Billy the Kid Escapes

Once when Billy the Kid was in jail
Bob Ollinger crowed without fail
Until Billy broke free
And with both barrels did he
Plug Bob like a quivering quail

Billy Breckenridge vs Curly Bill Brocius

Billy Breckenridge carried a star
They say he was fearless by far
So when Curly Bill Brocius
Began acting atrocious
Billy's bullet carved out a face scar

Charles Bassett: level-headed lawman

Any town with a level-headed lawman

has a beneficial asset.

An' one of the best

in all the West

was Charles "Charlie" Bassett.

Bassett was the first sheriff

in Ford County an' Dodge City.

With a star made of tin

he was ready ta' begin

in the summer of eighteen-seventy an' three.

Bassett's law-dog career

spanned pert' near thirty years,

an' each of them he held his head up high.

He had no fancy rig,

an' no lickety-split quick draw,

so folks often wondered why he didn't die.

I suppose it can be said,

why no outlaw shot him dead,

cuz' he kept his wits about him at all times.

In the heat of the moment

Bassett kept his cool:

choosing not ta' spark any further crimes.

When judgin' character traits,

Bassett seemed ta' be first rate,

he always surrounded himself with better men.

They weren't better at the law,

just better on the draw,

an' Bassett chose a strategy ta' use them.

He deputized Wyatt Earp,

a law dog like his brothers.

An' he backed up Ed an' Bat Masterson,

who respected him like many others.

Bassett backed Earp's play

when trackin' James "Spike" Kennedy,

the rogue who killed showgirl Dora Hand.

Yet, quite often he took the lead

when facing the outlaw breed,

his level-head was priceless in command.

Perhaps ya' might recall

a lead-slingin' brawl

between Cock-Eyed Frank Loving an' Levi Richardson.

It got down ta' the nitty-gritty,

leavin' Richardson far from pretty,

an' Bassett came on scene with a holstered gun.

Loving aimed at the chest

of the badge wearin' guest,

an' Bassett deliberately advanced.

He soon stood face-ta'-face,

of fear there was no trace,

an' seemed ta' put Cock-Eyed Frank in a trance.

At that point the killin' was done,

Bassett reached out an' took the gun,

then put on the bracelets made of steel.

An' just like every other bad gent

awaitin' justice fer' consequence,

Loving swore he was gettin' a raw deal.

But Bassett only caught 'um,

then he brought 'um in,

he never saw himself as judge or jury.

Three decades with a star,

during a time few got that far:

his body ached --

but his heart never did weary.

He now stands with the best

in a league above the rest,

where badmen will never be allowed.

He ditched danger fer' fun,

shootin' Cupid's arrows instead of a gun,

while huntin' frisky fillies in the clouds.

Jesse Tyler: one unlucky lawman

Perhaps some men shouldn't be lawmen.

If yer' unlucky at cards

ya' might lose yer' shirt.

If yer' unlucky at love

yer' feelin's get hurt.

But if ya' put on a badge

an' don't have much luck,

ya' best be quick on the draw

or learn how ta' duck.

Jess Tyler put on a badge

in the state of Utah.

When he first wore the star

he felt rather tall.

He tried ta' be honest,

he tried ta' be true,

he handled his duties

an' lived by the rules.

He sought cattle rustlers,

he'd chase a horse thief,

he'd dump on mean drunks

fer' spreadin' their grief.

He'd punch a loud braggart,

he'd slap a "ho's" tail,

he'd bully a bully

then slap 'um in jail.

But times they did change,

life runs many courses.

He was sued by a horse thief's wife

fer' takin' back the stolen horses.

He would trail Butch Cassidy

an' others of the Wild Bunch.

Even sought the Sundance Kid

after somebody's hunch.

While other lawmen caught the "most wanted"

an' made themslves a name,

the infamous still eluded Jess,

he captured no big game.

He then was bested by some rustlers

in eighteen-ninety an' nine.

He should have seen it comin',

he should have read the signs.

Tyler's luck was a fadin',

at this rate it couldn't last.

He was headin' fer' a casket,

an' it looked like the die was cast.

On May 16th, in nineteen-double-oh,

Tyler led a posse near Thompson, Utah.

They sought Harvey Logan an' his rustlers,

who escaped them up a draw.

They sought them near,

they sought them wide,

they'd catch a glimpse,

then they would hide.

An' the posse soon did grumble,

a few were saddle sore,

but Tyler kept them movin',

more places to explore.

They saw a camp just off a piece,

a welcomed situation.

"There's injuns a campin',

lets go seek information."

They didn't want ta' rile 'um,

an' they didn't want 'um ta' run.

Tyler an' Sam Jenkins dismounted

an' left behind their guns.

Up ta' the camp they sauntered,

they came up unaware

that it was the rustlers camp,

an' in their sites they had 'um square.

Jenkins an' Tyler turned ta' flee,

but Logan aimed an' shot.

The smoke appeared an' cordite burned,

both lawmen laid ta' rot.

Both unarmed,

both shot in the back,

Tyler's luck had run its course.

He probably felt

as he lay dyin'

like the ass end of a horse.

When ya' take upon yer' chest a star

an' ya' hunt down onery men,

you should never leave yer' guns behind,

unless ya' want yer' life ta' end.

Now the posse saw

the two lawmen fall,

an' they spurred each cayuse.

They all fled

with fear an' dread,

an' cryin', "What's the use?"

The lawmen laid upon the ground

with creepy crawlies an' critters around,

two whole days while the cowards started drinkin'.

The courage of the posse

came back when eyes were glossy,

an' they went ta' fetch the corpses --

both of them now stinkin'.

PS:

Never leave yer' guns behind, boys.

Never leave yer' guns behind.

And fer' those whose courage

          comes in a bottle --

          you'll only tarnish the stars that shine.





John "Liver-Eating" Johnson: Crow-Killer

After the trek from Missouri ta' Montana,

John Johnson made a name fer' himself

as both sheriff an' mountain man.

He took ta' the hills an' set his traps;

beaver, deer, bear, an' buffalo,

all sayin' "Catch me if ya' can."

He loved the life,

even took an injun' wife,

who bore him a healthy child.

But while Johnson was away from home

a band of Crow came callin',

an' did things that would make him riled.

They didn't just take what they wanted,

they killed what was left in the end.

So when Johnson came back,

an' saw the aftermath of the attack,

he emotionally went over the bend.

He stayed there alone,

warmed by the hate

that countered the cold of his heart.

His private war had begun,

an' many would fall,

the Crow would pay dearly for their part.

Whenever a Crow came into his sight

it was like steppin' into a killin' zone.

Whether man-ta'-man,

or even outnumbered,

Johnson's skill fer' killin' had been honed.

With rifle or knife,

hatchet or rock,

anything at all could be used.

He would never see a human

when he looked at a Crow,

on account of how his wife had been abused.

He saw only animals,

an' animals were his trade;

ta' be caught, ta' be killed, ta' be eaten.

He even acquired the strange moniker

of "Liver-Eating Johnson"

after a witness saw him kill 'um, cut 'um,

an' then sink his teeth in.

Score upon score of Crow bit the dust,

for ten years his hate found its foe.

Then down from the mountain

ta' carry a star,

Johnson did finally go.

He put on the badge in Coulson, Montana,

an' he ruled with a rifle an' fist.

He never did carry a six-gun,

an' never started a "Dead Man's" list.

With his mountain exploits

an' peculiar peacekeeping,

even Buffalo Bill tried ta' hire him fer' shows.

But Johnson had tired of civilized life,

an' took off ta' where nobody knows.

He had no need fer' fame,

but his legend still grew,

even faster after he up an' disappeared.

"What a crock," he must think,

 of his legend nowadays,

it would be funny if he suddenly appeared.

His name has been changed,

an' facts rearranged,

all fer' the sake of a film.

Just remember what he ate,

after he began ta' hate,

an' he stuck in his knife ta' the helm.

William H. Anderson: Bring Um' Back Bill

Back in the eighteen-seventies,

within the Texas border,

was a feller' named William H. Anderson

who had a natural talent fer' law an' order.

If a stranger shot a ranger

then escaped over the hill,

they sought the man with a never quit plan,

known by some as "Bring um' Back Bill."

An' if another kind committed a crime,

a hopin' ta' make it pay,

it were a sure bet with Bill trackin' um',

he'd bring um' in ta' see a court day.

Yep, crime was mighty costly

fer' those who took the chance.

Once caught ya' see, there were options, three;

do yer' time, pay yer' fine, or take yer' place at a rope dance.

So never mistake this Bill Anderson

with the cutthroat who rode with Quantrill,

cuz' Bloody Bill took ta' killin' the innocent,

while the innocent had nothin' ta' fear from Bring um' Back Bill.

Course facts do prove that this Bill too

began the Civil War wearin' Confederate gray.

Then after some thinkin' he changed ta' Yankee blue,

switched ta' an Illinois regiment from his birth state.

Though he opted fer' Texas ta' make his home

an' take ta' wearin' the star.

Ta' be one of the best after some of the worst

was a choice he hoped would take him far.

If ya' judged by miles he truly went far,

cuz' he never stopped at the border.

From state ta' state, even Canada or Mexico,

he'd go anywhere ta' dish out law an' order.

Course Lady Luck don't follow that law,

the Law of Average is her guide.

An' we'd argue she weren't much of a lady

steppin' aside on the day that Bring um' Back Bill died.

He was given the chore ta' bring in Bill Collins,

last survivor of the Joel Collins gang.

The goal of course was ta' bring him in,

an' give him a trial before he'd hang.

Anderson gave chase, he dogged him hard

up ta' little Pembina in Manitoba, north of the U.S.

Though it looked as if Collins figured dyin' there

was jus' as easy as a rope, I guess.

Both Bill's drew their steel

an' commenced the deal

by throwin' led in the other's direction.

An' both died in the fight,

though only one in the right,

with a chance at a heavenly resurrection.

An' on that day the Good Lord may say,

I need the devil taken back ta' hell...

Send out the man

with the grit an' the sand,

none other than Bring um' Back Bill.