Cursive Kills, Part II
...Malcolm just wrote in flowing script,
the ‘fancy’ kind Wolf desired,
keeping his face resigned throughout,
looking defeated and tired.
At the bottom he drew a line,
said, “Make your mark here, and it’s done.”
Wolf laughed, and wrote in block letters.
“Guess I won’t get to use my gun!”
Malcolm just nodded at the words,
said, “There’s just one more thing to do,
go over to the land office,
Jack will register it for you.”
Wolf just gave a long, drunken laugh,
said, “At least I left you this shack!
Don’t show face in that house again,
for you’re never getting it back.
In fact, I plan to tear it down,
open more pasture for my cows,
I let you keep it for too long,
much more than I should have allowed!”
Malcolm sat there and said nothing,
just watched the bad man walk away,
then stepped out onto the boardwalk
as Wolf Michaelsen struck a pace
up into Jack Smith’s land office,
quickly disappearing inside.
If Wolf had seen Malcolm right then
he would’ve seen a smile, wide.
Ten minutes passed and Wolf came out,
walked off towards the nearest saloon,
Malcolm kept waiting and then saw
Jack Smith run out, nearly in a swoon.
He held the ‘deed’ like a cursed thing,
and hurriedly ran up the street
to the jail where Sheriff Walker
and deputies rested their feet.
Malcolm smiled, and lit his pipe,
five minutes passed, and then appeared
Sheriff Walker, two deputies,
all well-healed to inspire fear.
They tromped down to Kelly’s Saloon,
Malcolm watched them vanish inside,
he heard shouts and a shot rang out,
then quickly the night came alive.
Desperate cowboys poured out and ran,
one stumbled, grabbing at his chest,
then Wolf came out, fighting two men,
disheveled, a tear in his vest.
Walked clubbed him with his pistol,
Michaelsen was out on his feet;
they stared off for the jailhouse,
half-dragging the man down the street.
Wolf’s eyes swam from the shock and pain,
but when he passed Malcolm he froze,
cried, “I say it’s a deed I signed!
Go ask Higgs. I tell you, he knows!
The sheriff met the lawyer’s eye,
them from his vest pulled a paper,
walked over to where Malcolm stood,
said, “Sorry for causing this stir,
but Jack Smith brough this in to me,
a confession signed by this man,
saying he stole, murdered, and raped
Barton’s women, enough to damn.
But he insists it’s a land deed
that you wrote up this very night.”
Malcolm’s eyes widened at the word,
his affected ‘surprise’ just right…
CONCLUDES IN PART III
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