If y’re fixing on hanging me, hang me. What I did, I did. I’ll answer to God for that. Maybe He’ll see things my way, maybe yours, but I won’t try to hide. I didn’t run from you. Can’t from Him. I’m old, and in these hard years I’ve learned you can’t hide nothing, all said and done. But I’m a wandering man, and if y’re fixing, after I’m done kicking, on planting me up there on Boot hill, I’d ask you, in good Christian charity, not to. I am meant to roam, to be free, not buried in dirt.
Dusty | Part II
Tale Told 