the sun setting on the high mountain passes brilliant colours in the sharp cold air he rode slowly along the path holding the reigns in one hand the other resting on his colt revolver his dark coat pulled up covers his face from the biting cold some hours from now further down the trail he will rest a bit before pushing on make the rio grande before the week is out make the border and freedom before the hangman can claim him he shifts his weight on the saddle and his horse flicks a worried ear his appaloosa was his friend too many miles shared and they had come to understand and know eachother too well from the desert towns dry and bitter to the rain swept mountaintops of colorado from saloons and dancing girls to the long hard chase of the lawman following had seen more miles than care to think such a sweet tale such adventure as he had dreamed of when he was a boy robbing trains and gunfights with bad man but mostly he thinks of his country rose and her little house near topeka and how she said that there was always be room for him in her bed and heart with the hard won smile she gave him rough round the edges but she was soft in every way that a road weary man like him could hope for thought of her now all these miles away as the sun sets on the high mountain passes so deep with winter snows so silent under crisp moonlight her face there in his heart as he drifts through the darkness drifts through the years and miles forever more one hand on the reigns the other on his colt revolver some men were born never to rest born never to know a home