Mr. Shorty

Nobody knew where he came from

They only knew he came in

Slowly he walked to the end of the bar

And he ordered up one slug of gin

Well, I could see that he wasn't a large man

I could tell that he wasn't too tall

I judged him to be about five-foot-three

And his voice was a soft Texas drawl

Said he was needin' some wages

Before he could ride for the west

Said he could do most all kind of work

Said he could ride with the best

There in his blue eyes was sadness

That comes from the need of a friend

And though he tried, he still couldn't hide

The loneliness there, deep within

Said he would work through the winter

For thirty a month and his board

I started to say where he might land a job

When a fellow came in through the door

And I could tell he was lookin' for trouble

From the way that he came stompin' in

He told me to leave Shorty there by himself

Come down and wait on a man

The eyes of the little man narrowed

The smile disappeared from his face

Gone was the friendliness that I had seen

And a wild look of hate took its place

But the big one continued to mock him

And he told me that I'd better go

Find him a couple of glasses of milk

Then maybe Shorty would grow

When the little man spoke, there was stillness

He made sure that everyone heard

Slowly he stepped away from the bar

And I still remember these words

"Oh, it's plain that you're lookin' for trouble

Trouble's what I try to shun

If that's what you want, then that's what you'll get

'Cause cowboy, we're both packin' guns"

His hand was already positioned

Feet wide apart on the floor

I hadn't noticed but there on his hip

Was a short-barreled bad .44

It was plain he was ready and waitin'

He leaned a bit forward and said

"When you call me 'Shorty,' say 'mister,' my friend

Maybe you'd rather be dead"

In the room was a terrible silence

As the big one stepped out on the floor

All drinkin' stopped and the tick of the clock

Said death would wait ten seconds more

He cursed once or twice in a whisper

And he said with a snarl on his lips

"Nobody's "mister" to me, little man!"

And he grabbed for the gun on his hip

But the little man's hand was like lightning

The bad .44 was the same

The .44 spoke and sent lead and smoke

And 17 inches of flame

For the big one had never cleared leather

Beaten before he could start

A little round hole had appeared on his shirt

The bullet went clear through his heart

The little man stood there a moment

Then holstered the bad .44

"It's always this way, so I never stay"

Slowly he walked out the door

Nobody knew where he came from

They won't forget he came by

They won't forget how a .44 gun

One night made the difference in size

As for me, I'll remember the sadness

Shown in the eyes of the man

If we meet someday, you can bet I would say

That it's me, Mr. Shorty, your friend