|
Cherokee Woman
I lost her somewhere down near old Cheyenne. Word was she'd taken up with a gamblin' man. Blinded by her wicked beauty, I never realized, The deceit that shone in my Cherokee lovers's eyes My saddle bags empty, my feelings shot cold, She and her gamblin' man had taken all of my gold. Riding by a saloon, near the Stockton Rail Yards, Heard a familar giggle from those inside playing cards By the table she stood, he was seated about to fold, I went in and challenged Render me my gold! He went for his sidearm, no way he could know, I had a reputation, he was just a tad too slow. My gun barked to satisfy my pride, The ball ripped through his vest and out the other side. Another blast, cursing in pain I turned and spat, Was my Cherokee woman who had shot me in the back. Damning the wound I emptied my gun to her head, She fell with her Derringer, gingham drenched in red. I rode from Stockton that night, no possee on my track, No man hangs for killing a woman who shot him in the back. |