The Old Slinger | Ian Cameron (10)

Where the air is dry and water is remote

The Old Slinger coughs and clears his throat

He exits saloon and many turn their heads

Exchanging glances as loudly he says,

“This town ain’t big enough for bandits and muggers,

I’ll hunt ‘em down for all you buggers”

The Old Slinger tips his hat once more

Worn-down leather boots clicking on the floor

Not a soul knows what he might mean

For months now, the town has been clean

That’s just what they reckon, all they can figure

Because they have no stories about the Old Slinger

For all they know, the town is crime-free

Unaware of what they don’t see

Outside of town lies a gang in the dunes

Robbing folks blind while whistling tunes

But the Old Slinger, the sheriff with no name

Will shoot them dead before they aim

Out in the sand, rough and course

A bandit suddenly falls off his horse

Smoking gun in hand, the his tight grip lingers

Another body for the Old Slinger

The crooks are now aware they’re under fire

While the one man army cocks his big iron

The revolver spins to decide who’s next

Bullets haunted by criminals he hexed

The Slinger looks up, his gaze steady

Staring down a gangster at the ready

The prickly fellow positions the barrel

Already shot before he goes feral

Two guys down and four guns at his head

He kicks up dust where perception is mislead

Twin shots end up taking out each other

Both men fall, slain by their brother

The third in the storm doesn’t scream like the rest 

He sees his fate on the trigger, worn boot on his chest

Slinger targets his heart to silence the fear

And stands over three men as the dust clears

Their boss stands, gun in holster, 

Appearing unfazed and nerves bolstered

Other towns know him as “Kid Cactus",

A low-life devoted to his sinful practice

No one knows his real identity,

Only wanted posters of an entity

But in his last stand, Cactus didn’t raise his gun

Because his own bullet through his head ensured he was done

The young man, a life so new

Never again saw a sky of blue

And the Old Slinger, finished with his duty

Falls to the ground in the desert’s beauty

Slinger rests, panting with a grin

Souls in the wind cleansed of their sin

Things go dark despite the high noon

And the hero shuts his eyes deep in the dune

Days later, a sandy hat is found outside town

Beckoning to legends and fables unfound

Citizens gathered, even the mayor

To follow the owner’s unheard prayer

In under a mile they found an old man

Lying in layers under the sand

One bullet left that never got to send

Was left in the gun’s melted mend

The mayor then clicks his tongue

Sorry for the deceased’s tale unsung

“Crazy old man, never knew his hand from his boot”

He tips his hat in respect for the old hoot

The Old Slinger, found bone dry sand,

Will never again protect this land

There were no bodies, only stray lead on the ground

And not a single shot made a semblance of a sound

Only bullet holes in a cactus, not a bandit

A fantasy that wasn’t a real gambit

There were never any crooks for miles

An executioner believing he had trials 

But the Old Slinger lived that mirage until his death

Living the glory days until his last breath