An Original Folk Tale by
Jake Skully Jones
Of all the outlaws that ever lived
Most have gone and laid to rest
But there’s one man who never did
And he continues to haunt the West
A wanted man named Exodus Tombs
Who held up towns at a time
They called him The Reaper of High Noon
And The Man Who Shot Clementine
He’s stolen from carriage, clergy, and train
He walks endless days and nights
Until only his skeleton remained
Now, he’s called The Holstergeist
He’s a sharp six-shooter who’s first to fire
Lived by no ones rules but his own
Never slept and he never retired
He just worked himself to the bone
Word spread of a new sheriff in town
The Holstergeist walked in the saloon
He said, “By the time the sun goes down,
you’ll need a preacher and a gravestone too”
He said, “By my recollection,
there shouldn’t be a sheriff ‘round these parts”
He reached in his vest and showed his collection
Of his victims’ golden stars
Stores closed down for the standoff
Even shadows seemed to hide
A mortal and a ghost who can’t be stopped
Who gladly kills who wish to try
The sheriff came to end the peril
He drew his gun, and then there was a flash
The phantom’s pistols had two smoking barrels
The sheriff died and lost his badge
Always quickest to the draw
This duel was like the rest
Then The Holstergeist looked down and saw
Two bullet holes in his vest
“Who’s the one who shot me from behind?”
He asked the silent town
“You would have to be out of your mind!
But I’ll make it the other way around!”
He turned, and four times he shot
At a marksman perched on a roof
The gunman was safe, or so he thought
The noticed the supports were suddenly loose
The overhang collapsed
The Holstergeist laughed at the pitiful attempt
“Did you really think you would win?” he asked
Off to another town, he went
There were two men dead after the town was warned
With rumors of another sheriff, he made his leave
The Holstergeist is a killer to the manner born
Which is why he will never rest in peace.
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