Trembling with the rage he felt,
As he cast aside the bridle
And drew taut his cartridge belt.
Throwing down his torn sombrero,
There, before the tight-closed door,
On the cowardly usurper
Loud and bitter vengeance swore.
"Come, you dirty, green-scummed scoundrel,
With your sneaking 'plan or two'!
Just come out, you rope-necked buzzard!
See how far you'll put them through.
You can keep the eighty acres,
Hell will write your pedigree,
But I'll rub your crooked nose-piece
In the dirt you stole from me.


34

"Come outside, you sneaking coyote!
If you've got a drop of man
In your greasy, thieving carcass,
Finish up what you began."
Fiercer grew his coarse invective,
Louder yet his taunting calls,
When no answer to his challenge
Came from out the low sod walls.
Uncontrolled, his furious anger
Spoke in quick and murderous roar
As he pumped his old six-shooter