He rode along the Mogollon,
An ancient Indian trail,
A full day out of Show Low,
And the law was on his tail.
He had to get to Prescott,
To prove his innocence.
He knew the law would hang him.
That was their precedence.
He couldn’t let them catch him,
’til he reached his destination.
The truth was there, in the marshal’s care,
He had the information.
He was sent to find a killer,
Who hid behind a star.
He found him and he shot him,
In a fair fight in a bar.
The local folks went wild.
Someone said “let’s get a rope.”
He knew they meant to hang him,
To stay there left no hope.
He ran outside and leaped upon
The first horse that he saw,
And headed out of Show Low,
A town without a law.
He knew he was ahead of them.
This horse was built for speed.
“If you’re going to steal a horse,” he thought,
“Take one that fits your need.”
Well he finally got to Prescott,
And he rode up Whiskey Row.
The posse finally caught him.
With just two blocks to go.
They threw a rope around him,
And they pulled him from his horse.
The marshal got there just in time,
To stop their evil course.
They told the marshal of the crime,
The shooting and horse theft.
The marshal’s right hand held a gun,
He had a poster in his left.
The picture on the poster
Was the sheriff of their town.
The poster said “alive or dead.”
The posse settled down.
The stolen horse was given back,
And everything forgiven.
This running man from Mogollon,
Is still among the livin’.
By Don Rothra