Miss Mona's Parlor

Sixgun Jack McRandall Thrilling Ranch Stories Fall 1953 Issue Letter in "Tenderfoot Corner," page 7

A drumming of holves on the narrow trail,
A flashing glimpse of mane and tail
And a speeding rider is lost to sight
In the gloomy darkness of the night.

And ever and anon the rider turns to jeer
The speeding pursuers in his rear
And the screaming whine of leaden hail,
Is heard upon the narrow trail.

The flash of pistols split the dark
And the leaden pellets find their mark.
The fleeing rider is seen to fall
But out of the dark there comes a call --

"Come on you dirty rotten scum!
I've twelve more bullets in my gun
And twelve of you shall die with me
So I shall not lack for company."

Then dropping flat upon the ground
They answered his fire, round for round.
And thus died Sixgun Jack McRandall
Who sure was worthy of his handle.

For his bullets killed twelve men you see
And he did not lack for company.

Edward F. Goetz
St. Louis, Mo.

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