Silver coins piled on the table
just enough to get him through
nights of sleeping in the stable
working daylights with the crew.
He had killed the great Falzini
fastest gunman in the west,
first he blew away his wienie
next slug hit him in the chest.
He would hang if they did catch him
though the Sheriff was a drunk,
and the one who could just match him
had been taken from his bunk.
Suddenly, the horses heard him,
sneaking in just like a thief.
Half asleep it briefly stired him
then he came to major grief.
Bullets from a big revolver
tend to shorten human lives
this one was a problem solver.
He had come to take the coins.