He trotted up to Hamlin’s Bar,
stopping in for a quick drink.
He sat a tall, blue roan Mustang,
with a hide like darkest ink.
He paced into the noisy saloon,
amidst gamblers, drunks, and whores,
walked up to the simple bar,
and ordered whiskey, nothing more.
The burning shot was warming
after a cold night on the tail.
Barkeep tried to sell him another,
but he tried to no avail.
Rider found himself musing about
stopping in a town like this,
leaving behind the endless hunt,
getting out of the prairie winds.
He thought about a warm bed,
about cafes with bacon and coffee,
but as he did the old rage surged
and the thoughts all came to nothing.
In his mind came strangled cries,
the choking smoke and flames,
the dark cackle of evil men,
echoed through his brain…
With that he got on up to leave,
but a figure blocked his way.
A youngish man, vaguely familiar,
though why, he could not say.
The man growled and he said:
“I’ve seen you once before.
I watched you kill my brother Nick,
back east in Pellan’s Forge.”
The rider cocked his head and said:
“You must be young Jack Burnside.
I suppose you want revenge,
so let’s go take this outside.”
Jack nodded and they walked,
the young man’s eyes enraged.
To the street, the men went,
the town watching as they paced.
They stood off, then Jack’s hand
flew down for his gun,
but the Rider was a bolt of light,
and the draw quickly won.
Jack went down in a heap,
the shot biting his thigh.
The rider drew near, gun in hand,
said,”You do not need to die.
“Though you’ll not believe it,
I will still to you explain:
You’re brother was a rapist,
and with young girls he did play.
“And when a daughter of a friend
fell to his twisted appetites,
I did what I had to do,
and sent him to that dark night.
“I know you will believe think this,
to you he was family,
but that monster is worth no revenge.
His death, in fact, was a duty.
“But sin belongs to those who sin,
and not to any other.
And I see not the ravenous beast
in the eyes of his young brother.
“And though I’m a forgiving man,
I’ll warn you this one time,
don’t ever come for me again,
‘cause I\'m not always so kind.”
He tossed Ed’s pistol aside,
then mounted up on his horse.
He rode off, resigning himself
to a night sleeping outdoors.
It had been such every night,
since his own loss, long ago,
when he’d crossed that bloody line,
when he’d lost his own.
No more smiles, or boyish laughs,
no warm nights by the fire,
his woman gone, and his boy too…
nothing remained by the ire.
Sometimes he did like to think
that he could go on back,
return to what he once was,
give up these dusty tracks…
But deep down he’d always know
that inside he had grown cold,
since he’d walked from their gravesides,
against evil now he rode.
Forever on, he rode.