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Bill Miner's Betrayal

from Northern Sightlines by John Spearn

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lyrics

“Bill Miner, my love won’t you come to the table?” she said.
“It’s been a long night and it’s time to make up my bed.”
“I’m glad that we had such a fine time,” said Bill,
“How long has your husband been dead?”
“I’ve been a widow three times now,” she answered instead.
“Bill, there was a ponyman here, asking where you’ve been,
I told him you’d been here all night, so he scratched his chin.”
She cried, “Billy, I can’t tell your stories no more,
for I’m in a family way – The child needs a father and I need to pray.”
She awoke to find Billy was gone the very next day – long gone.
Bill’s gang blocked the tracks down on Deadman’s Flats in the rain,
And as quick as a whistle, they collected the loot from the train.
Their booty was full, and they went chasing beauties in Trail,
Once again, his plan had worked out to the last detail.
Bill Miner, Bill Miner, there’s a C.P.R. train on time.
And I’ve heard rich old Fawcett’s aboard and his carry is fine.
But there’s two gee’s reward on Bill’s head said the sign,
That was posted along the telegraph line,
And the white widow on money had her designs.
So they set up a trap on the railhead that day
And the mounties were there to take Billy away
But he soon outwitted the warden of ‘Westminster Pen
He was much too clever for him and escaped from within
- long gone
Bill Miner, Bill Miner, there’s a C.P.R. train on time.
And I’ve heard rich old Fawcett’s aboard and his carry is fine.
But there’s two gee’s reward on Bill’s head said the sign,
That was posted along the telegraph line,
And the white widow on money had her designs.
Bill laughed as he snuck his way south to the Georgia line,
But the marshal knew a trooper knew a white widow so fine.
And they caught Bill Miner, and then,
to the Macon maximum prison they’d send:
Bill Miner, Bill Miner, never to come out again . . .

credits

from Northern Sightlines, released January 1, 1999

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John Spearn Edmonton, Alberta

You’ll instantly catch these deep influences threaded through John’s fine vocals, lyrics, and rootsy, guitar-mastered songwriting works. This is pure Canadiana: forgotten but deserving heroes, the humility in our international image, and a superb range of tender ballads through to raw, foot-stompin’ stories that need to be told. ... more

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