Post by burke on Jul 2, 2021 19:19:17 GMT -5
Vern Hatley is a friend and co-worker from my days in Texas and Arizona. This piece was inspired by Robert Service’s classic, The Shooting of Dan McGrew.
THE DEVIL AND VERNON HATLEY
It was half past nine and I was passing the time at the Crystal Palace Saloon,
Mark was tickling the ivories and playing a sad eyed tune,
The swamper was cursing and swinging his mop trying to keep out the rain and the mud,
Vern Hatley was sitting at a table in back in a game of seven-card stud.
Now we all know that lady luck is as ornery and fickle as sin,
One minute you can’t do anything wrong, in a twinkling you just can’t win,
But tonight her love was straight and true, she had eyes for just one man,
Vern Hatley was the lucky stiff who held the winning hand.
I was sipping a beer, giving Rosie a leer, when the stranger bellied up to the bar,
When I took in his tack, he was all dressed in black and had the faint scent of burnt tar;
As he downed his first drink I started to think, something’s wrong and I now I know why,
For though it was pouring outside, I was soaked to the hide, he was as dry as a hangman’s eye.
His nose was too long, had a point to his chin and his hands were slender and fine,
And when he looked in my face I stepped back a pace for his eyes sent a chill down my spine,
They were as cold as the snows that a blue norther blows down from the pass and the hills,
Yet they burned like a fire on a funeral pyre that consumes whatever it wills.
I turned to the pack at a whoop from the back as the noise reached a riotous level,
Hatley pulled in a big pot, he knew he was hot, and remarked, “I could fair beat the devil.”
Now the stranger just smiled or was it a sneer as he strolled over and sat in a chair,
In the still of the room in the gathering gloom I could only stand there and stare,
He said with a grin, “so you think you can win?” Vern’s face became clouded with doubt,
For to play him one hand was his only demand and he intended to see him cleaned out.
“I’ll tell you right now, but I won’t tell you how you’ve dug yourself quite a hole,
For the game’s table stakes and for the difference it makes, for your ante you’ll put up your soul.
Vern was as pale as a man fresh from jail as the first cards started to fall,
With a six in his place and our man with an ace the stranger bet ten, Vern said, “call.”
With four sixes on board the stranger bet his whole hoard and Vern had one foot in the pit,
For though hearts ace, king, queen, ten would bring a smile to most men he had a deuce and a three in his mitt.
Vern sat up real straight aware of his fate, in the distance the faint toll of a bell,
He suddenly grinned and like the rush of the wind said, “I’ll raise you the souls that are in Heaven and Hell,
The stranger stared straight ahead with a horrible dread like a man in a hideous dream,
His eyes were ablaze and from a dark smoky haze he let out a long wailing scream.
I leaped from the floor as he made for the door and followed to see what he’d do,
My hair stood on end and I’ll tell you my friend to his handle I now had a clue,
For the steed that he battled and finally straddled was as black as the blackest night,
And a crackling flame was his tail and mane and his eyes shone a malevolent white.
The demon swung ‘round to see and he looked straight at me, his mouth like a wind blown ember,
And I started to quail when he let out wail, a cry I’ll always remember,
While back at the bar Hatley spoke from afar of nerve, pure luck and brawn,
He turned around slow saying I don’t want to know the last card that I would have drawn.
Now if you ever go where the blue northers blow down from the pass and the hills,
You may see a sight that will fill you with fright and give your spirit the chills,
With flaming eyes and glowing jowls a spectre on a fiery steed,
Wailing with rage mid the shadowy sage against the fates that allowed such a deed,
He’ll be lamenting the time at half past nine at the Crystal Palace saloon,
When Mark was tickling the ivories and playing a sad eyed tune,
And he’ll utter a curse when he remembers the worst, coming out of the rain and the mud,
And having Vern Hatley break his nerve in a game of seven-card stud.
Burke
THE DEVIL AND VERNON HATLEY
It was half past nine and I was passing the time at the Crystal Palace Saloon,
Mark was tickling the ivories and playing a sad eyed tune,
The swamper was cursing and swinging his mop trying to keep out the rain and the mud,
Vern Hatley was sitting at a table in back in a game of seven-card stud.
Now we all know that lady luck is as ornery and fickle as sin,
One minute you can’t do anything wrong, in a twinkling you just can’t win,
But tonight her love was straight and true, she had eyes for just one man,
Vern Hatley was the lucky stiff who held the winning hand.
I was sipping a beer, giving Rosie a leer, when the stranger bellied up to the bar,
When I took in his tack, he was all dressed in black and had the faint scent of burnt tar;
As he downed his first drink I started to think, something’s wrong and I now I know why,
For though it was pouring outside, I was soaked to the hide, he was as dry as a hangman’s eye.
His nose was too long, had a point to his chin and his hands were slender and fine,
And when he looked in my face I stepped back a pace for his eyes sent a chill down my spine,
They were as cold as the snows that a blue norther blows down from the pass and the hills,
Yet they burned like a fire on a funeral pyre that consumes whatever it wills.
I turned to the pack at a whoop from the back as the noise reached a riotous level,
Hatley pulled in a big pot, he knew he was hot, and remarked, “I could fair beat the devil.”
Now the stranger just smiled or was it a sneer as he strolled over and sat in a chair,
In the still of the room in the gathering gloom I could only stand there and stare,
He said with a grin, “so you think you can win?” Vern’s face became clouded with doubt,
For to play him one hand was his only demand and he intended to see him cleaned out.
“I’ll tell you right now, but I won’t tell you how you’ve dug yourself quite a hole,
For the game’s table stakes and for the difference it makes, for your ante you’ll put up your soul.
Vern was as pale as a man fresh from jail as the first cards started to fall,
With a six in his place and our man with an ace the stranger bet ten, Vern said, “call.”
With four sixes on board the stranger bet his whole hoard and Vern had one foot in the pit,
For though hearts ace, king, queen, ten would bring a smile to most men he had a deuce and a three in his mitt.
Vern sat up real straight aware of his fate, in the distance the faint toll of a bell,
He suddenly grinned and like the rush of the wind said, “I’ll raise you the souls that are in Heaven and Hell,
The stranger stared straight ahead with a horrible dread like a man in a hideous dream,
His eyes were ablaze and from a dark smoky haze he let out a long wailing scream.
I leaped from the floor as he made for the door and followed to see what he’d do,
My hair stood on end and I’ll tell you my friend to his handle I now had a clue,
For the steed that he battled and finally straddled was as black as the blackest night,
And a crackling flame was his tail and mane and his eyes shone a malevolent white.
The demon swung ‘round to see and he looked straight at me, his mouth like a wind blown ember,
And I started to quail when he let out wail, a cry I’ll always remember,
While back at the bar Hatley spoke from afar of nerve, pure luck and brawn,
He turned around slow saying I don’t want to know the last card that I would have drawn.
Now if you ever go where the blue northers blow down from the pass and the hills,
You may see a sight that will fill you with fright and give your spirit the chills,
With flaming eyes and glowing jowls a spectre on a fiery steed,
Wailing with rage mid the shadowy sage against the fates that allowed such a deed,
He’ll be lamenting the time at half past nine at the Crystal Palace saloon,
When Mark was tickling the ivories and playing a sad eyed tune,
And he’ll utter a curse when he remembers the worst, coming out of the rain and the mud,
And having Vern Hatley break his nerve in a game of seven-card stud.
Burke
