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Yeah they call ’im Wyatt Earp, a man who roamed across the west,

And of all the fellers handy with a gun, he was the best.

And this olden ballad sings

How he fought the outlaw rings –

But a bullet never claimed ’im, from his youth until his death.

 

Dodge City is the town where this here story shall begin,

Way out in windy Kansas, where the cattle were drove in

’Long the busy Chisholm Trail –

So the cows were put to rails,

While the cowboys hit the whiskey and the crowds struck up a din.

 

Now up from Texas rode the man who shall our hero be:

He’d had his fill of gamblin’ games – well, for the time at least.

And they pinned a star upon ’im:

Yeah, they made ’im the new lawman,

And he tried to hold the crowds down – yeah, he tried to keep the peace.

 

Now, not too long it was before ol’ Earp should throw a punch:

Some desperadoes raisin’ hell didn’t like his badge too much.

So the bottles went a-crashin’,

And the knives came out a-flashin’,

And it looked like Wyatt might not be a match for that bad bunch.

 

But at the doors of that saloon, whom do you think should show?

It was a man ol’ Earp had met in Texas long ago,

Who was always at the tables

Winnin’ bundles playin’ faro,

And was ready with his dukes to match those outlaws, blow for blow.

 

So on the merry player piano plinked its charmin’ tune,

While the flasks and beer steins flew about in that smashed-up saloon!

And when next the doors went swingin’,

Who should exit, knuckles stingin’?

John Doc Holliday and Earp, the last men standin’ in the room.

 

* * *

 

By now the news of silver mines had reached Dodge City’s ears:

The motherlode’d been found in Arizona, and right near

Those rich hills sprang a town,

Like a garden from the ground:

That was Tombstone, where the singers sang while men gulped down their beers.

 

By summer eighteen-eighty some o’ the Earp boys had arrived:

That’s younger brother Morgan, older Virgil, plus ol’ Wyatt.

And joinin’ them came Holliday,

’Long with his wife, his Big Nose Kate:

A pair who sought their fortune in the fast-paced gamblin’ life.

 

Now Wyatt was dealin’ faro for the rubes at Danner’s place;

And Virgil, he was a deputy, and he always would give chase

After outlaws on their horses,

Who were robbin’ all the coaches

Of the silver riches flowin’ from the mines – oh, how he raced!

 

Soon the jails were a-fillin’ thanks to Virgil and his men,

And the stage lines had ol’ Wyatt ridin’ shotgun to defend

All the passengers and silver.

Now the outlaws felt a quiver

That their days of ridin’ high and stealin’ fortunes might soon end.

 

And other folks likewise warn’t keen on lawmen comin’ in:

Some rowdy cattle rustlers, plus their pistol-packin’ kin.

And the town heard they were gunnin’

For the Earps, who ought be runnin’

If they didn’t want the Cowboys’ finest shots to do ’em in.

No, it wouldn’t be too long before the Cowboys did ’em in.

 

* * *

 

The moon was shinin’ like a dime, all quiet lay the town

Whilst through the streets the sheriff, Fred White, made his drowsy rounds.

But as folks were set for nappin’,

They jumped up from shots a-crackin’ –

And came out to see the sheriff lyin’ bloody on the ground.

 

Some claimed they saw a figure run away into the night,

And they thought ’twas Curly Bill, a man all heaven feared to fight –

For no man could draw revolver

Faster than that one whose orders

Were the law for all the Cowboys; no sir, not by a damn’d sight.

 

But Virgil, he’d sure had enough; and by next morn the sun

Found ’im nailin’ up a notice sayin’ none could carry guns.

And he backed up that restriction

’Spite the grumblin’ and the hissin’ –

But the Cowboys didn’t give a hoot, ’cause they was ornery ones.

 

The days went by, and not a sign of Curly Bill did show;

And rumor had it that he walked in deserts all alone,

Where the orange stones slowly simmered,

And the heaps of bright sand glimmered,

And the cactus cast a shadow for the outlaw lyin’ low.

 

* * *

 

How bright the stars gleam o’er the desert, where the air is pure,

And songs are sung by señoritas, each one coy, demure –

And one hears the glad folks gabbin’

At the windows of a tavern,

And one knows some liquor’s waitin’ for ya inside, sure as sure.

 

Yeah Tombstone, she was peaceful – but that peace, it soon was gone.

One night a faro player thought the dealer’d done him wrong:

That was Cowboy Billy Clanton,

Cussin’ Wyatt like a madman,

And he swore he’d deal the swindler his reward before too long.

 

Next day was hot, as hot as where the Devil fries his souls;

And all that morn the townsfolk came to Wyatt, and they told

That Billy and Ike, some McLaurys too,

Wished he’d emerge from his saloon

And bring his brothers – for the Cowboy gang was feelin’ bold.

 

At Hafford’s, Wyatt met with Virgil, Morgan, and ol’ Doc;

And Virgil said: “I reckon, if a fight shall be a-fought,

I should make y’all my deputies

And pin some badges, if you please,

Upon your vests… Here’s hopin’ they’ll give up without a shot.”

 

Down Fourth Street walked the four of them, four figures from a dream;

And none could tell if men from hell or heaven they did seem.

And three times tolled a steeple bell –

Three times that sound rolled round the dells

Of desert; and from off four badges, sunlight winked and gleamed.

 

They turned on Fremont Street, and lo! – the Cowboys stood ahead:

’Twas Tom, Frank, Ike, and Billy, plus a Claiborne. Virgil said:

“Give up your weapons – we’re the law!”

But all reached for their guns to draw,

Because the Fates had judged there should some souls pass to the dead.

Yessir, grim fate had judged there should some souls pass to the dead.

 

* * *

 

Clack! went the balls – the dark green felt the five-ball sped across,

But missed its pocket; and ol’ Wyatt knew the game was lost.

Then Morgan aimed his cue upon 

The five-ball, which was promptly gone –

And silver dollar what he owed to brother, Wyatt tossed.

 

Again the balls were racked – and clack! They scattered all which-ways;

And by turns played the brethren Earp and their friend Holliday.

But just outside that pool hall’s light,

A figure lurked within the night:

A silent figure stalkin’, as the hunter stalks his prey.

 

Now Morgan had a tough shot, and he leaned, and scrunched his eyes;

And silence hung within the room amidst the smoke and flies.

Then as Morgan jerked his arm back,

There was heard outside a sharp crack! –

And the youngest brother tumbled down – loud were the others’ cries!

 

The window was all shattered – Wyatt peered out through the dark,

And he saw a man in hat of black through shadows swiftly dart.

And he looked down at his brother –

And he knew he’d not recover,

For the blood was spillin’ quickly, and the wound was near his heart.

 

“Oh Morgan – you are dyin’, sure,” said Wyatt. “Yet don’t grieve:

I shall find the man who did this; he shall have but short reprieve

’Til he finds there’s no evadin’

The six-shooter I’ll be aimin’

At his brain – nor yet the bullet I’ll lodge in his forehead deep.”

 

Through bandages the blood of Morgan did not cease to flow,

And soon the midnight church bells ’cross the desert ’gan to toll.

And the three friends did acknowledge

That dear Morgan had departed –

For the Fates had drawn the Death card for that good man’s honest soul.

Yessir, grim fate had drawn the Death card for his honest soul.

 

* * *

 

A man in hat of black – the town said only Curly Bill

Could be that figure from the shadows who had shot and killed

Gentle Morgan, as revenge

For the deaths of his three friends:

That was Tom and Frank and Billy, each one’s chest with bullets filled.

 

Two times the sun woke up and sped – two times it settled low;

And deep into the desert wilds did Wyatt plan to go

With Doc Holliday beside ’im,

And his brother also ridin’,

So’s to find that wretched black-hat man and bring his life to woe.

 

Now high and low the three men searched, through canyons and plateaus,

And asked all folks they came across, by porch and well and road,

If a man with curly hair

And a soulless, dead-eyed stare

Had been seen or near or far… But that man’s whereabouts warn’t known.

 

Now one hot afternoon, amid the cactuses and skulls,

The Earps and Doc stopped at the very bottom of a gulch.

And they let their horses drink

From a burblin’ little crick

While the question of where Bill might be was somethin’ each man mulled.

 

The hours stretched, and one by one those fellows fell asleep.

The stars came out, and turned about across the sky so deep –

But they banished were once more

Once the sun rose out the floor

Of the vast land; and with light of gold, fair dawn the world did sweep.

 

Ol’ Wyatt was the first to wake: he yawned, and cooked some beans,

And he listened to the snorin’ of his buddies, plus the stream

That was tricklin’ over stones…

Then he felt within his bones

There was somethin’ odd about one of those sounds – as odd as dreams. 

 

For there were three noses snorin’ – one was Virgil’s, one was Doc’s,

And one did snore a little further, somewhere ’midst the rocks –

But that warn’t his nose a-snorin’,

’Cause his nose was right before ’im!

So he stood up really quiet-like and toward the boulders walked.

 

Well Wyatt peeked above a pile of stones – what should he see?

’Twas Curly Bill, a-sawin’ logs beneath a gnarled tree!

So he drew – and when felt ready,

With an aim couldn’t be more steady,

He shot off the black hat from that evil hombre’s head with ease.

 

Up started Bill, and fumbled for his gun; and Wyatt said:

“Were I a wicked soul like you, you surely would be dead!

But even for a lowdown

Dog like you, I’ll grant a showdown –

And we’ll see who takes the earth we stand on for his final bed!

Yessir, we’ll see who takes the earth we stand on for his bed.”

 

* * *

 

The two stood but twelve paces from each other, while looked on

Doc Holliday and he who wore the brass star of the law.

And ol’ Wyatt’s fingers shivered

Just like Curly’s shook and quivered,

And each hombre eyed the other for to watch when he might draw.

 

Now Doc, he felt a drop of rain, and looked all ’round the sky:

Upon the far-off mesas, where the patient clouds did lie,

He could glimpse a flash of lightnin’,

And the rock cliffs briefly brightnin’,

And he knew a storm’d be passin’ their location, by and by.

 

’Twas then the thunder grumbled – and each man reached for his gun:

Two shots did blast, but so close they seemed almost to be one.

And the blasts and thunder sounded

Down the close walls of the canyon…

And the mellow rains began to fall, and drift before the sun.

 

* * *

 

“To Tombstone shall I not return,” spoke Wyatt to his friends.

“My brother’s eyes would stare at me from every tavern’s end.

But I hope things are more quiet

Now that villain’s gone,” said Wyatt,

“And I hope in years to come our broken hearts will slowly mend.”

 

The men embraced, and hands were shook, and each said his good-byes.

Then Wyatt turned to Curly Bill – reached down, and shut his eyes.

And he said: “I hope you’ve entered

In a place where you’ll act better…

As for me, I’ll seek my fortunes in a land where folks are kind.”

 

Down through the canyons coursed the winds, and bracing gusts of rain;

And Doc and Virgil saddled up, rode back the way they came.

But toward wilderness did Wyatt

Ride his horse, real slow and silent –

And all the lonely angels went a-followin’ in his train.

Yes, all the lonely angels went a-followin’ in his train.

 

* * *

 

Yeah they call ’im Wyatt Earp, a man who roamed across the west,

And of all the fellers handy with a gun, he was the best.

And this olden ballad sings

How he fought the outlaw rings –

But a bullet never claimed ’im, from his youth until his death.

No, a bullet never claimed ’im, from his youth ’til final rest.

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