Fine Town of Rotgut

I've dragged this here bag of gold it seems a thousand miles, no rain, no water, no food to eat, just stagnant pools that look like bile and a few odd berries . . . Saw a sign a few miles back-- "Rotgut - town five miles due east." I'm hopin' it's better 'n it sounds cause it don't sound good fer man nor beast. prob'ly just a cemetery . . . Well, I'm here and I was right a one horse town with one saloon; don't look like much but has to do-- inside thar's just a crowd of goons. No gals to make merry . . . Hope no one notices my load, I daren't leave it on my horse; sure looks like thar a thievin' bunch, killers who don't know remorse. Prob'ly don't even bury . . . I'll get some hot food, supplies, I'm fearful tired, parched and dry -- I'll just drink what I can handle; kiss this God forsaken place good-bye. Sleep out on the pra'rie . . . Too late! They spied my bag of gold, my prospectin' tools I carried. Thar onto me, I'll have to fight or I'm the one that won't be buried-- just hung out - bird dietary . . . Well, it's done . . . I finished it, the town of Rotgut--all are dead. I fought like a demon for an hour and bashed in all thar grimy heads. Will build a cemetery . . . Now I'm mayor, priest, and sheriff town's tee total male pop'lation; Oh, fair metropolis of Rotgut the best destination in the nation. Think I'll tarry . . . Copyright, July 8, 2014 Faye Lanham Gibson