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The man shook and said, “They wanted some fun,
but the boy was small, he started to bleed.
Patrick threw him out back, said, ‘This one’s shot,
but we have others to see to our needs.’”

Dalton’s face darkened and he walked slowly
to the back with his gun still on the man,
saw through the window a torn up body,
where vultures fed from all across the land.

But he saw the coat, lying in tatters,
and knew that it was his Bryce lying there,
with pitiless eyes, he turned on the man,
and uttered only a single word, “Where?”

The man blubbered, “Patrick always goes north,
in a hideout near Taos you’ll find him!”
Dalton looked down, knowing what this man was,
and with one shot turned his face to ruin.

He rode north through New Mexico’s mountains,
seeing there were many places to hide,
this forced him to stop at local saloons
to see what information he could find.

He even acted just like one of them,
pretended that he preferred his ‘fun’ young,
he wanted to vomit with every word,
but with some greenbacks it got the job doe.

He rode to a valley east of Taos,
and had the time and the place he should go,
but on his way out, he saw two others,
both of them had stars, and quickly they rode.

They approached him and the older on said,
“I’m Marshall Barnes, this is Marshall Gwinnet.
We’re been trailing some bandits seen this way,
unfortunately, we ain’t found them yet.

“We’re looking for Patrick Miller and his gang,
he’s wanted for kidnapping from years back,
have you seen any riders about here?
Any sign could put us back on their track.”

Dalton just stared, and slowly shook his head,
said, “You’ve the first folk I have seen in days.”
Marshal Barnes frowned, said, “Well, do watch your back,
they’re dangerous men, so long sir, good day.”

Dalton watched them go, turned back to the trail,
no lawman would rob him of his revenge,
monsters like this didn’t deserve trials,
were too dangerous to live amongst men.

He couldn’t trust courts to make them hang,
and his son’s soul cried out loud from the grave,
Miller would die if it cost him his life,
these bastards deserved to suffer his rage.

He kept on looking for sign of Miller,
found his path going up into foothills,
early winter snow had frosted the ground,
made it easier to track for the kill.

On a ridgeline beneath tall, soaring peaks
the sign become much too blunt to ignore,
a wagon burdened with a heavy load,
and riding alongside it horses four.

CONTINUES IN PART III.
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