The Fall of Big Irish

He was Irish by blood and Texan by birth

And his name was well known by all

A soldier, a Ranger, who had seen more than most

A strong man, much too strong to fall

So it came as a shock when they learned of his death

Like a fire on the prairie it spread

The story of just how a tall hero like that

Was now merely one of the dead

It was out in West Texas, in the dust and the wind

That the Irishman met his demise

As the story was told round the campfires that Fall

The cowboys all gasped with surprise

They tell of how Irish was buying a round

In a small saloon down by the border

He kept the boys spellbound as he spun his yarns

Of his fights with chaos and disorder

He told of his battles with rustlers and knaves

And cowards, and crooks of the West

Always came out ahead, he boasted at length

But one cowboy seemed little impressed

After one tale of terror that was hard to believe

The crowd heard a very soft chuckle

It came from the cowboy who stood down the bar

Barely came up to Irish’s buckle

Excuse me there son but I think you should know

Just exactly who I am right here

The cowboy just turned as he glanced up a bit

Then looked back to his beer and he smiled

Now Irish was Irish, and quite quick to anger

A hush then fell over the crowd

A few men stepped back, a few leaned in close

For the cowboy was not speaking loud

“I know who you are Irish. I’ve seen ya before”

Other faces and other names

Almost every saloon has a feller like you

Always talking and playin his games

Now I don’t mind a tall tale now and then

And I‘ve told some myself sure it’s true

But a tale is a tale and a lie is a lie

And I’ve had my fill this day of you

That box canyon fight that you say you were in

When Apaches tried liftin your hair

I was there with my pard from the 8th Cavalry

And I don’t’ recall seein you there

It was hot blood and gunsmoke that day long ago

Not quite as you say, “Great good fun”

We were scared, young, and desperate, my good pard and me

And I buried him when it was done

So you just go on boasting while I stand at the bar

In a while, I’ll have finished my beer

And I’ll give you a fight then if that’s what you want

That is, if you’re still around here

He spoke low and soft and the men in the back

Couldn’t quite hear just what he had said

But the men standing close saw the look in his eyes

And they knew he’d filled Irish with dread

With a small sound Big Irish just turned for the door

And headed out into the night

They knew he was waiting out there in the street

They all knew there’d soon be a fight

The old cowboy finished his beer as he’d said

Left a sizable tip on the bar

Then he walked to the doors and out into the street

They all knew that he wouldn’t get far

Dusty windows were crammed with curious eyes

A few even ventured on out.

“Well Irish?”, said the cowboy, “What’ll it be?”

And he said it low, without a shout.

Everyone held their breath for the time had arrived

But their eagerness was all for naught

One mount was gone and Irish was too

The cowboy said, “That’s what I thought”

And he rode out of town headed west by northwest

No one knew which way Big Irish went

He never came back to that town for sure

His reputation there was all spent

Some said he went east and opened a store

Some said he just took to his bed

No one really quite knew and no one quite cared

To them his foul memory was dead

No he didn’t die out in the dirt street that night

With a smoking six-gun in his hand

His death was a coward’s and he’ll die many more

And he’ll earn no respect as a man

His life was a lie, just an act so it seemed

For you can’t tell a hero by sight

Like, for instance, that old goat who stood at the bar

And finished his beer that night