The Last Frontier Poem by David Welch

In a clap-board building by the Tetons,
nineteen-nineteen, if you're wondering the year,
a man named Sid Hull sat down for a drink
in a saloon they called The Last Frontier.

Sid had been riding here for quite a bit,
he was gonna turn seventy next week,
seen the last Indians get driven off,
and rustled cattle driven through the peaks.

He'd moved here back during the wild years,
he'd seen shoot-outs, hangings, and great fires,
Sid had seen the vast range divided up with
endless miles of thorny barbed-wire.

He was a foreman for Anderson's Ranch,
he and Cal had been friends for many years,
since Sid had taught him to ride and to rope,
and helped the greenhorn get over his fears.

Cal had always had a mind for business,
while Sid knew the ins-and-outs of a herd,
he'd hired Sid on with a ten percent stake,
then they'd worked hard and earned what they deserved.

Now Cal was a bit of a teatotaler,
and had declined coming out here tonight,
but the man who has just walked into the bar
was not a stranger to drinking and fights.

Sid recognized him immediately,
though the long decades had wrinkled his face,
he'd never forget the face of a killer,
the wretched outlaw they called ‘Gutshot' Pace.

Once, way back, he'd been known just as Ollie,
an apprentice to the local blacksmith,
too fond of the gambling for his on good,
soon he had nothing left to wager with.

He, his brother Paul, and four other friends
decided that they'd knock over the bank,
Sid had been in the posse that had chased them,
long they had pursued those criminals rank.

Sid had cut down Ollie's younger brother Paul,
he still recalled the shocked look he had worn,
Paul had died then, but Ollie had escaped,
his later crimes made many widows morn.

They say he had wandered across the west,
forming gangs and preying on all they could,
but as the country had become settled
the picking had become less-and-less good.

The papers all said his gang me their end
up in Alaska in nineteen-oh-three,
but clearly they had missed old Gutshot Pace,
since he stood before him, gray and angry.

He was dressed in rough clothes, covered in dust,
a pistol mere inches from his right hand,
said, "Don't make a move, or I'll kill you straight,
did you think that I would forget you, man? "

Side supposed that he should've been frightened,
instead he just sighed in sad disbelief,
said, "Forty-five years you carried all this,
forty-five years you've been gunning for me? "

Gutshot snarled at Sid's strange reaction.
"I don't care if a century's gone by.
You murdered my brother, and I made a vow,
to take vengeance for Paul before I die."

Sid just shrugged back at the bandit's cruel words,
said, "You know it ain't the old days anymore.
People just don't go 'round killing at will,
using their guns to settle up old scores.

"There's no frontier for you to hide out in,
no wild towns for you to spend your loot,
no men to talk of your reputation,
hell, folks these days don't even wear real boots! "

Gutshot just grimed, "Then I'll do you a favor,
since both of us have done outlived our time,
tou'll die just like all your old puncher friends,
and finally vengeance will be all mine."

Sid sighed again, "If you think I'll just pull,
then you're mad, it just isn't done these days.
That's why Mort at the bar has a shot-gun,
and is all ready to blow you away."

Gutshot spun to see the bartender,
expecting to find the short barman armed,
but instead the bartender had his hands up,
and he was trembling with great alarm.

He turned back just in time to see Sid's gun flash,
the bullet caught him square in the forehead,
Sid had not even gotten up from his chair
to render the crusty, old bandit dead.

He just shook his head, reloaded his gun,
said, "Well I guess some things don't ever change.
You better get the police over here,
they'll probably want someone to explain."

The bartender nodded, sent his glass-washer
to go fetch the law from the nearby town,
Sid just ordered himself a new whiskey
and took a long time to drink it on down.

He looked at Gutshot, and said to himself,
"I guess he couldn't live without a frontier,
no places left for him to sulk about,
no spot left that would let him spread his fear."

Sid shrugged his shoulders, and kicked up his heels,
feeling the alcohol work on his mind,
but he had to admit it had been a thrill
to relive a bit of his younger times.