Spurs

The echo of a shot off the canyon wall . . .

Watched a man dry out while he was leanin’ over a cactus,

Got there much too late to do anything,

And the vultures hadn’t had their feast yet,

I suppose they weren’t lookin’ to get pricked;

Nearly stepped on the tail of a snake,

The bastard hissed sump’m fierce,

And I would’ve died if he bit me,

But I had luck on my side;

I’m tired of these damn stars,

Just as I’m tired of this damn saddle,

And these damn boots,

And this damn way of life;

Driftin’ but rarely home,

And when I’m home I’m driftin’ too,

If I settle down,

I’d surely go before my time;

So I’ll wander the plains and deserts and swamps,

Back and forth on a Morgan horse,

I’ll make a little money here and there,

And spend it just as fast;

I’ll look at that sky with all them stars,

And think on my philosophy,

But not too long,

Because a rustler with a mind wonders why he does what he does.

-The Red Diamond

V XXV XXVI