The Cowboy Rides For Christmas Poem by David Welch

I.
Dixon Bullinger braced himself against
another frozen blast of winter wind,
riding through the front range to Denver
where his family was a-waiting.

It was morning on Christmas Eve,
and he was a long time overdue,
but Boss McChord had paid him double
to rescue horses from being consumed.

They'd taken out a problem bear
and had a drink to celebrate,
he'd exchanged good wishes with the boys,
then had set about upon his way.

He rounded a corner in a craggy gorge,
and there he saw a stunning sight:
Santa Claus sat on an empty sleigh,
brooding sadly amidst the white.

Dix rode up, and doffed his hat,
saying, "Father Christmas! What are the odds!
May I ask why you are sitting here though,
‘tis the skies that you usually trod? "

Santa then sadly shook his head,
said, "My boy, you don't understand.
I stopped for a rest and was robbed blind
by a gang of five masked men!

"They took my sack and with it
all the gifts for the boys and girl.
if I cannot somehow get it back,
there'll be no presents for the world."

Dix frowned deeply at the thought,
a coldness creeping into him.
Christmas may have been more than gifts,
but try telling that to the kids!

He said, "If you'll ride with a fool cowpoke,
I'll gladly help you find the fiends.
A Christmas with no gifts to give…
that's not something this world needs.

"I have some skill at tracking, see,
from months chasing stray cows.
If you point me the way they went,
we'll lick these bandits, and how! "

Santa nodded and pointed off
to a narrow slot canyon,
"That's the way they all took off,
when the foul deed was done.

"If you start along tracking them,
I will follow as soon as I can.
My reindeer are bushed from today's work,
Donner is nearly all done in.

"But once they've had a breather,
I'll fly them up into the air.
If you leave a trail for me to follow,
I'll catch up and meet you there! "

Dixon nodded and removed
his brand new, red, silk scarf.
He cut off a piece and then said,
"This here is bright as any spark."

With that he took to the trail,
riding down that rocky cleft,
to save Christmas for the little ones
he'd undue this savage theft…

II.
For half an hour Dix had rode true
when the canyon opened up wider.
In front of him five stubbly men
sat around a roaring fire.

The leader Dixon recognized,
as his sifted through Santa's sack.
He was an outlaw known far and wide
by the name of Randsome Mack.

Their eyes fastened upon him
when he and his horse rode into sight,
every one of the men had guns,
they all looked ready for a fight.

Dixon looked up to the skies,
but he could not see a sleigh.
He had left plenty of bits of scarf,
had Santa somehow lost his way?

He swallowed deep as Randsome rose,
and glared deep with hateful eyes.
"It seems we got us a trespasser.
Boys, let's put him down the mine—"

But Dix spurred forward as he spoke,
catching the bandits all off-guard.
Before they could could drew, he scattered them
and seized the sack with a strong arm.

"Get him! "angry Randsome cried,
as Dixon turned and dashed through.
"I want that sack, I want it all!
Run down that blasted fool! "

The race was on through canyon walls,
half covered in ice and snow.
Dix was ahead by a good span,
but could he get clear? He didn't know.

On he pounded, but his foes gained,
not weighed down by Santa's sack.
If this kept up Dix knew that he
would never made it back.

But a ringing of bells sounded above,
and a shadow raced on past.
Santa's sleigh soared above the gorge,
his flight blew and icy blast!

It slowed the bandits in pursuit,
they ducked to cover their heads.
Then Old Saint nick skimmed with snow,
with the runners of his great sled.

A wall of white tumbled on down,
landing on the bandit's far below.
They shouted and sputtered, motionless,
socked in by a mountain of snow!

By the time the dug themselves out,
Dixon and his horse were too far gone,
out or sight and far beyond
the reach of Randsome's throng.

When Dix cleared the rocky canyons
and rode out into the cold parklands,
he found Santa and his reindeer team
pulled up by an aspen stand.

When he approached, Santa laughed,
and slung an arm around his back.
"My boy I knew you would pull through.
We got Christmas back on track! "

III.

Santa flew off to make his rounds,
and Dix made quick tracks for home,
to a one-room shack outside of town,
that his ma and sister called their own.

It wasn't much too look at,
and his pay barely made ends meet.
He shuddered to think that without it
they'd both be out on the streets.

They exchanged countless hugs,
Ii really had been a long while.
His sister sang all she knew
of songs in a Christmas style.

It was a crowded Christmas Eve,
even tighter than the bunkhouse.
But he was home for the holiday,
and could deal with the resident mouse.

On Christmas morn, while ma cooked,
a knock rapped loudly on the door.
Ma asked, "Who could that be? "
then opened up to Boss McChord.

Dix was stunned, and jumped up,
scrambling ‘round, trying to dress.
Boss said, "Now hold on, take your time,
they're ain't no reason to fret!

"See I came on down to tell you
something that you need to hear.
Then this strange old man gave me this sack,
And said, 'Bring Dix some Christmas cheer.'"

With that he lowered a red sack,
and spilled in out on the floor.
Gifts and gold and food spilled out,
at least fifty pounds or more!

"And the think I wanted to ask you Dix,
if you'll forgive my holiday entrance,
is if you want to be my partner,
I'm expanding the McChord Ranch.

"I bought three thousand acres more,
And I'll give you a ten percent share.
For all the work you've done to save the herds,
I think that it's only fair."

Dix was stunned, and could only nod,
McChord clasped him quietly warmly.
"You'll have plenty of space to build a house,
big enough for the whole family."

Ma she cried and thanked him,
and invited him to stay for lunch.
They sang and ate and opened presents,
which came in a mighty bunch.

In the sack, amongst the gifts
Dix found for himself a new red scarf.
Then below it something that
struck still his beating heart.

It was a brand, new Winchester,
well machined, oiled, and slick.
Hanging from it was a simple tag
that bore the name ‘Ol' Nick.'

He saw writting inscribed on the stock,
and the words it said were this:
‘To My Good Friend Dix, now forever more
'The Cowboy Who Rode for Christmas.''