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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 'Twas an ominous moment when rode into town To its marshal defy and outdraw and gun down A notorious, murderous varmint named Slade Who had widows and orphans throughout the west made. The next morning, as destined, they met on the street To for title of gunfighter finest compete. Marshal Matson, with duty to outlaw arrest, Versus Slade, risking life in the ultimate test. At a distance the townspeople gathered to see The historical challenge that thrilling should be. Two tall figures unconquered and stoic and brave, With the loser interred in a premature grave. Foes whose shadowy faces beneath Stetson brim Wore expressions determined, ferocious, and grim. Hands were poised over holsters attached to their thighs, Jaws were set, hands were steady, and angry were eyes. Doomed to sprawl in the dust would be gunslinger slain, While the victor would toasted and honored remain. Marking one more rash braggart whose lifetime is done Would be notch newly carved in his pearl-handled gun. No one knows who drew first for the blur was too fast. Barrels blazed in a loud, simultaneous blast. Then a second and third and again and again Until chambers were empty, but still stood two men. Errant bullets great havoc had caused all around. Precious water was gushing from tower through holes. An unfortunate, low-flying buzzard was downed, Signs were dangling from hinges, and riddled were poles. From the crowd that was watching arose a great roar, But of laughter, not cheering as always before. The combatants, embarrassed and hanging their heads, Scurried back to concealment in brothel room beds. All night long drunken witnesses filled the saloons To guffaw, raise a rumpus, and target spittoons. While on opposite ends of the town slinked away Into darkness two shadows disgraced on that day. So astoundingly awful and wayward was aim That the pair's reputations were never the same. Butts of jokes the names Matson and Slade have since been. Still remembered for showdown that neither could win.
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