He rode into town, gun hanging low aside his hip.
Swiftly whispers issued forth from each citizen's lips,
for between two feuding ranchers the townsfolk were caught.
It was certain by one of them his gun was bought.
He had to be famous by the way he wore his gun,
yet not one there could name him, no, not a single one.
The residents watched while he strode into the saloon;
figuring they'd know who hired him pretty soon.
He stepped up to the bar and ordered himself a beer.
Drink in hand he walked towards a lone table in the rear.
Tinges of angst and excitement mingled in the air
as speculation arose by all those gathered there.
Word quickly spread to the ranchers closest to the town
a gunman had come who'd surely take one of them down.
When the news reached the rancher known as Lantry,
he made a plan to offer the gunman more money.
Shortly Fortner from opposing direction arrives.
While rushing towards the saloon the two nearly collide,
each bearing on his face the look of absolute fear.
In the meantime the gunman had finished his beer.
As they wondered who'd hired him, for neither had a clue,
the saloon doors swing open and the gunman steps through.
He leaves them most confused and quite dismayed,
for he just simply mounts up his horse and rides away.
A gunman he might have been, who stopped there for a spell,
but his purpose no one could ever exactly tell.
Though he put an end to the two ranchers squall,
nobody was certain he was a gunman at all.
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