Category: Western

Stories about the old west

A Lesson Well Learned

      Lesson Well Learned

It was hot. Well over 110 degrees.

The air was hot. No trace of a breeze.

Sand as far as the eye could see.

This could well be the end of me.

So thought the miner as he walked.

Alone in the desert with his thoughts.

He came to the desert looking for gold.

Rumors said it was there, so, on he rode.

Till his horse stepped in a hole.

It staggered then went into a roll.

The miner was thrown free.

The horse had broken it’s leg, you see.

The poor horse had to be shot.

The minor didn’t know if he could or not.

In the end he pulled the trigger.

‘Now, how do I get out of here?’, he figured.

He started walking West.

Occasionally stopping to get rest.

After a day or so, his water was running low.

He rested under a small out cropping.

A breeze blew the sand off the topping.

He looked at it, but, he couldn’t believe.

The out cropping was gold., if he wasn’t deceived.

He checked it out much more closely.

It was quartz with veins of gold mostly.

He was ecstatic!! He would stake a claim.

But, he didn’t know which way he came.

He didn’t know where he was

The wind was blowing with a buzz.

Soon the out cropping might disappear

under the sand and not reappear.

He decided to carry out all he could.

He worked hard where the quartz stood.

Exhausted, he finally had a large pile.

He decided to sit and rest for awhile.

He stuffed all the quartz in his pack.

It was really heavy on his back.

Then he realized, as it was told.

He couldn’t walk out with that much gold.

He buried most of it in the sand.

Then left with a couple pieces like a man.

He would have died if he hadn’t been found

face down in the sand with no one around.

He still nearly died from dehydration.

His life was saved by the Indian Nation.

The quartz paid for another horse and supplies.

Then, for the next 20 years he tried

to find that out cropping in the desert sand.

He covered every inch of that land.

He still thinks back to his decision time.

Carry out a lot of gold or leave some behind.

Though he never found the gold again.

He knows he made the choice to win.

For he finally realized that life is worth

all the gold there is on earth.——————R. W. Johnson—–(2013)

 

 

 

 

Pacos Pete

      Pacos Pete

Pacos Pete was ornery old sot.

Lived in a shack & slept on a cot.

This old goat was a loner, it seems.

Most people he met was in his dreams.

Some say a hermit is what he was.

It was harsh, though he never had a love.

The desert was his home.

He liked living alone.

A small spring in the back of his place

was enough for Pete to wash his face.

It was enough for other little things.

A bath was rare, usually in the spring.

Pete didn’t like other people around.

Only once a month he went into town.

A feisty coot, even though he was old.

He would pay for his supplies in gold.

No one ever bothered old Pete.

Town folk made sure he got something to eat.

One day , some ’no gooders’  came to town.

They were out just roaming around.

Here came Pete on his way into town.

The bad boys looked at Pete with a frown.

Pete went into the general store.

Loaded up his truck & went back for more.

How can he afford that the baddies thought?

Look at how much stuff he has bought.

Pete went into the café for a bite.

Just as soon as he was out of sight

the baddies went into the general store.

They asked the clerk how the old guy scored.

“What?” said the clerk.  “Did he have cash?”

“No, he pays in gold.” said the clerk with a laugh.

The bad boys were shocked to hear this.

One of them said “Well, ain’t that a bitch.”

They planned to follow Pete when he left.

This would be their biggest theft.

Pete came out & drove away in his truck.

The bad boys followed crossing their fingers for luck.

Pete headed straight into the desert.

It was very hot that day in the desert.

Pete kept driving. He had a long way to go.

The bad boys car was starting to slow.

Pete made it home a little after dark.

Next morning he was awakened by a lark.

He went outside  & saw buzzards circling.

Pete knew that could only mean one thing.

He got in his truck to check it out.

It was  drier than usual due to the drought.

He found the bad boys car dead in the road.

The ‘owners were nowhere around,  it’s told.

Pete knew the buzzards meant they didn’t make it.

Just as well he thought. most people can’t take it.

Pete had no knowledge what almost happened to him.

But, Pete didn’t worry. It wasn’t in him.

So goes the tale of Pacos Pete.

If you pass his way bring him a treat.

Pete will be polite, but he won’t be a friend.

Pete will live alone till the very end.

—————————————————-R. W. Johnson—–(2014)

 

 

 

 

 

Vengeance Is Mine

 

Vengeance Is Mine

The day it happened I was young.

Not yet old enough to use a gun.

They came riding onto our ranch.

We weren’t ready. We had no chance.

Mama told me “Hide in the woodbox.”

I jumped in quick as a scared fox.

Mama barely closed the lid

before they saw where I was hid.

They drew guns & demanded money.

Papa said we had no money.

They looked over and shot him dead.

The bullet hit him in the head.

I peeked out from within the box.

The man was tall with golden locks.

He had a scar running down his face.

He threw my mama around the place.

He said “The money or your dead too.”

Mama said “I have no money for you.”

The man shot her in the face.

Then he & his men wrecked the place.

They found liquor and started to drink.

One took a leak right in the sink.

They laughed and cursed and finally left.

Took all they wanted in the theft.

I came out of my hiding place.

I cried when I saw my mama’s face.

I vowed vengeance, then I cried.

“Each one of them will have to die.”

I started practicing day and night.

Shooting  a gun till I got it right.

I had sold the ranch to get the cash.

Bought ammo & trained till I got fast.

I fired standing up and sitting down.

I fired running and from the ground.

I fired riding and over a wall.

I practiced till no one could beat my draw.

I practiced for many years.

Day and night between my tears.

So fast people could hardly see my draw.

I hit any target, no matter how small.

Finally the day came about

When I heard the killers were about.

After a month I picked up their trail.

“It won’t be long” I began to wail.

They were in a deserted rundown church.

Their horses were tied to an old birch.

After releasing their horses I snuck closer.

I checked that my gun was loose in the holster.

They were playing cards on the podium

at a table where the Bible should have been.

They were drinking, cussing, & carrying on.

Behavior of which they seemed real fond.

I crawled up between the pews.

Soon to give them deadly news.

I drew my gun.— Was this a sin?

Then I heard my mama’s voice again.

‘Treat others as you’d want them to treat you.’

‘It is wrong to kill though they be a fool.’

Suddenly, as the tears came down,

I tossed my gun up front on the ground.

The bandits jumped up and drew their guns.

They saw me and knew I was the one.

The one who had followed them for weeks.

They would finish me for keeps.

As they started to blow me away,

the ceiling fell in crushing their play.

I stood up and thanked the Lord above.

I asked for forgiveness & was given love.

Today he is the pastor of that very church.

It was rebuilt by townsfolk who knew his worth.

He is popular with his sermons.

Especially when he tells what turned him.

His mama’s voice,  (or was it God’s voice.)

That made him make a different choice.

Made him what he is today.

God’s servant in every way———————R. W. Johnson—-(2011)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Gambler

                           The Gambler

On a rainy spring day I rode into town.

I turned from side to side, looking all around.

I had six months worth of pay on my bod.

I was planning to gamble with this wad.

Learner’s Saloon: Cards – Music – Drinks.

This looks like the place—I think.

I entered, brushing off the rain and mud.

I saw him in the back, sitting, dealing stud.

It was a gambler all dressed in black.

Sitting in the corner, the wall at his back.

“May I join in?” I asked those playing.

The gambler nodded yes without so saying.

It took me an hour to get warmed up.

I saw the gambler was not a man to bluff.

After a few hours, the others dropped out.

Just the gambler and I continued our bout.

The chips shifted from me to him.

Then they shifted back again.

When it came to the final draw.

I knew one of us would win it all.

He raised high and I called his bluff.

Then, I found I didn’t have enough.

He said “Put up the cash or you have to fold.”

At that point I was feeling mighty old.

I dug deep into my stash.

I barely came up with enough cash.

I said, “You’ve been called.”  And I showed four nines.

He put A, K, Q, J, of diamonds—The next blew my mind.

It was the 10 of hearts—I HAD WON!!

But, celebrating was over before it had begun.

The gambler didn’t say a thing.

The silence was thick, like in a dream.

“You did good; you’ve won the pot” he said.

“It’s late. I think I’ll head for bed.”

“I sure wouldn’t mind another drink.”

“But, you’ve won all my money—I think.”

“Have one on me.”  As I tossed him a chip.

He said “Thanks.” “Why are you doing this bit?”

I said “What do you mean by that?”

He said “Gambling and all this crap.”

“I wanna settle down. So I took a chance.”

“I have a gal. I’m gonna buy a ranch.”

He said “If you do then stay out of town,

or your ranch will no longer be around.”

“You have gambling in your blood, son.”

“Your feeling good because you won.”

“But, a gambler won’t always win.”

“Why do you think they call it a sin?”

With that said, he stood up to go.

I said “If I’m asked to gamble, I’ll say no!!”

He said “It doesn’t work that way .”

There was nothing else for me to say.

Deep inside I knew he was right.

I knelt and said a prayer that night.

“Lord, what the gambler said was true.”

“Keep this Lord between me and you.”

“Help me never to gamble again.”

“Don’t let me ever commit that sin.”

—– 0 —–

Years later, at the ranch with my wife and kids,

I thanked the Lord . All this was really his.

I also thanked the gambler a lot.

For giving me more than just the pot.——–R. W. Johnson—–(2005)