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[Every good story needs a sub plot, so…]

He watched from his vantage point on the bank’s roof
And looked out for folk that he knew were uncouth
His years on the run had made him aloof
But soon he would get ‘them’ to utter the truth

The dust kicking up on the path through the hills
Was quite likely ‘kicked’ by the cause of his ills
A man who he knew by his face, not his name
A man who had brought him unwarranted shame

For some time he’d lurked in the shadows by day
Of this town’s affairs he could have little say
He’d come to know faces and possibly yours
But nothing of happenings behind closed doors

He turned, cocked his gun and said, “Stop; who goes there?”
A voice in the gloom said, “I am the Mayor.
Of your presence here we have been well aware
But of these townsfolk you have harmed not one hair

With all sorts of politics happening here
I’ve no time for vagrants, am I being clear
So why is it that you are loitering here
And hiding away, what is it you fear?”

The outlaw said, “I am a man badly wronged.
The condiment for which this town truly longed
Was filtered away on a long ago night
You call it ‘The night of the missing marmite.’

“I now seek the man who besmirched my good name
He stole your yeast extract but I got the blame
I’ve watched your town, searching for that face of his
But I just can’t work out who everyone is

The Mayor said, “You’ve made quite a stringent denial,
Why not come forward and face formal trial,
And if they decide you took that salty spread,
You won’t need to hide cos you’ll be good and dead.”

The outlaw was stunned and he lifted his head,
“Say one more time what you only just said,
Only one man ever said ‘Good and dead’,
And I came to leave that man dead in his bed

“So stand in the light and show me your face
I know it was you who left me in disgrace 
I hoped you had vanished without any trace
How did you get to be mayor of this place?”

The mayor pulled a gun. “Gonna have me some fun,
And you’re gonna pay for what they think you done!
The marmite you speak of, I left the town none
It’s all in my cellar… there’s almost a ton.”

The outlaw said, “You could pull your trigger, but
I’ve got a forty-five stuck in your gut
That girlie Derringer might indent my skin
But I’ll blow your testicles out through your grin.”

The mayor dropped his gun and he said with a frown.
“Why did you have to come back to this town
I thought you were finished when you were sent down
What will it take to stop you hanging round?”

“The marmite you stole,” the outlaw began,
“Was bought by the town for each woman and man
And I’m here to do everything that I can
To get it all back. My gun is my plan.”

***

And so with the dawn of a Wild-West day
The towns people found themselves full of dismay
The return of the goo that had been took away
Meant that would be breakfast now, day after day

The mayor told the people who they need to seek
They found him and gagged him before he could speak
They told him, “We can’t eat that garbage, you freak.”
Then bound him and threw that man into the creek
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