Not much is put forth about a man from the north, the sheriff of old Saskatoon
‘Cept for the warning, that his smiles in the morning hid th’monster he’d be after noon.
Sheriff Dan Clay wasn’t always that way, was wary of tossin’ round lead.
And that hesitation lead to daily damnation and a bullet-shaped hole in his head.
See, back in the day, the younger man, Clay, believed in a world that was right,
So he didn’t think twice, bout’ a man playin’ nice, when it came time for pickin’ a fight.
Faced with Charles o’Keefe, a liar and thief, Clay steadied himself for the draw,
But, impatient and surly, o’Keefe pulled his gun early, and lived on as a scourge to the law.
The dead man, Dan Clay, might have seen his last day, but woke to a devilish grin,
“There’s a small price to pay,” said the devil to Clay, “But it might get you kickin’ again.”
“If you come around often, I’ll spare you the coffin, let’s call it a second each day,
At noon you drop in then it’s right back again- no need for a good man to stay.”
“For you to be reckoned, all I need is that second, for most it’s a lifetime and then some.”
And just as he planned, Clay took Satan’s hand, without having heard the addendum.
“I thought I should mention, a minor extension- though it works out for you quite as well.
See one Earthly instant gets wrung out and twisted and ends up a whole year in Hell.”
Made the fool twice, Clay struggled to rise, and he covered his wound with his hat,
And as for the sin that’s followed him since, he hoped that the badge covered that.
And he’s done plenty fair, by the town and the mayor, but everyday just about twelve,
Sheriff Dan Clay spends a year of his day serving time on his sentence in hell.
As though fate had planned it, O’Keefe and his bandits, crossed motives with Saskatoon law,
And knowing the grief, that follows O’Keefe, Clay faced him once more at the draw.
“We’ll fire at noon,” laughed the murderous buffoon, but, ignoring his normal seclusion,
Clay cut through his laughter, “How’s one second after, to avoid any repeat confusion?”
In the thick high-noon simmer, O’Keefe seemed to remember, the facts of his previous crime,
Said, “I woulda’ sworn, a dead man would learn, how to judge the wrong place and wrong time.”
Clay made no reply as the seconds ticked by for he knew what high noon had in store.
And faithful O’Keefe, the second-rate thief, pulled his trigger the instant before.
Now some blame the liquor, but Clay seemed to flicker, to even the soberest folk,
He was gone for a flash then, with sulphur and ash, reappeared in a black plume of smoke.
Dan Clay looked a fright, with his mustache alight, and the hellfire lickin’ his heels,
He said “I won’t debate, that the place wasn’t great, but the timing, at least, was ideal.”
Clay made it brief, and he buried O’Keefe, and he gave up the badge and the post.
And he gave up the gun and the favor he won and eventually gave up the ghost.
Not much is put forth about a man from the north, the sheriff of old Saskatoon
‘Cept for the warning, that his smiles in the morning hid th’monster he’d be after noon.
-traveler
