Dobe Bill, he went a-riding
Through the canyon, in the glow
Of a quiet Sunday morning
From the town of Angelo
Ridin' easy on that pinto
That he dearly loved to straddle,
With a six-gun and sombrero
That was wider than his saddle
And he's hummin' as he's goin'
Of a simple little song
That's a-boomin' through the cactus
As he's gallopin' along:
"Oh, I've rid from San Antony
Through the mesquite and the sand
I'm a rarin', flarin' bucko,
Not afraid to play my hand.
Well, I'm a hootin', shootin' demon
And to have my little fun
On my pinto called Apache
And Adolphus that's my gun."
Well straight to Santa Fe he drifted,
And he mills around the town
Sorta gittin' of his bearin's
As he pours his liquor down
But he's watchin', always watchin',
Every hombre in the place,
Like he's mebbe sorta lookin'
For some certain hombre's face.
Then one night he saunters careless
To the place of Monte Sam
And he does a bit of playin'
Like he doesn't give a damn.
Then all at once it's hushed and quiet,
Like a calm before the blow,
And the crowd is tense and nervous,
And the playin stopped and slow.
At the bar a man is standin',
Sneerin' as his glances lay,
Like a challenge did he fling 'em,
Darin' 'em to make the play.
Two-Gun Blake, the Texas killer,
Hated, feared wherever known
Stood and drank his glass of mescal
With assurance all his own.
Then the eyes of Blake, the killer,
Met the glance of Dobe Bill
And they held each one the other
With the steel of looks that kill,
Then the tones of Blake came slowly,
With a sneer in every word
"Well, you've found me!"
But the other gave no sign he saw or heard.
Walkin' calmly toward the speaker,
He advanced with steady pace
Then he g
