Man's Best Friend
My job out on the old Bar M just played out late last fall;
But I'd a heap o' sweat behind me, so I didn't care at all.
I figgered I could get some rest just settin' up in town;
Maybe find a job bartendin' an' sorta settle down.So I hit the trail on an old gray bronc, my warbag tied behind,
Headin' down t'ward Bozeman, t' see what I could find.
Dusk was fallin' fast and the sky was gray, when I saw a shack ahead;
I was sore from too much saddle, and glad for the light it shed.I was gettin' on in years a bit-heck, almost forty-two.
A little old to sleep on rocks, an' tired of rabbit stew.
So I said to the gray, "Right here, old pard, is where we'll set the night;
There's got to be a shed with hay, and a bed made up just right."Well, maybe it wouldn't be all that nice, and the floor would be my bed,
But the only thing I asked right then was a roof over my head.
A man in my condition just couldn't sleep out in the cold-
I weren't a city slicker, understand, it's just I was so dang old.It didn't take convincin' much when the sky commenced to rain,
An' Gray was mighty satisfied when he got a whiff of grain.
So I climbed on down at that lonely shack, and worked the old pump handle;
It squeaked so loud a man came out, holdin' up a candle.The mist was thick, an' light was dim, but I could see that man
Was short as a sheep and couldn't weigh no more than a coffee can.
But he was nice, oh sure enough, and he said to make to home;
He even offered me a job, if I'd no more urge to roam.I thought this was quite generous, to make me such an offer,
An' I guessed in spite of this run-down shack he must have quite a coffer.
So I said I'd like to think a bit, maybe over beans and beef;
He smiled real friendly-like, revealing no front teeth.He set the gray up fine indeed, in the shed with a pile of grain,
Then turned to me and came up with that toothless smile again.
He said, "I s'pose you been around a bit, ain't you now, young feller?
And it 'pears to me you ain't the type t' show a streak o' yeller.So if I'm right, an' yer that kind, I sure could use you here.
'Cause even though it's quite the ranch, it's been an awful year.
You see, I've had some troubles, an' there's those who'd have me run;
Now I don't see it, but I suppose you got ta have a gun."I nodded, kind of smug with all the flattery flung at me,
And I opened up my sheepskin coat, so he could plainly see
The handle of the great big Colt that snuggled in my belt;
It was plain to see in his old eyes the confidence he felt.I guess I shoulda asked him more, 'stead of actin' so dang tough,
But I sorta liked his butterin' up-it made me feel rugged and rough.
So I told him I would take his job, 'cause trouble didn't scare me;
I'd even ride a buffalo if someone would just dare me.He laughed at that, all full of glee, an' took me on inside;
A well-cooked meal filled me, and the fire warmed my hide.
We was just settin' a-jawin', an' I hadn't dared to ask
What sorta trouble he was in an' what would be my task.I heard a thunderin' of hooves across the yard,
Then boots a-clompin' on the porch, and someone knockin' hard.
The smile on my boss's face done faded with that sound;
His face it went plumb pale, and so I turned around.Standin' in the doorway, not waitin' for an invite,
Was two big men with curly beards, an' they both looked a sight.
They stepped inside, then left and right, and cleared the way for more,
And when the door at last was shut, standing there were four."I thought we told you on our last ride t' clear out of this land;
Old man, yer playin' with my patience, an' I'm bound t' call yer hand."
The man who spoke was broad of frame, small-eyed like the others;
It didn't take much smarts to tell, all of them were brothers.They were big and cruel of eye and mouth, ready for a fight;
An' I didn't feel myself in shape to whip them all that night.
But I had took a job here, foolish though it was,
An' now I had to make a play, if only just because.I spoke up real meek an said, "Boys, now can't you see,
The old man's set up real fine here, an' he just hired me?
If you were to say to ride on out, I'd like t' do as told,
But I can't find my way at night-I guess I'm too damn old.So I'd be forced to decline your request an' stay here by this fire,
An' if you say you'll push us out, I'd say you were a liar."
Well, they were stunned, rightly enough, for they thought we'd a ran,
But I figgered I was just as good a judge as any man.And these four boys, though they were big, just seemed to be all swagger;
Especially the oldest brother, whom I guessed the head tongue-wagger.
"There's four of us," the big man said, "and not but two of you.
You got any idea with them there odds what the four of us can do?I'm sick an' tired of this old man a-squattin' on our land;
An' I got nothin' but hatred for the man who backs his hand.
So unless you got some way o' scootin' us out the door,
You an' the codger best move on and not come back no more."When he finished up his talk, I stood up from my chair,
I looked them over and judged what kind of odds I had in there.
None of those four was packin' iron, an' there was seven feet between us;
I knew if they'd been closer, that they could surely clean us.But I figgered I could bluff these braggs without a peck o' trouble;
I'd get 'em thinkin' the old man had gone an' hired double.
I says, "Be careful, friends, I'm not the only one that hired on today.
I got a friend around about that'll come an' back my play."The leader laughed and slapped his thigh and looked 'round at his brothers;
I'd have slapped his ugly face, if I'd've had my druthers.
"Mister," he said, "I'm real scared, but I'd have t' see this fella;
I got me a feelin' there ain't no more, an' if there is, he's yella.Is he as old as you are, an' that little gray-haired man?
You two old men sure as hell can't take us, if anybody can."
"To tell you true," I answered up, "He's my oldest friend alive.
Me, I'm only forty-two, an' my pard's forty-five.If you really wanna meet him, I guess the time has come,
An' if you wanted trouble, he's bound t' give you some."
I flung my coat aside, and of my pistol grabbed a-holt.
"Boys," I said, "Come meet my friend. They call him Mr. Colt."Well, those four boys had real nice smiles, when they really wanted to;
And I had never guessed it; they'd never give a clue.
But even though my old pal Colt some real fast friends did make,
When he offered out his hand, none of them would shake.I maybe should correct that, for I said of them there coots
None of them would shake-but they were shakin' in their boots!
I guess those four boys just didn't have much backbone after all,
'Cause all of them turned yellow when my best friend came to call.
-Kirby Jonas
April 5, 1995
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