He rides alone the outlaw trail,
And so begins my cowboy tale,
Rode into town with setting sun,
Upon his hips, he wore no gun,
Through swinging doors, up to the bar,
Surveyed the room for silver star,
Off to his right, a faded rose,
Looked up and down his dusty clothes,
Then to his left, a local tough,
Said, "Lookie here, things must be rough,
'Cause this here man ain't got no gun,
I think it's time, we had some fun."
"Listen close son, I'll tell you why,
Ain't got no gun, 'cause then you'd die."
The young tough glared, then gun he drew,
Man was quicker, with fist he threw.
The young tough fell and hit the floor,
He was not talking anymore,
Man then said, "Son, you can't hack it,
by the way, the name is Sackett."
Then turned towards the fallen lamb,
and tipped his hat, said, "Evenin' ma'am."
Walked out the door, got on his horse,
Rode out of town, the end of course.
An old Louis L'Amour fan here.