The Good Horse Fred

The cowboy he rode on out of the hills Slumped over his good horse Fred. Covered in dust, the least of his ills, Both he and the horse half-dead. He took a long drink to clear his head, And felt a shutter, then a long wait, In the motion of poor Fred’s gate. He looked back and saw no more foe No sight of old Mad Dog Giles, Who’d chased him hard, both high and low For forty frantic and breathless miles, Across endless, hardened, desert tile. Giles had chased, determined to slay The cowboy who loved a girl in his pay. Over mountain slopes of broken stone, Through a canyon of red-hued rock, Through alkali sinks, scattered with bones, The Mad Dog his prey had stalked. The cowboy, his foe, could not out-fox. But the good horse Fred was the best of steads, And ran till the other dropped of fatigue. The cowboy he climbed out of the saddle, Glad to finally move his own feet. Fred gave a whinny, the cowboy looked down At a swollen and bulging knee, It was broken, he could clearly see. A flash of rage burned in his soul, To see the chase’s heavy toll. The cowboy fumed, ranted, and raged He’d raised good Fred from birth! This stallion had taken him ‘cross the range, Through tall mountains and deserts adverse, And now he was doomed to the Earth… His only true friend, would soon be gone Thanks to a mad man’s temper and imagined wrongs. He saw no use prolonging the end, He whispered words and stroked Fred’s face. The gun quivered in shaky hands, But the barrel, it found the place. He squeezed, and Fred met his fate. The cowboy fell down to his knees, And roared out loud in agony. When he rose again his stare was cold, He made no effort to fool himself. For the love of a horse, both strong and bold, He’d sent that damn bastard to hell! And through time the tales would tell: That a broken cowboy, driven by wrath Had made the Mad Dog breath his last…