By nancy_e_davis
| Author Note: | The building of the Railroads |
A man to fear, when he was near, they listened to his voice,
he'd tell them how, and do it now, they really had no choice.
The man was hired to do a job and he would get it done.
They had to build a railroad West. He was the chosen one.
His piercing eyes with sun-streaked hair, and chiseled features strong,
had helped him find acceptance there, and he would go along,
with rowdy nights and whiskey fights, and jaded doves in tow,
the necessary evils if you want the track to grow.
He had to keep them all in line, he saw they did their work.
He had to get to "X" on time around the jutting quirk.
Then up and over rocky crag into the flats again,
where he could take the time to brag the race was theirs to win.
While sickness, mud and Indians were problems they would face,
the tents that made a city up must move from place to place.
Morale ran low, but he would know just how to spread good news.
He promised them at end of day that he'd supply the booze.
They'd party on, then with the dawn, they'd wake and never fail
to go to work and set the ties to stretch ten miles of rail.
They'd build a bridge from ridge to ridge and pray that it would hold.
With great success they won the West. That's how the story's told.
September 24, 2014
| Author Notes |
My grandmothers family were Railroad men. One brother in law was a Chief Engineer. Not the sort that drives the train but the type who built the Railroad. Both of her families Strattans and Ellis's were employed by the railroad and fought in the Civil War. There were several who were Newspaper men as well.
Quirk, A sudden sharp bend. |
By nancy_e_davis
The Shootist
His eyes are cold, his jaw is set, he's ready for the kill.
He hasn't met his equal yet, believes he never will.
A gun for hire, he does aspire, the devil's game to play,
he baits his quest, he's done his best, it's time to earn his pay.
The lonely man, can't understand, that he has bought his fame,
that in the end, he'll have no friend, and all will curse his name.
The mother's son who feels undone, can't let the insults slide.
So there they stand, with guns at hand, two fools who value pride.
The stage is set and you can bet that everyone is there
to watch the fight that sets things right; excitement fills the air.
The shootist waits believing hate's a friend in time of need,
but he is slow, his shot is low, now it's his turn to bleed.
Alas, the boy who shouts with joy, has earned the Shootist's fame.
He won the fight, but from tonight he'll never be the same.
May 10, 2014
| Author Notes | Heptameter with aabb end rhyme and added internal rhyme in each line. |
By nancy_e_davis
| Author Note: | Breaking a horse ranch style not a rodeo situation. |
The Bronc Buster
He reached up for the saddle horn, with ease he forked the ride.
The bronc sprang into action when the spurs dug in his side.
The cowboy took a beating as the horse jumped up and down,
setting tight for a few seconds, just before he hit the ground.
With nothing broke, the young cowpoke jumped back up on the ride,
he couldn't let the critter win, a cowboy has his pride.
This time the bronco bucked him off before he got his seat,
but there's no way, that on this day, he'd go down in defeat.
"You featherheaded broom tailed bronc, I'll ride you yet," he swore!
His reputation on the line, he forked the horse once more.
With that the mustang snorted and began to run around,
the cowboy knew that on that day he'd earned his bed and found.
A bronco buster hates to think he's barking at the knot,
He has to earn his pay each day, before he hits the cot.
May 13, 2014
| Author Notes |
Cowboy lingo....
forked the ride> straddled the horse featherheaded> loco>a crazy horse bed and found>A place to sleep and three meals and small pay barking at the knot> wasting time hits the cot> goes to bed aabb rhyme with some internal rhymes. |
By nancy_e_davis
It was quarter past eleven when he rode into the town,
They all knew he was an outlaw, by the way he stared them down.
Everybody ran for cover, for they knew they'd rue this day.
He was here and he was trouble so there'd sure be hell to pay.
When the sheriff checked the posters; there he found the outlaw's name.
He was handy with the six gun, it had paved his way to fame.
He was bad and he was wanted, a reward was on his head,
any man who tried to take him was a cinch to end up dead.
Now Nate Hallstead was the sheriff, and his duty very clear.
He would have to face the gunman, though he had a lot to fear.
He decided that a shotgun was the way to make his play,
he was sure to hit the outlaw, if he was to die today.
Well, the sheriff had a brother, he was young and he was wild,
He had practiced with a six gun ever since he was a child,
and he knew that he was needed, yes, he knew he couldn't wait.
For his skill could take the outlaw, he could save his brother Nate.
As it happened, little brother, was so sure that he could win,
he went searching for the outlaw, so the gunfight could begin.
As he walked the street in silence, all who saw him knew the score,
when at last he saw the outlaw standing at the stable door.
Clay called out, "I'll take your six gun, and escort you to the jail,"
but the outlaw drew down on him, though his aim was sure to fail,
all because Clay's move was quicker, his shot hit the outlaw's hand,
with the bullet passing through it; the gun landed in the sand.
So the outlaw's days were numbered, yes, he had a debt to pay.
and the town made Clay a deputy, much to Nate's dismay.
At a quarter past eleven, trouble rode into the town,
by eleven thirty seven Clay had faced the outlaw down.
May 8, 2014
| Author Notes |
Whew! All day on this one. LOL Hope you like it. Mostly computer problems. LOL
This is a revive but I changed the name from "The Shootout" To 'The Gunfight" It didn't give me a revive certificate. My loss of a day but that is okay. Enjoy! |
By nancy_e_davis
'Twas in the springtime, it begin,
or maybe n'arly summer,
When I first laid me eyes on Finn,
the handsome whiskey drummer.
The fancy duds that spoke of wealth,
told me he was the answer.
A specimen aglow with health,
I saw a future Rancher.
He swore to me he told the truth,
and, caught up in his blarney,
I shared a jug of his Vermouth,
this wee lass from Killarney.
He was a sly one, I must say,
a blinking lady pleaser,
but when Pa caught us in the hay,
Finn swore I was the teaser.
When I proclaimed me love for him,
me Pa sprang into action.
He grabbed his long gun, on a whim,
just missed Finn by a fraction.
Finn took it on himself to run
and bolted for his carriage,
but realizing Pa had won,
was quick proposing marriage.
He played his game elusively,
but Pa knew of his priors;
now he repents exclusively
while riding through the briers.
The village gossips tell the tale.
It brings forth winks and snickers.
I'll let'em laugh, truth will prevail.
Finn didn't touch me knickers.
September 22, 2014
| Author Notes |
Well folks it's a lass from Killarney talking so ignore the brogue if you please. Thanks goes to Phyllis Stewart and Bing image's for the picture.
I felt this was appropriate for Saint Patrick's day. Nancy:) |
By nancy_e_davis
The dawn is arrivin' a little too early,
old cookie's a grouch and the trail boss is surly.
The coffee's too strong and the biscuits too hard,
while the flapjacks are soggy and loaded with lard.
We choke' em down quickly though drownin' in syrup.
We grab up the reins as we grope for the stirrup,
get back on the horse, that's the life of a drover.
It's dawn until dusk, the next day, do it over.
It's lonely and dusty, the trail's never endin',
your horse must be trusty, his foot work dependin'
on keeping you safe from the hooves of the cattle,
ensurin' each day that you stay in the saddle.
You drive' em all day then at night bed'em down,
you must keep' em calm for the slightest of sound
can start' em all runnin' and cause a stampede;
then your life's in danger and that's guaranteed.
The wrangler must keep all the horses in line
Take care of their feet, makein' sure they are fine.
While a night herder sings to the beeves a sad tune
a lonely coyote howls out at the moon.
A drover's life's hard, they don't work for the wages
He's born to the saddle, his home's in the sages.
February 9, 2015
By nancy_e_davis
A Christian girl, her name was Pearl, her soul unblemished, clean,
became a tarnished dance hall girl, the frontier could be mean.
They had a plan, she and her man, his name was Calvin Post,
He put a ring upon her hand, they headed for the coast.
One day in May, along the way, while bathing in a stream,
she didn't know that Indians had massacred their dream.
They stole the horses, burned the rig and left her Calvin dead.
Help found her there, a vacant stare, soaked in the blood he bled.
It took a while, this broken child had need of time to heal.
A wealthy Banker took her in, she thought his kindness real.
But in a while his friendly smile became a mask of hate,
she realized what his disguise had done to seal her fate,
when in the town she asked around because she needed work,
she had a hefty debt to pay, she saw the ladies smirk.
And then his voice, you have no choice, you'll work for me I think!
You'll wear this skimpy little dress and pander men to drink!
With heavy heart she played the part but one day she met Steve.
He just stopped by, she caught his eye, he was her chance to leave.
He paid her debt and you can bet she didn't turn him down,
she packed a bag, she didn't lag, she fled that evil town.
A Christian girl her name was Pearl, caught in the Devil's fray.
There was no way, until that day, that she could get away.
February 10, 2015
| Author Notes | The picture is of my daughter and her husband, the Vietnam Vet who died of Agent Orange a few years ago. This was taken at one of the Old Western towns back in the 80's I believe. The gunslinger and the dance hall girl. |
By nancy_e_davis
Louie
With rheumy eyes that turn away from cowpokes' scathing jeers,
he shuffles down the boardwalk with a strutting proud veneer.
With boots too large and pants too short, a hat that's seen its day.
He tries to keep his dignity each step along the way.
With shaking hands he makes a stand outside the Mercantile,
in hopes of getting some small coin to keep him for a while.
Through swinging doors he soon implores a witty repartee',
but barkeep shouts a loud rebuke and sends him on his way.
Each night he hangs around the bars and drinks the cowboy's dregs,
until at long last desperate, his pride dissolves, he begs.
A few kind souls take pity, and one buys him a small pail.
With thirst well quenched, he's had enough, he staggers home to jail.
The Marshall is a kindly man who knows of Louie's needs.
Doc tries to make him eat a meal and sometimes he succeeds.
But multitudes of past mistakes bombard his aching head,
the Devil's waiting patiently and wants to see him dead.
The need is always nagging there; it's torture on life's path.
A gentle soul who lost control and bought addiction's wrath.
February 12, 2015
| Author Notes |
dregs. Least desirable part of a drink.
Many bars in the 1800's sold keg beer in a pail. Many western towns had a town drunk. This is a peek into the life of one such pilgrim named Louie. |
By nancy_e_davis
The only doc for miles around and often hard to find,
a tired old man with gentle hands and healing on his mind.
With little else to cure them with, but what was in his bag,
it's not surprising through the years his shoulders seemed to sag.
He knew each citizen by name, brought most into the world.
There was an entry in his book for every boy and girl
and don't you know he watched them grow and raise some of their own,
and they became his family for he remained alone.
He always went where needed most, on any given day,
it often was conceded that the patient could not pay.
A dedicated loving pair, was Doc and his horse Ned,
They traveled quite a distance and he seldom saw a bed.
He couldn't stay awake sometimes so he just let Ned roam,
when Doc climbed in the buggy his old horse would take him home.
If shots rang out you'd hear a shout, "Somebody fetch Doc quick,"
folks rushed about, there was no doubt someone was hurt or sick.
They all depended on this man, who fought what might befall,
a father figure and a friend, and he was loved by all.
December 1, 2015
| Author Notes | Four quatrains and a couplet in Heptameter and aabb rhyme. |
By nancy_e_davis
The Johnson County War, Wyoming territory, 1892!
The Johnson County War would be a story fit to tell,
when they lynched Ella Watson and her friend Jim Averell.
The fact it was a woman that they hung upon the tree
was an extra gory story and a blotch on history.
Big ranchers in the Powder River region going broke,
had hired a bunch of Texans who came north to fill their poke.
The Regulators came to roam the range to earn their pay,
assigned to look for rustlers adding chaos to the fray.
The fee was fifty dollars for each rustler that they killed
and there were quite a few that died because those men were skilled.
A standoff at the TA Ranch would bring it to a head.
But not before the final count of wounded and the dead.
The Cavalry was sent to quell the violence at long last.
and now the Johnson County War's a story from the past.
February 13, 2015
By nancy_e_davis
The Regulator
The Regulator he was called, but Tom Horn was his name.
A gun for hire, some would say, had been his path to fame.
In truth he was a hunter noted for his marksmanship,
as dead on with his Spencer as the six gun on his hip.
A miner, sheriff, army scout, a Pinkerton with style,
he hunted men for bounty, at the time it was worthwhile.
Wyoming 1894 he took a job for pay,
the Cattlemen were naming names: the nesters were the prey.
Engaged to ride the open range, they knew that he was near,
he made small ranchers, farmers and sheep herders cringe with fear.
But when a shepherd's son was slain, a 14 year old lad,
it changed opinions, ruined his name, the outcome would be sad.
The Regulator got the blame; the Ranchers washed their hands.
They spoke of tragedy and shame, "That wasn't in their plans."
They all hung Thomas out to dry, a set-up some would say,
for witnesses swore at the time Tom Horn was miles away.
They hanged Tom in October in the year Nineteen-O-Three
Did he kill Willie? Who's to say? It's part of history.
February 15, 2015
| Author Notes |
The image is of Actor Steve McQueen in the role of Tom Horn.
The influential Wyoming Cattleman's Association hired Tom Horn to scare off the small ranchers, sheepherders and farmers that were left after the infamous Johnson County War. They had a list of names. They didn't care how he did it, they wanted the Nester's gone! Some say that Willie Nickells was mistaken for his father. He was shot down by a sniper who could have wanted his father dead. Most people felt Tom's conviction was an act of revenge by Wyoming citizens. Revenge for The Johnson County War. Tom was working as an Army Scout when Geronimo was captured the last time. He was a man for history. |
By nancy_e_davis
Frank James Trial
--The Prosecutor said...
"The verdict of the jury that's selected has been written.
I see no reason we should go to trial.
So, I'm proposing that a change of venue might be fittin'
or we should just delay it for a while."
The gavel fell, the Judge said;" Then so be it," as expected.
The Lawyer left the courtroom with a smile,
and Frank was ushered out past all the friends he had collected
who knew they wouldn't see him for a while.
And Frank said...
"I've been hunted twenty years, spent mostly in the saddle,
I've never known a day of perfect peace.
I've lived one long and uninspiring, anxious life astraddle
a worn out horse. I want all that to cease."
He got his rest, a year in jail, and then he got his trial,
the outcome was acquittal and release.
He never was convicted of the things he did so vile,
and never felt remorse for those he fleeced.
The outcome was...
Returning to the James Farm he would spend his final years
with guided tours and stories for small fees.
We wonder did he ever really lay to rest his fears
and did Frank ever live a life of ease?
February 19, 2015
| Author Notes |
Five months after Bob Ford killed his brother Jesse in 1882, Frank James boarded a train to Jefferson City, Missouri, where he had an appointment with the governor in the state capitol. Placing his holster in Governor Crittenden's hands, he explained,
'I have been hunted for twenty-one years, have literally lived in the saddle, have never known a day of perfect peace. It was one long, anxious, inexorable, eternal vigil.' He then ended his statement by saying, 'Governor, I haven't let another man touch my gun since 1861.' Accounts say that James surrendered with the understanding that he would not be extradited to Northfield, Minnesota. He was tried for only two of the robberies/murders, one in Gallatin, Missouri for the July 15, 1881 robbery of the Rock Island Line train at Winston, Missouri, in which the train engineer and a passenger were killed, and the other in Huntsville, Alabama for the March 11, 1881 robbery of a United States Army Corps of Engineers payroll at Muscle Shoals, Alabama. Among others, former Confederate General Joseph Orville Shelby testified on James' behalf in the Missouri trial. He was acquitted in both Missouri and Alabama. Missouri accepted legal jurisdiction over him for other charges, but they never came to trial. He was never extradited to Minnesota for his connection with the Northfield Raid. In 1882 ... Frank James surrendered in Jefferson City, Mo. After his surrender James was taken to Independence, Mo., where he was held in jail three weeks, and later to Gallatin, where he remained in jail a year awaiting trial. Finally James was acquitted and went to Oklahoma to live with his mother. He never was in the penitentiary and never was convicted of any of the charges against him. In his final years, James returned to the James Farm, giving tours for the sum of 25 cents. He died there on February 18, 1915, aged 72 years. He left behind his wife Annie Ralston James and one son.He is 55 years old in the picture. (Notes thanks to Wikipedia.) |
By nancy_e_davis
The Coward
Robert Newton Ford was called a dirty little coward,
because he took a gun and calmly back shot Mr Howard.
Mr Howard you should know was really Jesse James,
a very famous outlaw, yes they often changed their names.
The morning of the murder the Ford brothers came to call.
While Jesse ate his breakfast they were reminiscing all
the money they collected in the robberies and raids
and jokingly admitting they enjoyed it all in spades!
When Jesse took his six gun off and laid it in plain sight.
The brothers knew it was the chance to kill and do it right.
A big reward was offered it was placed on Jessie's head.
and they knew if they shot him, they had best make sure he's dead!
When Jesse saw a picture frame had somehow gone askew,
he turned his back to straighten it as anyone might do.
Bob Ford then grabbed the six gun in a very cowardly act
and shot poor Jesse when he turned. A documented fact!
Bob's brother Charles grew paranoid, because he knew the score,
thought suicide his only hope, by eighteen eighty four.
But Bob denied that he had killed just for the big reward,
he wasn't very popular and keeping friends was hard.
The outrage made them try Bob Ford but he was not condemned.
He went Scot free and soon the West had lost all sight of him.
Till in a tent saloon in Eighteen hundred ninety two.
A sawed off shotgun barked revenge and bid Bob Ford adieu.
February 16, 2015
| Author Notes |
The Image is Robert Ford, posing with the gun he used to kill Jesse James in 1882. Bob Ford bought a Saloon in Las Vegas, New Mexico in 1890 then moved to Creede Colorado where he opened a Dance Hall Saloon in 1892. It burned down June 6th, 1892, but wasting no time he opened a tent saloon a few days later! On June 8th a man named Edward O'Kelly walked in with a sawed off shot gun. As Ford's back was to the door Kelly said "Hello Bob " and as Bob turned Kelley emptied both barrels into Bob's chest, killing him instantly. Charles had committed suicide in 1884, after he learned Frank James, Jessie's brother was looking to kill them. He swore he didn't know Bob planned to kill Jesse when he accompanied him to Jessie's house that day!
Kelly was convicted of Bob Fords murder and given a twenty year sentence in the Colorado Penetentury but was released after ten years. Two years later,Jan. 1904, Kelly was shot down in the streets of Oklahoma City by Lawmen. |
By nancy_e_davis
Jubilee
Luke Waters was new sheriff of a town called Jubilee.
A town that had been famous for its sturdy hanging tree.
The citizens weren't happy with their dark and tainted past,
they thought if they cut down the tree that they'd be free at last.
The sheriff said you're wrong and you'll be sorry if you do.
Without the tree, the past will soon return to challenge you.
For every man you punished there, was sure to have some kin,
without that stark reminder here you'll live the past again.
A vote was taken, they agreed to keep the tree around.
The tree is very prominent; the center of the town.
It gets a nice new neck tie on each anniversary,
to mark the day the neck tie parties finally ceased to be.
And so Luke Waters served the town for nigh-on fifty years.
and took his nap beneath a tree no longer soaked with tears.
October 15, 2015
| Author Notes | The image is of a real hanging tree in Kyle Texas. So there is some truth to my story although is pure fiction. With law and order the town was peaceful at last. It is true, those who would forget about the past are certain to repeat it. |
By nancy_e_davis
Riders Wanted...Pony Express Hiring!
We need to hire young skinny boys no older than eighteen,
who are adept at horsemanship, with reputations clean,
You'll work long hours for good pay, but you must stand the test.
there's plenty danger on the trail; we're opening the west.
It's nineteen hundred miles the trek, the destination's far.
There's many dangers some unknown, we don't know where they are.
Hell bent for leather you will ride until the pony's done.
The next way station, ten miles distance has another one.
You'll blow a horn as you arrive, they're waiting at the door.
The rider weighs one twenty five, the pouch weighs twenty more.
The total weight one sixty five with water sack and gun.
You'll ride about a hundred miles and mostly at a run.
You're in the saddle day and night you're carrying the mail
protecting it with all your might; don't loose it on the trail.
You'll swear an oath to get it done... you can't give up the ghost,
God is with you all the way you're heading for the coast.
***
Many young men took the job, all eager to face dangers
not a worry 'bout the cost, to money they were strangers.
One hundred dollars that was more than they had ever seen.
To earn that much in just a month could get to be routine.
A few were killed along the way and some would rise to fame,
But one stood out from all the rest, Bill Cody was his name.
February 22, 2015
| Author Notes |
In 1860, senior partner of 'Russell, Majors, and Waddell.', William Russell, one of the biggest investors in the Pony Express, used the 1860 presidential election as a way to promote the Pony Express and how fast it could deliver the U.S. Mail. Assuring that there would be fresh riders and horses along the entire Pony Express route, Russell, prior to the election, hired extra riders and ensured that fresh relay horses were available along the route. On November 7, 1860, a Pony Express rider departed Fort Kearny, Nebraska Territory (the end of the eastern telegraph line) with the election results. Riders sped along the route, over snow-covered trails and into Fort Churchill, Nevada Territory (the end of the western telegraph line). California's newspapers received word of Lincoln's election only seven days and 17 hours after the East Coast papers, an unrivaled feat at the time.
The Paiute War was a minor series of raids and ambushes initiated by the Paiute Indian tribe in Nevada, which resulted in the disruption of mail services of the Pony Express. It took place from May through June 1860, though sporadic violence continued for a period afterward. In the brief history that the Pony Express operated only once did the mail not go through. After completing eight weekly trips from both Sacramento and Saint Joseph, the Pony Express was forced to suspend mail services because of the outbreak of the Paiute Indian War in May 1860. Approximately 6,000 Paiutes in Nevada had suffered during a winter of fierce blizzards that year. By spring, the whole tribe was ready to embark on a war, except for the Paiute chief named Numaga. For three days Numaga fasted and argued for peace.] Meanwhile a raiding party attacked a Pony Express station called Williams Station, on the Carson River near present-day Lake Lahontan. One account says the raid was a deliberate attempt to provoke war. Another says the raiders had heard that men at the station had kidnapped two Paiute women, and fighting broke out when they went to investigate and free the women. Either way, the war party killed five men and the station was burned. During the following weeks, other isolated incidents occurred when whites in Paiute country were ambushed and killed. The Pony Express was a special target. Seven other express stations were also attacked; some 16 employees were killed and approximately 150 express horses were either stolen or driven off. The Paiute war cost the Pony Express company about $75,000 in livestock and station equipment, not to mention the loss of life. In June of that year, the Paiute uprising had been ended through the intervention of U.S. government troops, after which four delayed mail shipments from the East were finally brought to San Francisco on June 25, 1860. During this brief war, one Pony Express mailing, which left San Francisco on July 21, 1860, did not immediately reach its destination. That mail pouch (mochila) did not reach St. Joseph and subsequently New York until almost two years later. The Pony Express had an estimated 80 riders who were traveling east or west along various points of the route at any given time. In addition, there were also about 400 other employees, including station keepers, stock tenders and route superintendents. Many young men applied for jobs with the Pony Express, all eager to face the dangers and the challenges that sometimes lay along the delivery route. Waddle and Majors could have easily hired them at a much lesser rate, but instead paid them a handsome sum for that time of one hundred dollars a month. Famous American authorMark Twain, who saw the Pony Express in action first hand, described the riders in his travel memoir Roughing It as: "... usually a little bit of a man". Though the riders were small, lightweight, generally teenage boys, their untarnished record proved them to be heroes of the American West for the much needed and dangerous service they provided for the nation. Establishing a complete list of riders is virtually impossible. There was no official list of riders kept by the express company and the scarcity of newspapers along the route contributed to the absence of this information. When the American Civil War broke out in 1861, the Pony Express was forgotten about almost entirely, and consequently there was not much interest in pursing and searching out this information for many years following, by which time much of it had simply vanished in the course of everyday affairs. (Thanks to Wikipedia) |
By nancy_e_davis
| Author Note: | To all the Western fans. |
Hannagan
How'd I get the brand of hero? Forgive me if I smile.
The truth I'm here to tell you, you have dogged me for a while.
Back in the town of Red Rock, about eighteen sixty four.
A man by then, and full of it, my life there was a bore.
Tim Stone was our new sheriff, pretty Betsy was his wife,
and they just had a baby boy, they had a perfect life.
He'd always been my hero then, a giant in my eyes,
a chance to be his deputy came soon to my surprise!
For trouble rode in early, from the badlands, in the rain,
he cast a long dark shadow on the muddy wet terrain.
He pulled up at the first saloon, and told a youth nearby,
to take care of his horse and gear, no wait for a reply.
He hit the barroom's swingin' doors, and stared into the room
The men all scattered quickly as he stepped into the gloom.
The big-iron he was packing was enough to feed the fear,
for there was nothin lacking, he was death, and he was here...
He walked in like he owned the place, we reckoned that he did,
If anyone objected he was sure to keep it hid.
He told the barkeep "Whiskey" and he grabbed his-self a chair,
He set his back against the wall, he eyed the room from there.
The leer he pasted on his face was somethin' to behold.
We moved, if we were in his gaze, and no one need be told.
He asked, "You got a sheriff? Tell him Hannagan's in town."
The entire room let out a sigh, we'd feared he'd gun us down.
We all had heard of Hannagan, the fastest in the west.
He went in search of trouble, he was said to be the best.
He gunned men down from town to town, but every one drew first,
how many young men had to die, to feed this gunman's thirst?
I went to tell the sheriff what the killer had to say.
He said "I'll be there shortly," and he sent me on my way.
I said "I'll be your deputy, you needn't stand alone."
But Tim said," I've a job to do, I'll do it on my own."
Poor Betsy begged and pleaded with the young-un on her lap,
she cautioned, "Don't be reckless, Tim, it just might be a trap!"
Well, I just couldn't stand to see sweet Betsy so upset...
Sure, Hannagan was lightening fast, but he ain't beat Tim yet.
I grabbed a shotgun, hit the street, I'd sneak in through the rear,
Yeah, Hannagan might make a stand, but he won't know I'm near.
Tim moved in through the swinging doors, I burst in through the back,
The gunman took a shot at me, I fell and heard a crack.
That gave the Sheriff time enough for him to hit his man,
and void the wanted poster on the fast gun Hannagan.
But me? I had a broken leg, he missed me when I fell.
I was a hero on the day the whole town went through hell.
September 2, 2017
| Author Notes |
Using cowboy dialect here.
Heptameter'is a Literary Term for a line of poetry that has seven metrical feet, Each repeated unit of meter is called a foot. Accents occur at apparently equal intervals in time.(Fourteen Syllables in each line.) |
By nancy_e_davis
The Old Cowpoke
I'm jest an old cowboy, who's near to trail's end.
I think most my bones have been broke.
Not worth very much, all I care for's my skin,
my horse and my saddle and poke.
My poke's mostly empty, the saddle is old ,
the horse's back's showing some sway.
There's peace in the valley o'er yonder I'm told,
together we'll reach it some day.
Rewards will be few, when I get to the gate,
in fact I don't have much to show,
there's no need to hurry, we may have to wait;
till horses can fly we can't go.
July 26,2016
| Author Notes |
Just a little humor my muse whispered in my ear the other night.
A cowboys poke contains his worldly goods, all his money, food, etc. They are often very attached to their horse. Cowboys talk funny. So did my muse. |
By nancy_e_davis
| Author Note: | A story of the old west. |
Deprived of love, she rose above the squalor and the shame.
Her sights were set on happiness , her past she overcame.
Her mother was a prostitute, her father was a drunk,
she cut off all relationships one day and packed her trunk.
Aware that danger waited on the mean streets she had known,
and when she planned to run away meant she was on her own,
the money she had squirreled away would buy a ticket west.
She'd stay aboard until she found the answer to her quest.
While on the ride she laid aside the ugliness she'd seen,
to soon embrace the countryside, the rolling hills of green.
Unfolding beauty everywhere, the mountains and the plains,
with endless herds of animals across the vast terrain.
She used the only skill she had, draw poker was her game,
and won a fortune playing cards to stake her way to fame.
She bought a dance hall, then a ranch, and hired a crew of men.
She set a strong example for the women living then.
With deep determination and desire she proved it's wrong
to say we were the weaker sex, indeed we could be strong.
Deprived of love, she rose above the squalor and the shame.
She traveled west and passed the test that paved her way to fame.
July 19,2016
| Author Notes |
There were many pioneer women who opened new avenues to release us from the dark ages. There were doctors and nurses, stage drivers and rancher owners there was even a sheriff I believe.. Thanks for reading.
Edits welcome. |
By nancy_e_davis
When the song about the battle reached the city of Seattle
all the outlaws had been dealt with, some were shot and some were hung.
There were rumors that the story had some added scenes of glory;
which never really happened, but would fit the song they sung.
For the fame of all the players, had been added on in layers
to exalt our western heroes and the bad men we all hate.
They were handed down to reach us, touch our hearts, and maybe teach us
all the traps that human nature can set up to seal our fate.
There's no glory in the lying, or the cheating, or the dying,
to outwit the law, to make that call, and think you'll get away.
For the Law will overcome you, slowly take the future from you
and your self respect will wither when you learn the price you'll pay.
We should take the folk songs lightly, and yet hold our history tightly,
lest we might repeat the failures that were suffered yesterday.
August 7, 2018
| Author Notes |
I like this one. Wanted to share it again. Nancy:)
Yes, Some of the folk songs made the bad men seem worse and the Hero's seem taller than they were. Only God knows the truth of what happened in any case. I hope you enjoy my "Windows to the past ," Nancy |
By nancy_e_davis
In early Spring we started for the California coast.
The gold was out there laying on the ground; I heard them boast.
Desiring riches, like a fool, I made my plans in haste,
a greenhorn's folly, unaware of dangers that we faced.
One summer day the wagon wheels got bogged down in the sand,
and we were stranded in a place not fit for beast nor man.
The vastness of the desert seemed unending like the sea,
it wound around, without a sound, that might bring hope to me.
The heat was brutal and the midday sun was beating down.
Our water ration's vanishing and there's none to be found.
With food near gone, before too long I'd have to kill the cow.
Without some rain I knew we'd never make it anyhow.
The oxen, so exhausted that their ribs began to show,
and even if they pulled us free just how far could they go?
A dust cloud in the distance rose and I began to hope,
the image was too far away, to pick up with my scope,
and then I heard a bugle, it resounded loud and clear,
We would survive, I sat and watched the cavalry appear!
Escorted to the nearest town, they sent us on our way,
and we resumed our journey to the San Francisco Bay.
December 4, 2015
| Author Notes |
The California Gold Rush was a period in American history which began on January 24, 1848, when gold was found by James W. Marshall at Sutter's Mill in Coloma,California. The news of gold brought mostly by sailing ships and covered wagons some 300,000 gold-seekers (called "forty-niners", as in "1849") to California. While most of the newly arrived were Americans, the Gold Rush also attracted some tens of thousands from Latin America, Europe, Australia, and Asia.
The effects of the Gold Rush were substantial. At first, loose gold nuggets could be picked up off the ground, and since there was no law regarding property rights in the goldfields, a system of "staking claims" was developed. In 1849, a state constitution, governorship, and legislature were established, and as part of the Compromise of 1850, California officially became a US state. Agriculture and ranching expanded throughout the state to meet the needs of the settlers. Roads and other towns were built throughout the new state, and new methods of transportation developed as steamships came into regular service. By 1869,railroads were built across the country from California to the eastern United States. (Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.) |
By nancy_e_davis
| Author Note: | To all the horses I have loved. |
A Cow Pony
Just an old worn out cow pony, that's forgotten, on his own.
He's been let out to the pasture, and he stands there all alone.
He's forgotten by the cowboy who became his closest friend,
as they searched for steers together from first dawn to twilight's end.
Now his good days are behind him and his ribs are showing through.
with the sunlight's beams that blind him now; there's not much he can do,
but recall those days of glory, at the roundups, in his prime,
and to miss his friend who shared the past; back in that other time.
When with speed and dedication, he'd helped move the mighty herds,
giving all his best to signals, acting fast to spoken words.
When he'd held a lope so steady it was like a rocking chair,
cause the cowboy's rope was ready, swinging circles in the air.
He's been let out to the pasture, and he stands there all alone.
Just an old worn out cow pony that's forgotten, on his own.
May 19, 2019
| Author Notes | I love horses. I have had a few in my time and loved everyone of them. If they are treated right they are as devoted as any dog or cat. A lot of them are used and abused, rode hard and put up wet. I miss having horses. |
By nancy_e_davis
| Author Note: | Over one hundred years ago |
Once Upon A Time in Oregon...This is a true story
* * * *
To venture west was quite a test of faith and fortitude.
It took great strength and courage such a journey to pursue.
A rocky road of hardships, unmarked graves along the way,
were dark reminders of the dangers they embraced each day.
***
They faced the great unknown with hope to start their life anew.
With dreams of something better trusting God to see them through.
And such a man was Abel George, a stalwart pioneer.
He led a group of wagons, west, across the wild frontier.
***
Across the plains to Oregon he led his hardy band,
and coming to a river there, he claimed a piece of land.
December, Eighteen Sixty One there came a raging flood,
while washing over everything it took their flesh and blood.
***
The George's precious children were the victims on that day.
The four were quickly swallowed up and they were swept away.
It makes us wonder sometimes why our life's so full of tears.
Just how could they survive all this and live on many years?
***
Blessed with two more children then, another girl and boy,
It must have made them thankful and filled their lives with joy.
We need to tip our hat to them, those stalwart pioneers.
Who stood the test and ventured west in spite of all their fears.
***
(C) May 25, 2012
| Author Notes |
Thank you DrCArt222 for yet another beautiful piece of art.
Tragedy !!! George, Abel & Elizabeth> Four Children Drowned by a Flood in Oregon. We have learned that the Mr. Abel George mentioned in the following extract, was formerly a resident of this county, having lived in Lexington many years, and when a young man, was among the first to leave the home comforts in Ohio, to commence the settlement of Oregon. His relatives and friends here were very much pained on receiving the intelligence of the horrible suffering and calamity which has befallen him and his family. We deeply sympathize with his now aged mother, she has followed the fortunes of her son with anxious heart though all the toils, dangers and strife attendant upon the settlement of a new country; has known of his standing ready to meet death at the head of a company of hardy pioneers to protect the settlements from the attacks of savages, but she was wholly unprepared to hear of such a terrible misfortune as the loss of all his children at one fell blow by flood. Flood and Suffering North -- We extract the following from the Corvallis (OR) Union of Dec. 9th.1861: "Abel George, whose family lived upon an island about four miles above this town, on the Willamette River lost his four children by the upsetting of a skiff while attempting to get to a place of safety. This was a lamentable and heartrending occurrence, as the father and mother were pulled to safety by people on the shore but were unable to save the four children. Mary aged 12 yrs, Ann aged 10, Abel B aged 6 and infant unknown. [Mansfield Semi-Weekly News: 12 April 1862] The Georges were my ancestors , I found the story while searching our Genealogy Past.Only Anna's body was found down river and buried as an unknown but discovered by a researcher over one hundred and fifty years later.Story on Find a Grave. Abel George (1825 - 1906) Elizabeth Thurston George(1828 - 1910) |
By nancy_e_davis
The Lonesome Cowboy
****
Just a horse as his companion,
searching mountain top and canyon.
Burning daylight seeking cattle
always on his horse astraddle.
****
Night time camping on the prairie
sometimes creepy, often scary.
Beans and coffee by the campfire
open wounds from mending barbwire.
****
Hearing distant coyotes howling,
echoed by his stomach growling.
Rising just as dawn is breaking,
saddle up his body aching.
***
It's a job that has no ending
and he knows the time he's spending
isn't like his youthful dreaming,
no, it's painful and demeaning.
****
Those dime novels told a story
of exaggerated glory.
Come the autumn he'll be homing
put an end to mindless roaming.
(c) April 30, 2012
| Author Notes | The exaggerated stories in the dime novels of the day made many a young man leave home for adventure but all they found was hardship and most often an early death. One of my first poems on FS. A beginner as a poet. Thanks for reviewing. |
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