The Guns of Heather Jordan
She came out of Dodge City, on a journey with ma and pa,Through Buffalo and El Reno, on her way down to a place named Chickasha.She was just sixteen years old, in the spring of ninety five,A new life set to start on a ranch, with the family there to strive. A church going family, pleasant, and always fearing God,Heather worked the ranch, her wirey frame and shoulders broad.And all chipped in together, hard working through sweat and tears,Bonded the family circle, with all their daily cheers. Her father was an ex marshal and he never had a son,But every day without fail, he taught Heather to use a gun.Twenty five paces from the bottles, she fanned the pistol in a flash,And as each bullet left it's chamber, each bottle fell with a smash. To look at Heather she's sure sweet, blue eyes and button nose,You could pick her up and caress her hair, just like a Texas rose.Her pale pink lips they glisten, when the moon comes out at night,And when she's standing in the moonlight, she's such a wonderful site. One day whilst tying up a fence, her ma asked if she could ride to Verden,Could you go to the trading post, only if it's not a burden.It wont take long if you go now, it's good to ride ahead.You'll be back before lunch, and for tea I'll make some bread. Off she rode into the distance, without a single care,The McClure gang were over the horizon, there's murder in the air.They rode down to the homestead, they were met by ma and pa,Jake McClure covered his holdster, ready for a draw. About thirty years ago, just after the civil war,The McClure's murdered four men, a crime any man would deplore.Heather's dad the marshal then, had them sentenced to death,But the three escaped, and rode off fast, swearing vengence beneath their breath. Jim Bob, the younger brother, dismounted and walked towards Heathers mum,In one swift move, he drew his gun, and she fell beneath the sun.The three were cheering loudly, as Clanton raised his rifle,An unarmed man standing helpless, was nothing he could stifle. A blast rang out, and birds flew up, startled by the bang,The ex marshal lay there still, and they said now who's gonna hang.They looked at one and other, and turned their horses South,“OK boys let's go Texas!” came from out their mouths A friend Jo Munn who was riding past, was stopping for some water,Seen the bodies lying there, and to the sheriff and find the daughter.He rode out to the trading post, the dust churned up into the air,And just when he arrived, he saw Heather standing there. Heather my sweet, I have bad news, there was silence in his sound,Your ma an pa, they have been shot, I seen them on the ground.Heather climbed upon her horse, and stared straight at the sun,All his bravery in the past, he was even at Bull Run. She turned to Jo, looking down, her hair blown across her face,Can you find out who did this, and tell me of the place.Jo said he'd do his best, he had eyes for Heather you see,I'll visit Pipaluk Lil, she sees everything, up from her big birch tree. When Jo seen Lil, the indian squaw, she had a lot to say,She said she seen the McClures, at noon while riding past today.They were bragging about a murder, in front of eveyone at the stalls,And what I heard how the story went, they headed to Wichita Falls. Jo rode back to Heathers ranch, to break the news of his find,The rage that crept across her face, was not the welcoming kind.She walked into her pa's bedroom, and opened up two locks,And as she lifted both the lids, two pistols shining in the box. Two colt forty fives, well oiled, the barrels clicked as they spun,The first time in thirty years, the guns had seen the sun.The smell of fresh waxed leather, still eminating from the belt,And the holdsters that she picked up, said justice will be dealt. When arriving at Wichita Falls, she seen three men in Brad's Saloon,The hustle and bustle of the bar, and a pianist tinkling tunes.The clinking of the dominoes, and the snapping of the cards,The crooner at the piano, cigar smoke, and total disregards. The local whore, she was loud, so drunk she could hardly stand,Came out the swinging bar doors, and held on to Heather's hand.Her unsteady head was shaking, her lip sneared up towards her nose,I just had sex with those three men, but that's how my life goes. I took them upstairs to the room, one by one we were shagging,But the last one, he's the youngest, just couldn't stop his bragging.Heather looked into her eyes, and whispered what'd he say,She replied they killed two folks, in Chikasha yesterday. Heather knew right there and then, as she looked up to the sky,They cut down my ma and pa, and left them there to die.Heather's hands beside her holdsters twitched, head bowed towards the floor,Her long shadow from the dropping sun, reached up to the swinging door. She tipped her black stetson hat, to just above her eyes,Her holdsters tight against her legs, held on with bootlace ties.As she reached the swinging doors, she took out her pa's old guns,She walked through, addressed the cowyboys, what goes around still comes. She just stared at Jim Bob, and could hear her pa talk too,Remember what I taught you, you know what to do.She raised her gun slowly and pressed it firm into Jim Bob's head,Jake jumped up and startled all, with the other gun she shot Jake dead. Jim Bob pleaded for his life, I didn't do it, that's for sure,You're a lying little bastard, I heard it from the whore.Jim Bob shaking franticly, crying like a child,Heather didn't budge, and she told him she was wild. She put the pistol neath his chin, Jim Bob collapsed there kneeling,Cocked the trigger, fired once, and Jim Bob was on the ceilling.She put her pistols in her holdsters, and walked over to the bar,She downed a shot of whisky, and smoked a small cigar. She looked at the bar room mirror, she could see everything in the bar,And stared at Clanton McClure, the one who killed her pa.Clanton he was edgy, got up to make a stand,Heather turned from the bar, and shot the gun from his hand. You know you killed my ma and pa, because of long ago,And you killed four cowboys also, in a place named San Angelo.Heather drew both her guns, and fired with such fury,Blood splattered all over the swing doors, as she screamed I am judge and jury. She walked out of the bar room, in the smoke they lay there dead,Jo was there with a hug, for the girl he wants to wed.Years went by in Brad's saloon, the gunbelt hangs above the bourbon,And when anybody asks, they're The Guns of Heather Jordan Bernie Logue.02/2020