Sweet Armaline

Down in the town of Nuevo Laredo The riders of Don Carlos came: They kidnapped a captive to take to their leader, And sweet Armaline was her name. And I had to run, I hadn’t a horse or a gun, I was seventeen, Like sweet Armaline. I worked for a year, and I bought me a saddle, A horse, and a gun of my own, And everyone saw from the look in my eye, and The way that I walked, I was grown. Down Old Mexico, I asked everyone, “Do you know, Has anyone seen My sweet Armaline?” Inside a cantina I finally entered, I knew that I wouldn’t look far: A Mexican woman who looked six months pregnant, Was wiping the beer from the bar. She drew me a beer, But otherwise wouldn’t come near, My border-town queen, It was Armaline. Don Carlos came up with a Remington rifle, But he bought my beer and he smiled; I drank to his health, and I drank to his woman, And drank to their soon-born child. He said, “Better ride, Or else commit suicide If you come between— Forget Armaline!” My hand it was quick and my rifle was ready, But Armaline laughed in my eyes; I waved them farewell and I rode out of town then, Back under wide-open skies.