I'm the prince of the Aztecs;
I am perfection at robbing a store;
I have a stake left me by Wells Fargo,
And before long I will have more.
There are my friends, the Schusters,
For whom I carry so much lead;
In the future, to kill this young rooster,
They will have to shoot at his head.
Commodore Owens says he wants to kill me;
To me that sounds like fun.
'Tis strange he'd thus try to kill me,
The red-headed son-of-a-gun.
He handles a six-shooter neat,
And hits a rabbit every pop;
But should he and I happen to meet,
We'll have an old-fashioned Arkansas hop.
[by Red McNeil, Hashknife Gang 1888]
Red McNeil was captured in 1889 and spent ten years in prison, during which time he taught himself hydraulic engineering. He led a respectable life thereafter, even revisiting Schuster's Store years later and putting all to rest with the owners.
[Maynard Dixon, 1875-1946]
I shall give myself to the desert again,
That I, in its golden dust,
May be blown from a barren peak,
Broadcast over the sun-lands.
If you should desire some news of me,
Go ask the little horned toad whose home is the dust,
Or seek it among the fragrant sage,
Or question the mountain juniper,
And, by their silence,
They will truly inform you.
[Maynard Dixon, Painter & Artist]