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American Ballads*and Folk Songs
Then the tones of Blake came slowly, with a sneer in every word: "Well, youVe found me!" But the other gave no sign he saw or heard.
Walkin' calmly toward the speaker, he advanced with steady pace. Then he grinned and, quick as lightnin', slapped him squarely in the
face. "Shoot, you snake!" he whispered hoarsely. "Shoot, you lily-livered
cur! Draw! You're always strong for killin'5 now I'm here to shoot for
her!"
Some there was that claimed they saw it, as the killer tried to draw—-But there's no one knows for certain just exactly what they saw. I'll agree the shootin' started quick as Blake had made his start— Then a brace of bullets hit him fair and certain through the heart.
As he fell, his hand was graspin' of the gun he'd got too late, With the notches on it showin' like the vagaries of fate. And the man who stood there lookin' at the killer as he lay, Murmured: "Nell, I've kept my promise. I have made the scoundrel pay!"
Dobe Bill, he went a-ridin' from the town of Santa Fe On a quiet Sunday morning, goin' happy on his way, Ridin' happy on that pinto that he dearly loved to straddle, With his six-gun and sombrero that was wider than his saddle. And he's hummin' as he's goin' of a simple little song That's a-boomin' through the cactus as he's gallopin' along:
"Oh, I'm goin' down the valley, through the mesquite and the sand
I'm a r'arin'. Sarin' bucko, not afraid to play my hand.
I'm a hootin', shootin' demon and I has my little fun
With my bronco called Apache and Adolphus—that's my gun."
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