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When Monty didn’t return to the town
in sorrow the love-struck Monique was drowned,
and townsfolk clucked when they saw her tears,
would say,”It turned out just how I feared.
“You never can trust the musician sort,
they’re here one moment, then gone on their horse.”
Big Harry consoled the sobbing Monique,
she was distraught, solace she did seek.
She would find it in Harry’s strong arms,
in her shattered state, she fell for his ‘charm,’
before the month's end the two were courting,
Big Harry laughed, he’d taken everything.
The weeks went by and he formed a notion
to take his prize to where the deed had been done,
he prepared a picnic, at the perfect spot,
then rode Monique out there at a slow trot.
Harry grinned to himself at his victory
when sad Monique said,”This place is pretty.”
Oblivious, she began to unpack,
and they settled down to consume their snack.
And that’s when Harry would hear the soft strings,
at first wasn’t sure it was anything,
but it grew louder, the notes coming fast,
until he could not focus on their repast.
His mind reeled at this, it couldn't be true!
Monty was dead, and his body fish-food.
“Where is it coming from?”he finally said,
Monique looked at him as it out of his head.
He cried,”Can’t your hear it? It’s getting louder,”
and spun around looking very disturbed.
Monique didn’t know what was happening,
they were all alone, she heard not a thing.
He pulled his pistol, lookeding more deranged,
“That damn fiddle music's driving me insane!
I know you’re there, Monty! Show yourself then!
I have no problem killing you again!”
Monique’s eyes went wide at this admission,
while Harry stomped ’round in his mad condition,
she pulled a Derringers from her bust line,
took aim and shot Big Harry in the spine.
He shrieked in pain, then fell to the ground,
cried she,”I knew Monty wouldn’t leave town!”
Harry tried to stand, but his legs would move,
she grabbed his gun, said,”Now I know the Truth.”
Below his waist nothing could Harry feel,
but upon his temple he felt cold steel.
Monique saw the terror there in his eyes,
said,”They will all think it a suicide.”
She squeezed the trigger, her vengeance was done,
into lifeless hands she placed Harry’s gun,
then tore up her dress so that she could claim
he’d tried to force her, killed himself from shame.
She mounted her horse, it was now past noon,
but paused, thinking she heard a fiddle tune,
she said,”Thank you, Monty,” then rode away,
at that place some still hear the tune to this day.
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