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...The days went by, and not that much changed,
Black Ken’s gang ruled with orders deranged,
bled people’s coin, every day the same,
and I could just stand by and look.

And when they seemed to grow bored with that,
they were surprised to see him come back,
the Sodbuster, with supplies to pack,
Ken looked at him, and his head shook.

“That man, somehow, has escaped out reach,
I think a lesson we should now teach,
his farm should not be that harm to seek,
Sherriff, where does that farmer live?

And I answered, to eternal shame,
“He has a spread, out past Bryson’s range.”
They smiled as if playing a game,
on in which no quarter they’d give.

When they rode out, I did turn my eyes,
I’d sentenced the sodbuster to die,
to try and save my own shameful life…
there was no justice in this place.

An hour passed, and then I heard shots,
at least Sodbuster gave it back hot,
a man who gave as good as he got,
would die with some pride, and some grace.

An hour on, Sodbuster rode in,
we all looked on, quite stunned to see him,
his face was bloody, his features grim,
his vest was torn up by a graze.

He rode to me, and said, “That Ken guy
and his bandits in my field do lie,
you and the mortician should swing by,
before the vultures have their play.”

What that he went, had himself a drink,
said nothing, just let the townsfolk think,
What kind of farmer could do such things?
Then he just rode on out again.

The townsfolk kicked me out of my post,
I can’t blame them, but then they did go
to Sodbuster, but he just said, “no,”
he sought no status amongst men.

Some people just seek their own ends.

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