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The herd was bedded for the night
some three miles from the town,
you could see the lights of two saloons
and almost hear their sounds.
The trail boss didn't like the signs
he'd read throughout the day,
he seemed to sense a storm was close
and ordered hands to stay.
"It don't seem fair" one cowhand swore,
"a town like that so near.
That herd ain't goin' anywhere
and I kin use that beer."
Still orders give'd is orders 'beyed
and they might grumble some
but no one dared to question him
when all was said and done.
The trail boss was a seasoned hand
who knew a thing or two,
a man who had the full respect
of each man in that crew.
Cold beer was out of question now
black coffee ruled the day
and each would do his duty so
while townfolk laughed and played.
Yet in the somber minds of men
bright images stayed on
of wild and wicked, lustful ways
of whiskey, vice and song.
Then from the night a growin' storm
unleashed a mighty wind
and stingin' rain began to lash
both herd and mounted men.
The lightnin' flashed and cattle bawled
but riders did their job
and held wild steers within the herd
outside the wrath of God.
The storm now ragin' passed them north
directly for the town,
where lightnin' struck the highest roof
and fire came rainin' down.
A blazin' pyre of leapin' flames
had now engulfed it all,
the two saloons and everything
that stood began to fall.
The wind caught hold of every spark
and spread the embers 'round,
til ev'ry building set ablaze
had smoldered to the ground.
No hand had ever seen the like,
a town ablaze in rain,
the chances were that not a one
would see such sight again.
The storm now moved away at last,
the town in ashes lay
and those who still remained behind
had knelt to pause and pray.
"It came to pass that God destroyed
the cities of the plain
and we," the preacher now implored
"must not forget again."
The herd was started out next morn,
they passed 'round to the east,
into a hazy risin' sun
all grumblin' now had ceased.
A cowboy has a heap of faults
and Lord I got 'em too
but none of us is fool enough
to turn deaf ears to you.
And to a man that rode that day
that storm reminds us yet,
a time will come when God shall judge
us all lest we forget.
Copyright ©2003 Rod Nichols. All rights reserved.
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