Rode into town with setting sun,
Upon his hip, a tied down gun,
At six foot two, was kinda lean,
A grizzled face, his look was mean,
Off down his horse, a jet black mare,
Surveyed the street, as townfolk stare,
Into saloon, through swinging door,
Boots kicking dust, off wooden floor,
Up to the bar, "Give me a beer."
So softly said, could hardly hear.
A pinch of gold, from out his poke,
"This ought to do," the stranger spoke.
Across the room, a poker game,
The dealer asked, "Hey, what's your name?"
Came Texas drawl, "I didn't say,
And crooked games, I do not play."
The dealer rose, hand to his side,
A shot rang out, and dealer died.
The stranger walked where dealer lay,
"You ought'en not, have made a play."
To dealer reached, showed hidden gun,
And then rode off, in setting sun.
[This message has been edited by Mike (edited 01-25-2000).]