The Code of the West

The Tracker

He awoke with the stars still high in the skies
His head on the saddle he used for a pillow
Alert before he even opened his eyes
He’d been roused by a scratching armadillo

Rolling out of his bedroll he stood up and stretched
The sweet-sour smell of sleep all around
Rolling his first smoke of this newborn day
He listened quietly to the still prairie’s sound

Not wanting a fire he unhobbled his roan
Rolled his kit, forked the saddle and rode
For twenty-two days this had been his routine
Through weather and terrain that forebode

In his heart he knew that this was the day
That he would unload the weight on his chest
Not vengeance but justice was in his mind
As he sought to enforce the code of the west

Late afternoon as long shadows were reaching
He found the quarry he’d been tracking so long
He chambered a shell in his thirty-ought-six
Certain that he was righting a wrong

At last he’d caught up with the wagon packed drummer
The rascal who had run off with his wife
Holstering his rifle he swept off his stetson
And thanked them kindly for improving his life!

And rode on West into the sunset.....

Pecozbill - 2002

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