he was the worst.
Then the barmaid raised a brow, for the deputies a warning, they turned around, and saw McNaughton, in the corner all the morning. The lawmen flashed their badges, having walked into a blunder, and smiling was the murderer, who stood at the clap of thunder. ‘You killed the sheriff,’ Dawson said, ‘you shot him in the head!’ ‘Don’t worry,’ replied McNaughton, ‘’fore noon, you’ll all be dead!’
At once the saloon was drained, inspired by threats of death. We ran into the rain, unwilling to waste our breath; ‘twas doubly soft, I needn’t explain, than a bullet to the brain.
Hands hovered above their holsters; the draw-quick was a gamble. The outlaw was rumoured faster, so the marshals would have to scramble. We wondered who would win, who would justify the West, we wondered who would live or die, who truly was the best. Inside the bar, was cannonade, and the blitz of light and fire, then Sedgwick called the ‘Undertaker,’ for cadavers were his trade.
By the blaze of dawn, two men walked out, the deputies now were legends. The fearsome duo then rode away, for they saved a town called Vengeance.
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