Todd was riding in the desert,
through Arizona’s red-brown waste,
out chasing down word of silver,
it was 1878.
He had nothing to go back to,
never had fit in well back east,
he’d left for Denver eight years back,
found nothing gold beneath those peaks.
He had been wandering since then,
finding work wherever he could,
lawman, cowboy, gunhand, wrangler,
even a stretch selling dry...
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