He Died With A Smile Poem by David Welch

Dalton lived in the north Texas plain,
working a ranch he owned for five years,
a small spread, but it brought some money in,
some solace after all of the past tears.

His wife had died giving birth to their son,
he'd left the east to flee the memories,
there was quiet here, more than he had known,
lot of hard work, but it did bring him peace.

His son Bryce was only eight years of age
when Dalton left him with the ranch foreman,
heading to a town to arrange a sale,
sold two hundred head for a profit grand.

He was feeling good as he went home,
they'd be set for money for the next year,
but when he saw smoke on the horizon
his heart became ice, then was gripped with fear.

He raced his horse forwards, finding his home
a burned-out shell, and his ranch-hands all dead,
his foreman lying against a paddock,
a bullet-hole punched clearly through his forehead.

Dalton raced around, looking for your Bryce,
not finding the body amidst the char,
but he found horse-tracks, half-lost in the dust,
swore to follow them, no matter how far.

He pushed on two twos, finding a small town,
but the people there did not want to speak,
he offered money to draw the truth out,
enough that one gambler's interest was piqued.

"Yeah some men were here, came through yesterday,
Patrick Miller and the rest of his gang.
They had six children, he liked to sell them,
gets a good price, from a cruel-sort of man.

"They're taken y son, "Dalton growled out.
The gambler said, "You won't see him again."
Dalton god mad, and pistol-whipped the fool,
then with great disgust, he threw down a ten.

He took up the trail, and once more pressed on,
into New Mexico his horse did ride,
followed it to a shabby-looking ranch,
found two drunken bandits sleeping inside.

They woke to see his shotgun pointed straight,
one said, "Mister, we've no quarrel with you."
Dalton said, "A band rode through here with kids.
Tell me what you know, or I will kill you."

One of the men gulped, shivered where he sat,
said, "Yeah, they left here twelve hours ago,
stopped here for some grub, drank down some whiskey,
is there anything else you want to know? "

"Did they have an eight-year old boy with them? "
Asked Dalton in a voice that could cut stone.
One of the men paled, the other stammered,
then broke for the door with an anguished groan.

The shotgun spoke loud, the man just collapsed,
the other man shrieked, dove under the bed.
Dalton stalked closed, said, "Tell me what happened,
or the next shot will go straight through your head."

The man shook and said, "They wanted some fun,
but the boy was small, he started to bleed.
Patrick threw him out back, said, ‘This one's shot,
but we have others to see to our needs.'"

Dalton's face darkened and he walked slowly
to the back with his gun still on the man,
saw through the window a torn up body,
where vultures fed from all across the land.

But he saw the coat, lying in tatters,
and knew that it was his Bryce lying there,
with pitiless eyes, he turned on the man,
and uttered only a single word, "Where? "

The man blubbered, "Patrick always goes north,
in a hideout near Taos you'll find him! "
Dalton looked down, knowing what this man was,
and with one shot turned his face to ruin.

He rode north through New Mexico's mountains,
seeing there were many places to hide,
this forced him to stop at local saloons
to see what information he could find.

He even acted just like one of them,
pretended that he preferred his ‘fun' young,
he wanted to vomit with every word,
but with some greenbacks it got the job doe.

He rode to a valley east of Taos,
and had the time and the place he should go,
but on his way out, he saw two others,
both of them had stars, and quickly they rode.

They approached him and the older on said,
"I'm Marshall Barnes, this is Marshall Gwinnet.
We're been trailing some bandits seen this way,
unfortunately, we ain't found them yet.

"We're looking for Patrick Miller and his gang,
he's wanted for kidnapping from years back,
have you seen any riders about here?
Any sign could put us back on their track."

Dalton just stared, and slowly shook his head,
said, "You've the first folk I have seen in days."
Marshal Barnes frowned, said, "Well, do watch your back,
they're dangerous men, so long sir, good day."

Dalton watched them go, turned back to the trail,
no lawman would rob him of his revenge,
monsters like this didn't deserve trials,
were too dangerous to live amongst men.

He couldn't trust courts to make them hang,
and his son's soul cried out loud from the grave,
Miller would die if it cost him his life,
these bastards deserved to suffer his rage.

He kept on looking for sign of Miller,
found his path going up into foothills,
early winter snow had frosted the ground,
made it easier to track for the kill.

On a ridgeline beneath tall, soaring peaks
the sign become much too blunt to ignore,
a wagon burdened with a heavy load,
and riding alongside it horses four.

He followed this path for half a mile,
found himself high up on a cold platform.
The trail split, one went across the mesa,
the other went right, winding down below.

On the left he could see clear wagon tracks,
to the right he saw the flickering flames,
wandering to it were four clear horse trails,
he dismounted, crept close to see that way.

Deep down the slope, say two hundred yards off,
he saw four men drinking 'round a fire,
crouched in the trees so they'd have wood to burn,
Dalton smiled, began to conspire.

He would have the clear advantage in this,
he had the high ground, and clear point-of-view,
could shoot them before most could turn around,
and that's just what he decided to do.

But as he walked to his horse, for his gun,
he saw something small lying in the snow,
it was a small shoe from a little girl,
and something about it hit like a blow.

He bent down low, and picked the small shoe up,
and felt something subtle slip through his rage,
his mind bringing up terrible pictures
of things done to children lacking in age.

They were still out there, and probably close,
children as scared and anguished as his was,
he found himself frozen, is he changed now
his chance at killing Miller would be lost.

For a long minute he struggled with it,
killing Miller was all that he had left,
but that wagon would move if he attacked
as any sane person fled sounds of death.

And if they got clear those children would be
sold off to rich men with quite depraved lusts,
he heard a voice said, ‘Is revenge worth that? '
And suddenly his choice didn't seem tough.

He spurred his horse, followed after the ruts,
across the mesa in the evening dim,
soon saw the wagon, and a single guard,
Dalton charged forwards, riding straight for him.

The men looked surprised when the horse bulled forth,
it slammed into him and knocked the man flat,
Dalton leapt and pulled a knife from his belt,
and into the thug he began to stab.

It didn't take long to finish the job,
the guard lay still in the snow, now stained red,
he straightened and looked up to the wagon,
just making out the shape of seven heads.

Four girls and three boys, shivering, afraid,
not one of them looked much older then ten,
wearing torn clothes, wrapped up in rough blankets,
Dalton said, "He cannot hurt you again."

He pointed to lights back down the valley,
said, "There's a town there, you all will be safe.
Run, and don't stop, do not even look back.
I will delay them, so you can escape."

He saw a girl wearing only one shoe,
and drew the other one from his pocket,
tied it on her foot, and said to the girl,
"You have to run now, please, go on and get! "

She bolted off with the other children,
Dalton then stalked back to the mesa's edge,
the men were standing, but not yet moving,
unsure what had happened atop the ledge.

Dalton just plunged down the steep, rocky slope,
he had his pistol his pistol in hand for the fight,
giring as he caromed down the pitch,
his foes clear in the wintry moonlight.

One of them yelped, and grabbed his left arm,
the others just braced and returned fire,
Dalton felt a round tear into his thigh,
knew he'd be done if they hit much higher.

He limped his way behind a large boulder,
heard the loud shouts of his foes racing up,
reloaded and shot, but his nothing else,
with his leg shattered just moving was tough.

There came a rustling off to his left,
a gunshot slammed his chest with brutal force,
his arm became heavy his pistol fell,
he felt like he couldn't breathe anymore.

A hand grabbed his coat, and dragged him back down,
towards the fire where the men had all sat,
tossed him in front of the largest bandit,
one of them boating, "We got him, Pat! "

Patrick Miller was a scarred, weather man,
bore all the marks of living a rough life,
he sneered and said, "If you're gonna ambush
at least have enough sense to do it right! "

He scoffed and said, "Who are you anyway? "
Said Dalton, "You raped and murdered my boy."
Miller just laughed, "So much for your revenge,
at least your boy's last moments I enjoyed.

"Sure, he was a weakling, scrawny and small,
but I tell you what that boy did feel good!
He made such whimpers just before the end
with his backside stretched around my manhood! "

The thugs laughed and mimicked a child's cry,
but Dalton was too broken now to rage,
said, "God well get revenge for all of us,
and at least now all the children are saved."

Now real anger flared up in Miller's eyes,
Dalton coughed, said, "They're yours to sell no more."
Miller kicked him said, said, "Your death will be
a truly slow, agonizing horror! "

Dalton managed to sit back up again,
and behind the thugs saw shapes in the night,
Despite Miller's sneer, Dalton had to grin,
as Marshal Barnes cried, "Now throw your hands up high! "

The bandits all turned, going for the guns,
but Barnes and Gwinnett let loose with a hail,
the marshals were fast, and try as he might
Miller's efforts came to no great avail.

He fell to the snow, choking his last breath,
Dalton watched despite his own fading strength,
Barnes dismounted and walked over to him,
said, "I see that you have found Miller then."

Dalton just nodded. "They children they had,
I set them free, and they are running west.
You have to find them and help them get back,
they all are so young…weather's not the best."

Barnes nodded and said, "We will go get them
once we get you hauled up, onto a horse."
Dalton shook his head, whispered, "It's too late,
there's nothing you can do for me anymore."

With that he slumped back onto the cold ground,
the rattling growing loud in his chest,
both the marshals frowned, and tool of their hats,
as Dalton went limp with his final breath.

They told all the people of what he did,
and the tale went around for a while,
even though he never got his revenge,
Dalton still managed to die with a smile.