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Dalton lived in the north Texas plain,
working a ranch he owned for five years,
a small spread, but it brought some money in,
some solace after all of the past tears.

His wife had died giving birth to their son,
he’d left the east to flee the memories,
there was quiet here, more than he had known,
lot of hard work, but it did bring him peace.

His son Bryce was only eight years of age
when Dalton left him with the ranch foreman,
heading to a town to arrange a sale,
sold two hundred head for a profit grand.

He was feeling good as he went home,
they’d be set for money for the next year,
but when he saw smoke on the horizon
his heart became ice then was gripped with fear.

He raced his horse forwards, finding his home
a burned-out shell,and his ranch-hands all dead,
his foreman lying against a paddock,
a bullet-hole punched clearly through his forehead.

Dalton raced around,looking for your Bryce,
not finding the body amidst the char,
but he found horse-tracks, half-lost in the dust,
swore to follow them,no matter how far.

He pushed on two twos, finding a small town,
but the people there did not want to speak,
he offered money to draw the truth out,
enough that one gambler’s interest was piqued.

“Yeah some men were here, came through yesterday,
Patrick Miller and the rest of his gang.
They had six children,he liked to sell them,
gets a good price from a cruel-sort of man.

“They’re taken my son,“Dalton growled out.
The gambler said,“You won’t see him again.”
Dalton god mad, and pistol-whipped to fool,
then with great disgust, he threw down a ten.

He took up the trail,and once more pressed on,
into New Mexico his horse did ride,
followed it to a shabby-looking ranch,
found two drunken bandits sleeping inside.

They woke to see his shotgun pointed straight,
one said,“Mister, we’ve no quarrel with you.”
Dalton said,“A band rode through here with kids.
Tell me what you know, or I will kill you.”

One of the men gulped, shivered where he sat,
said,“Yeah, they left here twelve hours ago,
stopped here for some grub, drank down some whiskey,
is there anything else you want to know?”

“Did they have an eight-year old boy with them?”
Asked Dalton in a voice that could cut stone.
One of the men paled, the other stammered,
then broke for the door with an anguished groan.

The shotgun spoke loud, the man just collapsed,
the other man shrieked, dove under the bed.
Dalton stalked closed, said,“Tell me what happened,
or the next shot will go straight through your head.”
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