Another Sheriff vs. Deputy Dispute

Down in Arizona lived a man named Peter Gabriel,

who chose one day ta' accept the wearin' of a star.

It was back in the eighteen-eighties,

in a place called Pima County.

Though some were against it, others were not,

an' thought the badge might take him quite far.

But as it turned out some things were askew,

involving one of his deputies, Joe Phy.

His conduct was unbecoming an' his record rather poor,

an' his guilt was such a burden he couldn't look ya' in the eye.

Then fer' bein' drunk an' disorderly

Gabriel gave Phy the boot.

An' followed that by arrestin' the ex-deputy

in Casa Grande fer' assault: he was bein' a brute.

Yet with the townsfolk torn between loyalties

they simply added fuel ta' the fire.

So Phy was cut loose, then made a bid fer' election;

ta' take Gabriel's star was his only desire.

Five years of feudin' an' Phy failed again,

it seemed Lady Luck bid adieu.

So Phy figured he'd make his own luck now,

an' guarantee that Gabriel was thru.

It started with drinkin' ta' get up the nerve,

then he sought his arch enemy out.

In the town of Florence, the day was May 3rd,

he found him at a bar an' gave out a shout.

"Come face me now, if ya' got the nerve.

Yer' day of comeuppance is here."

Inside the saloon the sheriff stayed calm

as he gulped down the rest of his beer.

He then stepped thru the door, an' into the street,

an' the two commenced ta' throw lead.

Eleven shots fired between the two,

but only one ended up dead.

Gabriel took one ta' the chest an' one ta' the groin,

quite painful, but still he did live.

Yet he put several shots into Phy

who died like a bloody sieve.

When Gabriel recovered they put him on trial,

an' found it was pure self-defense.

Phy pushed fer' the play, he sought only revenge,

but was given his own death sentence.

No tears were shed fer' the ex-deputy,

he died like he lived, just a fool.

On the other hand though, Gabriel carried on many years

with the badge and the gun as his tools.

Frazer - Miller Feud: star vs. star

George "Bud" Frazer was born in eighteen-sixty an' four.

He grew up in Texas as the son of a judge.

He learned many lessons from his pa,

an' where he stood on the law he wouldn't budge.

At the age of sixteen he already knew his path,

so he joined the elite Texas Rangers.

He was strong-willed, an' wirey, an' skilled fer' the trade.

Plus fearless enough fer' the dangers.

He caught rustlers, an' bandits, an' horse thieves, and such.

Even some murderers too.

But after ten years of trackin' down scum

he told the top dogs he was thru.

In eighteen an' ninety, down in Reeves County,

he got himself duly elected.

As keeper of peace, with a sheriff's tin star,

makin' criminals feel mighty rejected.

Yet what a shock fer' the rest of the town

when he locked up his own deputy.

His name was Jim Miller, he stole an' he killed,

but the townsfolk let him go free.

It wasn't the first, nor would be the last,

that Miller had scrapes with the law.

Though most folks were honest, there are others who ain't,

an' the system still had its flaw.

Miller bid fer' the star in the next election

but Frazer won out once again.

So Miller popped over ta' Pecos

where they were happy ta' let him wear tin.

The two kept the feud goin' on account of positions,

the law would just have ta' fight law.

Especially when one was a "gun-for-hire" killer,

to Frazer that was the last straw.

The next time they met bullets went flying

an' Frazer emptied his gun.

Pert near every shot hit Miller's body,

so, of course, Frazer thought it was done.

But Miller was wearin' a breast plate of steel,

so four of the bullets bounced clear.

An' of his own shots, only one hit,

an innocent victim standing near.

They both lost their stars during the time of this feud,

although fer' different reasons.

But the feud it kept goin' fer' no other cause

than hate can transcend all seasons.

The next shootin' match, eight months from the first,

turned out pert near the same.

Two bullets in Miller, Frazer unscathed,

but Frazer, this time, caught the blame.

They put him in jail, an' gave him a trial,

then acquitted him of every deed.

Yet when Miller recovered he swore out revenge,

especially once Frazer was freed.

Miller had lost both face-ta'-face duels,

he vowed he would not lose a third.

He'd catch Frazer off guard, like a cow on the range

peacefully strollin' with the herd.

He watched an' waited til the time was right,

then found Frazer at the poker table.

Where one shotgun blast ta' Frazer's face

put an end ta' this feuding fable.

Dick Fellows: Robber with no Horse-sense

They say "there's no accountin' fer' taste."

Perhaps it's the same fer' brains.

Like choosin' a horse bearin' criminal path

while unable ta' control the reigns.

Dick Fellows was just such a fool,

though others would claim he was wiley.

Yet the mistakes he had made were of such a low grade

he would admit them quite rare, an' then only shyly.

Assault an' a robbery had bought him some time,

an' the place he was sent was San Quentin.

Though the time that he got was cut rather short

on account of the faith he was hintin'.

He acted quiet pious, an' bowed ta' his knees,

then quoted a verse here an' there.

A jailhouse conversion of the first magnitude,

with a personal testimony ta' share.

Well, Governor Booth got wind of the change,

"let's cut that poor Fellows some slack."

So they unlocked the shackles an' set Fellows free,

but the guards, they knew he'd be back.

He weren't much of a worker, but wished ta' be rich,

so to crime once more he did turn.

Yet ta' rob a stagecoach he needed a horse,

but horses caused his innards ta' churn.

Fellows went ta' the livery ta' rent a cayuse,

then sought a Wells Fargo stage he did fancy.

But on the way ta' the hold-up, the ridden got wind of the rider,

an' the spirited horse became antsy.

It bucked an' it reared an' thru Fellows down,

then ran off back ta' the livery.

The timing now off, the first got away,

he switched targets fer' the second delivery.

The Bakersfield stage he got ta' hold-up,

then realized he forgot vital tools.

He could not break the locks so he carried the box.

How foolish ta' forget all the rules.

The second horse then took off like the first,

leavin' Fellows ta' hump his own load.

But he'd gone this far, so carry he would,

just hopin' he'd got him some gold.

So he shouldered the box, an' walked in the dark,

then took a near twenty foot fall.

Down the number five tunnel of the Southern Pacific,

where he broke his leg an' wanted ta' bawl.

He drug himself ta' a Chinaman's tent,

an' he found an axe ta' steal.

Made himself a crutch, then chopped open the box,

"Eighteen-hundred, my God, what a deal!"

He then limped along ta' the Fountain Ranch,

where he stole himself a new horse.

Then made his way ta' an abandoned shack,

where he was arrested by detectives, of course.

Fer' the crime he committed the verdict came down,

eight long years he must do.

Though the very next day Fellows could not be found,

a tunnel in the floor he went thru.

He stole one more horse, but had similar luck,

the law caught him before he could run.

Shipped him straight ta' San Quentin, the guards had been right,

he was back there under the gun.

He was freed in five years, instead of the eight,

but quickly forewent honest means.

So he held-up a stage an' got clean away,

but with only ten dollars in his jeans.

Well, he tried it again, but it was worse than before,

the cash box contained a mere letter.

Then the third attempt, after waitin' some time,

had a similar outcome, not better.

Less then a year from the time of his release

back behind bars he did go.

He was sentenced ta' life, at Folsom this time,

yet he escaped once more, don't ya' know.

Though he hadn't learned nothin' in all his attempts,

as he mounted an' grabbed up the reigns.

The horse bucked him off, the lawmen did scoff,

cuz' once more the horse showed all the brains.

George Arrington: made for the star

George Arrington was Alabama born,

beginning his days in Greensboro

in eighteen-forty an' four.

He grew up hard, with no fear of work,

then off he went as duty called

ta' that bloody Civil War.

In Mosby's Raiders he wore the grey,

an' as a Johnny Reb

his skills continually grew.

So much so, in fact,

he chose ta' fight on

even after the war was thru.

With other greycoats

he headed south,

Mexico was still in a war.

But he signed on the side

of Emperor Maximillian,

with the outcome the same as before.

After two losses he gave it a rest,

though he soon learned

he missed the thrill of the chase.

He crossed the border ta' Texas

an' pinned on a star,

as a ranger he set a blistering pace.

He rose up thru the ranks

like a bat outta' hell,

as Captain he soon took the lead.

The entire Panhandle

was his to control,

with twenty men, guns, an' their steeds.

Whether injuns' on the warpath,

or outlaws on the run,

he'd saddle-up an' hunt them down.

An' he'd clamp on the irons,

an' bring 'um all back,

or leave them dead on the ground.

It could take a month,

perhaps even more,

ta' make a full curcuit round his domain.

Yet he an' his men

could easily track down

two score in that little time frame.

He racked up the numbers,

arrests an' convictions,

that set him apart from most all.

He took ta' the life,

an' earned the respect

from those on both sides of the law.

Even after promotions,

an' takin' the lead,

he'd never sit idle an' wait.

He'd go with his men,

or go it alone,

ta' take out the bandits before it's too late.

He did it fer' duty,

fer' honor an' pride,

dealin' justice was not just fer' show.

Even when tired

he never gave up,

he'd track them wherever they'd go.

One time a rich rustler

ran up ta' New England,

thinkin' the law would turn back.

But Arrington caught him,

an' even took care

ta' outwit the lawyer's attack.

After a decade

of huntin' down villains

he decided ta' ranger no more.

But he still wore a star

down in Wheeler County

protectin' the law as before.

This would last fer' eight years,

as he built up his spread,

then retired ta' the Rocking Chair Ranch.

But in just a few years

he was back with the law;

same star, same county, same branch.

They needed him once,

they needed him then,

but time eventually does change.

Soon came the day

the star went away,

an' he lived out his days on the range.

Johnny Ringo: Nothing like the legend

We buy fiction over fact,

not just the American way, but a human trait.

Do we think all tales are benign

an' less interesting if we tell them straight?

"Johnny Ringo"

the name befits the legend told.

Chosen instead of his real name,

he was known to his kin as John Ringgold.

So many have claimed

he was the fastest gun of them all.

But when compared ta' facts

none of the claims ever stand tall.

It's assumed he was born in Missouri,

since it's known that's where he attended school.

He could read, write, an' do figures,

which is far more than most gunmen could do.

He even loved ta' quote Shakespeare,

which is quite rare as outlaws go.

So ignorance was not ta' blame

fer' how his life sank so low.

Yet somehow he never learned honor,

he would play both sides of the law.

While wearin' a star, he'd still rustle cattle.

Can anyone claim that's not a flaw?

But his tin time was brief,

it obviously cramped his style.

Cuz' outlaws are the same everywhere,

they lack what it takes ta' go the extra mile.

They want easy pickin's, they don't want ta' work,

an' they'd rather get drunk an' get rowdy.

Pert' near every shot that Ringo did fire

came after his brain was quite cloudy.

Like the bloke with the joke

at the expense of a filly passin' by,

who Ringo pistol-whipped,

than shot in the neck, an' left him ta' die.

We also know of his time with the Clanton's an' McLowery's

durin' the time he was in Tombstone.

Though even then when he used his guns

he rarely acted alone.

It's believed he was one of four men who

bushwacked Virgil Earp, an' perhaps Morgan, his brother.

An' why the famed Wyatt Earp

sought revenge on Ringo, fer' one or the other.

Though history's not clear on the actual demise

of the not-so-infamous Johnny Ringo,

cuz' two others lay claim to what Earp professed,

bringin' down the outlaw with no soul.

Ringo's body was found in Turkey Creek Canyon

in eighteen-eighty an' two.

His scalp was removed, but not by an injun'

which adds ta' the mystery too.

One bit of truth, when Ringo still lived,

that proves he was less of a man,

was the day of his arrest with John Wesley Hardin,

when shock an' fear kept a gun from his hand.

One gimpy ol' Ranger, "McNelly's Bulldog,"

John Armstrong's the title he bore,

held back deputies as he went ahead

ta' take down the outlaw he swore.

The prize was Hardin, but he wasn't alone,

four others around him did sit.

Mannen Clements, Bill Taylor, Jim Mann, an' then Ringo,

all were suppose ta' have grit.

Yet when the proceedings commenced

Hardin jumped first, followed quickly by young Jim Mann.

But Hardin was cold-cocked, an' Mann was shot dead,

while Ringo an' the others just sat on their cans.

Yes, Ringo did nothin', fearstruck it would seem,

he never made a move ta' draw steel.

Yep, this is the true man of legend,

how strange is the American ideal.

Take away the dark nights, an' the backshot advantage,

then pour out the whiskey he drank.

All you'd have left is a boy with a toy,

with no whiskey nerve his quick draw's a blank.

Thomas Hodges (aka Tom Bell): Sawbones to thief

Thomas Hodges was Alabama-born,

though raised in Rome, Tennessee.

His family was rather affluent,

so he was given an' education most folks would envy.

He even mastered medicine,

an' became a surgical Doc,

who went off ta' war ta' do his skillful chore

inspite of the shock.

He had the smarts an' he had the means

ta' take on this challenging career.

But he also had a since of duty,

that's why he joined the Tennessee Volunteers.

He served under Colonel Cheatham,

in the Mexican-American War.

He had ta' hear, an' see, an' do

what you an' I would surely deplore.

Perhaps he heard, an' saw, an' did too much

in that place where death increases ten-fold.

Cuz' upon his discharge he put away his scalpel,

tried ta' make it in California mining fer' gold.

But he was a doctor not a miner,

an' the gold was not his ta' be had.

Sadly, an' empty wallet an' belly

can often turn men bad.

He had the smarts but not the heart

at the start of his criminal charade.

So he quickly got caught an' sent ta' Angel Island

where he learned a lot more of the trade.

Alcatraz, part of Angel Island,

was run by the military back then.

An' when Bell served out his year

he became acquainted with several nefarious men.

These men would help him find others

after their scheduled release.

They would join as a band of outlaws

seekin' valuables ripe ta' be fleeced.

There was English Bob an' Monte Jack,

an' Juan Fernandez, the Mexican killer-thief.

Plus Bill Gristy, Ned Connor, an' of course Jim Smith,

who tattooed his body ta' get relief.

They began their criminal enterprise

in the same locale that Joaquin Murieta had rode.

But they kept ta' the stages an' wagons

since both were easy ta' catch an' unload.

Though unlike Murieta,

who seemed ta' take pleasure in dealin' out pain.

Bein' a "gentleman bandit"

would be Bell's criminal claim ta' fame.

He'd toss victims some coins

ta' get them a drink,

or leave some loosely tied-up

so they could get free in a wink.

A person might argue

Bell wanted ta' be caught.

Stop him from doin' the deeds

which he knew he really should not.

Why else would an educated man

do somethin' so obviously unwise

as to commit dozens of crimes

without even a simple disguise?

He was always identified as a man

with a flat nose an' over six feet,

with blue eyes an' sand hair,

a mustache, an' goatee.

His crew even unwittingly helped the law

by braggin' Tom Bell is our boss.

So give us yer' cash an' all that has worth,

ya' see, our gain is yer' loss.

Bell bribed a few squealers

ta' find out when pickin's were good.

Including his gal pal,

hotel owner, Elizabeth Hood.

The information was legit,

which meant the more cash they did count.

But with bigger rewards

the risks likewise did mount.

An' Bell had held off any bloodshed

as long as he could.

He even convinced a Wells Fargo guard

from ending up in a box of pine wood.

Though the bandits were rich

they were hunted like game.

"Let's take one last big haul

than forego all this fame."

They heard of a chance

fer' six-figures in gold.

It just required the right timing,

an' hearts that were bold.

Rideout, the owner,

would ride point ta' protect his loot.

Bell wanted the element of surprise

so they would not have ta' shoot.

They even had one

of their own men on the stage;

disguised as a miner,

as they rode through the sage.

It was at the California House

that this mole exited the rig

ta' signal Bell an' the others

that the gold was on board, so do the gig.

Back out on the trip

along the wild country road,

the gang rode up ta' the stage,

intent on stealin' the load.

But the driver John Greer

didn't stop, he went faster.

An' the "lesser of evils"

soon became a disaster.

Bill Dobson rode shotgun,

an' he used one quite well.

He killed Juan Fernandez,

then wounded Tom Bell.

No gold was lost an' they made it ta' town,

but the townfolk were soon in a rage.

Cuz' two men were wounded,

an' the barber's wife died on that stage.

When the posse came back empty,

Bell's ego got the best of the man.

Instead of leavin' like they should,

he mocked the law, sayin' "Catch me if you can."

So rewards were quickly posted

 an' they were caught one by one.

The first would squeal on the next,

there was no real honor among these sons of a gun.

It was Gristy who ratted out Bell,

he's at Firebaugh Ferry near the San Joaquin.

An' it was thereabouts they got him,

caught on the trail by a posse he hadn't seen.

The posse that got Bell

was in fact led by a judge.

But when it came ta' the law

this judge was willin' ta' fudge.

The possemen veered off

the upstandin' an' honorable road.

They became vigilantees

an' were willin' ta' bear the guilt load.

Yet Bell did not quiver,

nor shiver, or shake.

It had all been his choice,

so the punishment he'd take.

The posse admired Bell's grit

an' granted him a bit more time

ta' write "Good-bye" ta' his ma,

an' Mrs. Hood, who had helped him in crime.

They even offered Bell a last shot of whiskey,

an' he thanked them like friends.

Then they let him pray,

ta' make personal amends.

Then over the head

the rope he did take.

The horse was slapped once,

Bell fell, an' his neck it did break.

The heroic war doctor who had become a thief

could forget all his sins an' now rest in peace.

Beckwith Brothers: wearing tarnished tin

When yer' star doesn't shine

very few will pay you any mind.

Just ask John an' Robert Beckwith,

real brothers, an' brothers in law... the tarnished kind.

Ya' see, they were part of the Murphy-Dolan crowd,

who battled the McSween Regulators in the Lincoln County War.

In fact, both brothers took part in stoppin' an' killin' John Tunstall,

an action any reasonable person would abhor.

That was the action that kicked off the war

an' the bloodbath that followed.

Though there was equal callousness on both sides:

the souls of the combatants had hollowed.

John barely made it passed six months

from that infamous day

before he too felt the sting of hot lead.

Though not from the war,

he surprised John Jones rustlin' his herd,

an' when they both drew, Jones shot him dead.

Yet brother Bob had even gone quicker,

just shy of turning twenty.

The day Billy the Kid an' his crew were hold up in McSween's store

as the bullets were flyin' a' plenty.

In a foolish show of bravado Bob stood in clear sight,

walked ta' the store an' tried ta' arrest them alone.

He died in a hail of gunfire with a shot ta' the eye,

as the Bonney crew charged forth

over his corpse that lay prone.

Though McSween bit the dust

on that very spot as well.

Kind of makes ya' wonder

if they carried on in the after-life,

since they were both shot ta' hell.

Cullen Baker: the Arkansas brigand

This here's the tale of Cullen Baker,

from Weakley County

in the state of Tennessee.

He was born the son of a dirt-poor sod-buster

who up an' moved his family ta' Texas,

with hopes of escapin' their misery.

Skin an' bones was Baker's lot,

an' his homespun pants an' shoeless feet

made him the brunt of many a jokes.

He took it fer' awhile,

but only as a child,

til his mean-streak struck an' he beat back the pokes.

He acquired a hog-leg

at the young age of twelve,

an' practiced daily ta' become a crack shot.

He then got a saddle-gun

an' repeated the routine,

an' he grew a rep backin' down adults more often than not.

He was more mean tempered

than a skunk on its way to a perfume soiree,

an' bullyin' folks just made him frisky.

The rebel in him really kicked up

at the age of fifteen,

when his evil trait partnered with whiskey.

He would drink an' he'd brag

of many deeds that he'd done,

though not one of them deeds were true.

An' when no one tried ta' stop him,

it just urged him on,

until he bullied most folks that he knew.

Baker went way beyond mean,

he was downright sadistic,

like thinkin' it's funny ta' chase an old man out of town.

Then at the age of nineteen,

after startin' kids in a mock battle,

he was conked on his noggin' an' nearly put six-feet down.

Laid up fer' weeks

on account of the blow,

most folks prayed it knocked in some sense.

He said he'd reformed

an' got himself hitched,

but the calm wouldn't last cuz' he was too dense.

He forced other teens

ta' carry his weight,

jabbed them with knives, or pistol-whipped them instead.

He'd tell them one thing,

then change his mind,

yet still bully them fer' not doin' what he said.

Stallcup, an orphan,

was lashed with a whip,

so bad that his guardian took Baker ta' court.

Where a witness named Bailey

testified fer' the youth,

but he shouldn't have stayed, he should've rode fer' the Fort.

Cuz' Baker weren't sent-up

he was given a fine,

then went fer' his horse with one place ta' go.

There had ta' be payback,

an' it had ta' be quick,

though his rep was intact, his ego said, "No."

So he rode like the wind,

than dismounted his steed,

an' called Bailey out; time ta' settle the score.

Bailey's kin said, "Stay here."

But he grabbed a gun an' stepped out,

only ta' be hit with two shots an' sent back thru the door.

Baker jumped in the saddle

an' off he did run,

just ta' play hide'n'seek with the law.

He left Cass County,

went ta' seek relatives,

way over the border in ol' Arkansas.

But mean is as mean does

an' Baker could not stop the doin',

he stabbed a feller' ta' death over some horses.

Yep, one thing's fer' certain

back in the old west

they never heard of anger management courses.

So he hightailed it to Cass,

figuring two years was plenty,

they'd forget all about his earlier sin.

But to his shocked dismay

he still was quite wanted,

in fact, many folk wanted ta' see him brought in.

So he turned on his heels

an' he ran like a sissy,

right back ta' Perry County ta' keep on a hidin'.

Just a drinkin' an' brawlin',

with his relatives supportin',

an' old west deadbeat with his time he was bidin'.

Now after four years

Baker finally decided

ta' go get his little girl an' his wife.

But this new arrangement

 lasted less than two years,

the misses passed away an' he left his child fer' life.

Now the slow movin' law in Perry

finally decided ta' charge Baker

fer' the stabbin' death a few years before.

Yet word reached him again

before they could clap him in irons,

an' he fled back ta' Cass County once more.

Now the officials in Cass

fell flat on their ass,

they dropped the Bailey murder charge, which is downright silly.

An' Baker repeated the claim

that he'd reformed once again,

then married himself his second young filly.

But soon he was conscripted

into the gray coat Confederates,

an' sent ta' serve with a company in Little Rock.

But Baker was a spoiled brat

in an' adult body,

so army discipline gave him a shock.

He oft times went AWOL,

til he never went back,

he got him some acres an' started a farm.

Growin' corn fer' the confederacy,

or so he would claim,

but it was really the rules that caused him such alarm.

Ironically, the area he chose

was under Union occupation

in the Spring of sixty-four; most of which were black.
Baker's hatred was universal,
he'd hurt anyone an' cared not a wit,
but his bias fer' coloreds was at the head of the pack.
One day, three black soldiers
an' their sergeant did appear
in the Spanish Bluffs bar where Baker stood drinkin'.
They saw his "Johnny Reb" hat
an' started towards him;
it was four-to-one, so they didn't do much thinkin'.
The Sarge said, "Gimmee yer' papers,
let's see who ya' are."
So Baker drew steel, pulls the trigger an' shoots.
The sergeant went down,
an' then the three others,
all four hit the floor, an' died in their boots.
He was now a man without a country,
sought by both sides,
as deserter by the gray, an' killer by the blue.
So he fled ta' Little Rock
an' hid in plain sight;
he figured if blacks could be Yankees, he could too.
But this plan that he thought
was truly fool proof,
got the best of him inspite of his lies.
Cuz' they gave him a blue coat,
then put him in charge
of an entire company of those colored guys.
Thus up he did flee,
he deserted again,
back down ta' Texas to his uncle, Tom Young.
Well Texas was chalk full
of freebootin' deserters
with their paths leadin' toward a place ta' be hung.
Course, Baker fit right in
with a group of these bandits,
an' as mean as he was he soon took the lead.
They stole from the farmers,
then looted the ranchers,
took anything of value, from stock ta' the feed.
Mrs. Drew, a ranch owner,
once even paid Baker
ta' return the herd his own bandit crew took.
Unaware as she counted
the cash ta' his hand,
that he was the low-down rustlin' crook.
Now when the war ended
Baker hightailed it again,
afraid that the law might focus more on him then.
So he ran the Line Ferry,
returned ta' his second wife,
an' acted as if he would now fit right in.
Wife number two died
while under his care,
an' some say his reality went further astray.
He made a lifelike effigy of her,
adorned with her clothes,
an' put it on the porch til townfolk urged it be taken away.
But if he was so much in love
why did he then
propose ta' her sixteen-year old sister?
Though she spurned his advance,
an' went fer' the school teacher,
which irritated Baker like a big pus-filled blister.
Thomas Orr had a bum arm,
an' he was a bookworm not a fighter,
but it didn't stop Baker from crackin' his head with a stick.
An' when he recovered
an' back ta' school went ta' teach,
Baker bullied him there in front of the kids: how sick.
Baker was so insecure
that it wounded his pride,
that any girl would choose a cripple over him.
It's amazin' Orr survived
a year's worth of bullyin'
without the church choir singin' his last hymn.
Then Baker took off,
he returned ta' Cass County,
where he began, once more, his evil ways.
He robbed the Rowden store,
then later killed Rowden,
cuz' the shopkeeper told him ta' pay.
But just as before
the law moved too slow,
it took days ta' mount a posse ta' ride.
 So Baker sent word back ta' town,
he threatened death ta' all comers,
cuz' this time he chose not ta' hide.
Sadly, the townfolk gave in,
said let the soldier boys do it,
so a patrol of troops was sent out ta' look.
Two bluecoats came upon Baker
while he was at Pett's Ferry,
an' he lied about his name but they saw thru the crook.
Though it did them no good,
Baker shot the sergeant on his horse,
with four shots in him he was dead in the saddle.
So the private lost heart,
whipped at his horse,
he figured it was best ta' skedaddle.
Baker fled ta' Bowie County,
where he was surrounded by troops,
but he hollered "Charge them, boys!" A straightout bluff.
But the soldiers fell fer' it,
they all ran off in a panic,
until their superiors growled in a huff.
Then Baker killed another trooper,
an' awhile after that
he put the driver of a supply wagon in his grave.
His rep was a risin',
despised by most all,
a thousand dollar reward was put up fer' this misbehaved.
He was tracked down again,
til Baker did the Captain in,
an' fled off once more durin' the confusion.
He formed another bandit crew,
took ta' stealin' an' robbin' once more,
then killed two government men durin' an unlucky intrusion.
Then when tracked by a swarm
he stole an officer's uniform,
cuz' he knew what ta' do with the disguise.
He'd ride ta' the ranches,
an' ride ta' the farms,
in order ta' ask an' receive a heap of supplies.
With lawmen an' troopers
all after his hide
he foolishly went back ta' the girl who snubbed his advance.
She was married ta' Orr now,
which made Baker madder,
he got ta' the point he was near in a trance.
He told his ex-father-in-law
ta' send out the cripple,
an' the callous old-fool did it.
"We won't hurt him none,
jus' send him on out,"
then they fixed up a noose an' stuck his neck in it.
Hung from a tree,
but somehow he survived,
it was the costliest mistake Baker had done.
That mild-mannered teacher
grew a backbone of iron,
recovered from the injury, then strapped on a gun.
It was January sixth
eighteen-sixty an' nine,
when Baker an' a pal were found by three others an' Orr.
Trailed them back to a hideout
in southeastern Arkansas,
an' they looked all around ta' see if there were anymore.
The two were alone
an' as they squat by the fire
Orr an' his men came in blastin' lead.
No words ta' alert,
no stoppin' til done,
they kept on shootin' til both bandits lay dead.
On closer inspection
they'd made the right choice,
cuz' Baker alone was a walkin' arsenal.
Four six-guns, three palm-guns,
an' a half-dozen knives,
an' a double-barrelled scatter-gun showed Orr made the right call.
So the man Baker tormented
an' claimed he could do anythin' to,
was the man who finally tracked him down an' done him in.
The man with the ego
tryin' ta' be the legend,
lay dead with newsclippings calling himself "the Arkansas brigand."
It makes ya' think once,
perhaps even twice,
about what really gives a person his worth.
But at least in this case,
though, sadly, not always
the meek did inherit the Earth.

Bascom Affair: the case of the wrong Apache

If somethin' happens to ya'

don't let the situation fool ya'

an' make sure ya' get the facts straight from the start.

Too many times we've seen it happen,

when the tongue begins its flappin',

that the truth an' what is said turn out ta' be quite far apart.

There's an Arizona case

which became a big disgrace,

cuz' two men went about it both half-cocked.

Johnny Ward's adopted son

an' some cattle were on the run,

they were took right off his land an' left him shocked.

So he mixed up some facts

on which Apaches left the tracks,

an' he told this tale of falsehood to a Second Lieu:

George Bascom was the name

of the Second Looey who would gain "fame"

cuz' he didn't wait ta' find out what was true.

Ward said it was Cochise

that shattered his family's peace,

by absconding with his boy, an' his beef.

So Bascom had a message sent,

come sit an' talk within a tent,

yet it was only a trap ta' catch the chief.

But Cochise could not be grabbed,

yet six braves of his were nabbed,

so the chief set his tribe on the warpath.

First, Cochise tried an exchange,

Bascom refused... mighty strange,

since it sparked a twelve-year war: a real bloodbath.

In just one week fer' sayin' "no"

sixteen whites to death did go,

an' Bascom hung the six braves in reply.

From eighteen-sixty til seventy-two

this war would not be through,

an' a heap of lives were lost over a lie.

Major General Howard,

quite the opposite of coward,

came out ta' see if he can bring some peace.

So he met with the chief,

it was time ta' end this grief,

an' he bound the promise with the great Cochise.

The poor abducted boy

faced a life without joy,

he'd been taken by a different Apache band.

He resurfaced ten years late,

with a life he learned ta' hate,

he was the symbol of the tension in the land.

Felix Tellez had been his name,

it was changed ta' hide the shame,

the moniker he chose was "Mickey Free."

Though years beyond his return

the anger still did burn,

cuz' no one gave Cochise an apology.

Rattlesnake Dick or Brainless Barter?

The son of a British officer,

Richard Barter was his name,

though he answered most ta' Rattlesnake Dick.

Though he was schooled when he was young,

an' weren't no pauper's child,

his choices seemed ta' come from a brainless hick.

He took off ta' California

for ta' pan himself some gold,

but found out it were too much work fer' nothin'.

When he struckout with the mining

he still had a get rich itch,

an' decided ta' scratch the itch with a little rustlin'.

But no fortune did he make

when he chose that law ta' break,

just a two-year stint a sittin' in a cell.

Yet upon his release

he quickly crossed the line,

an' charted him a path straight on toward hell.

He formed himself another gang

with some others,

like the outlaw brothers Cy an' George Skinner.

With thoughts of leavin' rustlin' behind

with dreams of movin' up,

convinced his plan was a 24-carat winner.

They learned from a drunk,

a big mouth mining engineer,

about large shipments of Trinity Mountain gold.

So Barter sent George Skinner,

accompanied by a trio,

figuring one hold-up would get them a Mother Lode.

Well, Skinner did his part,

takin' the mule-train outside Nevada City,

an' comin' away with $80,000 in gold ore.

So off they rode ta' rendezvous

with his brother Cy an' Barter,

but soon discovered their good luck was no more.

Barter an' Cy couldn't show,

they were pinched fer' stealin' mules,

an' sat dumbfounded within the local jail.

Of course, upon their release

they sought Cy's brother George,

a wantin' ta' get their share of the loot.

But they found ta' their dismay,

George was in Boot Hill,

he crossed paths with detectives an' chose ta' shoot.

Yet most the gold was unrecovered,

they had buried it on the mount,

but those who knew where no longer had breath ta' tell.

So Barter an' Cy spent weeks on the mount,

diggin' here an' diggin' there,

an' comin' back with nothin' but an urge ta' kill.

Thick headed as he were

Barter failed ta' learn the lesson,

chose instead ta' rob himself a stage.

But Sheriff J. Boggs

tracked the two bandits across the river,

over the hills, an' through the prairie sage.

Then trapped the varmints in a pass

in Auburn, California,

on July 11th, eighteen an' fifty-nine.

Of course, instead of raisin' hands,

they foolishly chose ta' raise steel,

but one shot ta' the heart sent Barter into hell ta' dine.

Boggs only fired a single-shot,

but it did young Barter in,

his deputies then wounded Cy.

They brought him in

an' quickly found him guilty,

sent him ta' prison fer' a spell, then off he went ta' die.

The facts in this are simple,

Barter died just how he lived,

makin' choices as if he were brainless.

The problem bein' a rattlesnake,

they often warn they're there;

they give themselves away, an' their death is rarely painless.

Now here's a bit of truth

ya'll might just like ta' hear,

that buried gold has never yet been found.

It's been a hundred an' fifty years,

with multitudes a lookin',

but the secret is still safe an' the gold's still in the ground.