My sister said, "Let's go dancing.""Not a chance."
"I don't know how. I don't know how to dance."
"They give beginner's lessons at The Yellow Rose.”
"They'll have a live band to keep you on your toes."
I gave in to her begging and gathered up my spunk.
Those at the Rose were probably already drunk.
So I said, "What the heck; how hard's it gonna be?
Those guys are too busy to watch the likes of me."
In most of my endeavors, it's always been my fate,
there's some hidden truth that I didn't anticipate.
Every song had a different dance, no two were the same.
I stood with eyes popping, thinking this was insane.
"What kind of style is this?" I muttered, watching the dancing.
They were clapping and yelling,, twirling and prancing;
with thumbs hooked in pockets and fancy boots on their feet,
they shuffled, hitched and swayed to a crazy country beat.
Not dancing with one another, they formed a perfect line,
turning and bumping hips and stomping in double time.
They even did a Cha Cha,, a Charleston step or two,
Cheater's Waltz and Black Velvet, twining through.
Sister said, "Come on, let's go!" Well, it's do or die,
maybe I'll flop, maybe not. I'll never know, unless I try.
I wound up teaching beginners at West Side Senior Center,
and at local "Silver Games," became a gold medal winner!
I performed with the gang at nearby nursing homes,
in matching western costumes and sequins in our combs.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
Don Heller owned an impressive spread,
Not that far from Lindholme town,
Below the tall peaks of Idaho,
Down the road from Ed McGowan.
Ed McGowan owned half the ville,
And had two-dozen hanger-son.
Ike Raeburn owned the other half,
But had thirty men with guns.
All knew that someday blood would come,
And six-shooters would be drawn,
But Marshall Jackson, old and tired
Could not stop this violent dawn.
Ed and Ike threw their weight around,
Then demanded the loyalty,
Of townsfolk and of ranchers all
Who lived in the wide country.
Before long folks had taken sides,
Just trying somehow to survive,
But Dan wouldn’t be tread upon,
He said he’d sooner die!
He readied himself for a fight,
Not knowing who’d strike first.
But he paused and then had an idea
To end the pair’s blood-thirst.
He sauntered one day into town,
And sat down for a drink.
To all who’d ask he told freely
Which side he thought would win.
By day’s end the rumor ran
That McGowan he did choose.
But another claimed him Raeburn’s man,
Twas a wild mess of news.
But Ed and Ike, they would not stand
Someone siding against them,
So they both went down to Heller’s ranch,
To deal out his punishment!
As each drew near and saw the other
They raised up an angry cry!
Colts came out and roared to life,
The hot lead began to fly.
And as the bodies piled up,
As hot blood so freely spilled,
Dan sat perched with his Sharps
Upon a nearby, wooded hill.
When one would run from the carnage,
He could carefully take aim,
And whether they were Ed’s of Ike’s
Dan sent them swiftly to their graves.
And when the shirkers started falling,
Each side blamed the other gang.
They redoubled their violent efforts,
Their guns with mad rage sang!
In seven quick and hellish minutes
They tore each other apart,
And left but one man standing,
Where fifty-seven had stood at the start!
That man was old Ike Raeburn,
Desperately limping away.
So Dan he drew a bead on him,
Squeezed, and ended his days.
Dan went down to the town for Marshall,
And told him a sordid yarn,
About two gangs having it out,
While he ‘hid’ within the barn.
Marshall Jackson made his way out,
Whistled, then shook his head.
And said,”Never thought it would end like this,
But at least those thugs are dead.”
Lindholme had no trouble after that,
The Marshall saw to his job,
Hired on a younger deputy
To help him control the mob.
And Dan never had to worry again,
For as the townfolk like to say:
What fears a man who takes on fifty-plus
And lives to walk away?
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017