Analogy that uses gold as a metaphor for anything that is prescious to you that's in peril.




My trail led out of wilderness.
It was a goat path headed down.
For years somehow I had stood the test
of mining desperate ground.


Now with rifle cradled like a child,
and pistols here and there.
With eyes this world had not beguiled.
That had a look that said: "Fair's fair."
I came down off my mountain
when several shots cut loose.
I reigned my horse still, spun him round,
gave him both my boots.
He scrambled to the trails first bend.
and with a spank to the flank while jumping.
I turned and shot that first fool.
By God, a levered carbine's something!


They gave up on the ambush.
Now they'd turn their thoughts to sneaking.
I knew they would try and work a flush.
This set my brain to thinking.
Once five to one, now four to gun.
For they're not through with me.
Then, one dashed!
I shot! He crashed!
And i'm just hunting three.


Then a nervous voice said; "Toss your gold! We'll let it go at that!"
I dropped down, crawled, half circled sound, and kept my body flat.
I rose behind that nervous voice, now sounding ill at ease.
I said; "Bushwacker's pay is lead, not gold." As my finger squeezed.


The other two, was of one mind.
I guess they'd had enough.
I never saw their faces.
Lord, they rode their ponies rough!


I gentled out my mount.
Nudged him heading down.
That night I fed him oats.
That night I slept in town.