One Hundred Riders

Ron Ferguson

Ron1

Ron Ferguson

spaghetti western, outlaw country, voodoo blues

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[INTRO — CINEMATIC WESTERN × OUTLAW VOODOO BLUES | bright-dark 2/4 ~108 BPM | BOOMING DREADNOUGHT alternating bass | five-string Precision bass | brushed snare slightly behind | dry TELECASTER]
[TELECASTER — confident 1–♭3–4→5→6 | warm]
[MALE WEATHERED BARITONE — ]
Verse 1
Rob Winter rode the southern road
With half the North behind,
Every ranch that pledged him horses
Sent its riders right on time.
Granite sent two hundred.
Red Creek sent three score.
Even men who'd cursed his father
Sent a dozen more.
Only Frye Ranch hadn't answered.
Hundred riders overdue.
Rob said, **“Old Frye gave his word.
Let's find out what held 'em up.”**
[TELECASTER — easy 5→6]
Chorus
[OPEN 2/4 | easy gait]
A hundred riders,
A hundred guns,
A hundred saddles
Still haven't come.
Maybe fences needed mending.
Maybe cattle broke the wire.
Maybe old man Frye just needs reminding
Which side
he promised to ride.
[DREADNOUGHT]
Verse 2 — The Party
Rob took twelve men from the column.
Said, “We'll catch you farther south.”
His mother rode beside him,
Black veil tied beneath her hat.
She'd been quiet since Eli's hanging.
Carried one thing in her mind:
“When we reach Crown Junction, Robert,
Your father's coming home.”
Rob nodded.
“We'll bring him north.”
She said,
“All of him they left to find.”
[ARRANGEMENT briefly thins]
Then she asked about the children.
Rob answered what they knew:
“Sarah's living.
Jack went north.
The little one's with Horace.
[Pause]
Mara...”
[PAUSE]
Neither finished.
Verse 3 — Frye Ranch
[2/4, warmer | faint HARMONICA, major/minor ambiguity]
Frye Ranch rose beyond the cottonwoods,
White house, barns painted red.
Old Frye himself rode out to meet them,
Hat pushed back upon his head.
“Rob! Damn good thing you came here.
Been meaning to send a wire.
Had sickness through the bunkhouse.
Then we lost the western byre.”
He hugged Rob's mother like a cousin.
Called Eli his oldest friend.
Said,
**“Come inside. Eat something.
We'll have your hundred out by ten.”**
[TELECASTER, 4→5→6]
Chorus
A hundred riders,
A hundred guns,
A hundred saddles
Ready to come.
Coffee hot and horses watered,
Whiskey poured beside the fire.
Old friends talking old-time stories—
Nothing wrong. . .
at Frye.
[VERY FAINT MINOR HARMONICA — ♭3]
Verse 4 — Supper
[FAMILIAR, comfortable groove, reassuring]
Roast beef steaming on the table.
Biscuits passing hand to hand.
Frye apologized for keeping
Winter waiting on his men.
Rob said, “Hell, we're all together.
That's the only thing I need.”
Frye said,
“Family counts for something.”
Rob's mother:
“Yes indeed.”
[ONE BEAT SILENCE]
Old Frye looked toward the doorway.
Stable foreman standing there.
Neither nodded.
Neither spoke.
Frye simply asked:
“Cold out there?”
Foreman answered:
“Cold enough.”
[MINOR HARMONICA — ♭5]
[BARN DOORS CLOSE OUTSIDE — HEAVY WOODEN THUD]
Betrayal
[2/4 STOPS]
Rob looks up.
[ONE FULL BAR SILENCE]
[TELECASTER — ♭5, NO resolution]
Old Frye lowers his eyes.
“I'm sorry, son.”
[GUNSHOT]
[METER SLAMS INTO HEAVY 4/4 HALF-TIME]
Verse 5
[BOOMING DREADNOUGHT — brutal low 1–♭3–♭5 pulse | low drums]
Windows shattered inward.
Rifles spoke from either wall.
Winter men went for their pistols—
Half never cleared leather at all.
Rob kicked table, drew behind it,
Put one Frye man on the floor.
Shouted,
“Mother, get down!”
Another volley
blew apart the door.
[TELECASTER — vicious ♭5→5 | REFUSE 6]
She crawled toward her fallen son.
Rob said,
“Ma, stay low.”
She reached him.
Held his face.
Said something nobody would know.
[GUNSHOT]
[ALL DROP EXCEPT LOW BASS]
[Instrumental]
[HEAVY 4/4 HALF-TIME]
[DREADNOUGHT — 1–♭3–4–♭5 ostinato]
[TELECASTER savage ♭5→5 bends, repeatedly REFUSE 6]
[MINOR HARMONICA — broken fragments of earlier welcoming melody, now distorted]
[NO RESONATOR]
[THREE SHORT VOLLEYS separated by silence]
Verse 6
Smoke hung low across the dining room.
Nobody Winter stood.
Old Frye stepped around the table,
Boots tracking through the blood.
Foreman asked,
“What about the northern army?”
Frye wiped whiskey from his sleeve.
Said,
**“By morning they'll hear Winter's dead.
By noon they'll start to leave.”**
He looked down at Rob and mother.
Couldn't hold the sight too long.
Whispered,
“Family counts for something.”
[TELECASTER — ♭5]
Then turned and walked along.
Final Chorus
[HALF-TIME | original melody transformed]
A hundred riders,
A hundred guns,
A hundred saddles
Were never gonna come.
No sickness in the bunkhouse.
No fire took the byre.
A hundred men were waiting—
[PAUSE]
Just not
to ride for Winter.
Outro
[DRUMS STOP | night insects slowly emerge]
Bodies carried from the farmhouse.
Lanterns moving through the yard.
Frye men watching every roadway.
Two men standing barnyard guard.
[VERY DISTANT DREADNOUGHT pulse]
Beyond the western wheat field,
Something shifts beneath the grass.
[PAUSE]
No one sees it.
No one hears it.
[TELECASTER — barely audible 5→6]
Then stillness.
[FOOTSTEPS inside ranch fade]
Darkness settles.
[LONG SILENCE]
[ONE QUIET FEMALE BREATH]
[CUT]

4963/7500

[INTRO — CINEMATIC WESTERN × OUTLAW VOODOO BLUES | bright-dark 2/4 ~108 BPM | BOOMING DREADNOUGHT alternating bass | five-string Precision bass | brushed snare slightly behind | dry TELECASTER] [TELECASTER — confident 1–♭3–4→5→6 | warm] [MALE WEATHERED BARITONE — ] Verse 1 Rob Winter rode the southern road With half the North behind, Every ranch that pledged him horses Sent its riders right on time. Granite sent two hundred. Red Creek sent three score. Even men who'd cursed his father Sent a dozen more. Only Frye Ranch hadn't answered. Hundred riders overdue. Rob said, **“Old Frye gave his word. Let's find out what held 'em up.”** [TELECASTER — easy 5→6] Chorus [OPEN 2/4 | easy gait] A hundred riders, A hundred guns, A hundred saddles Still haven't come. Maybe fences needed mending. Maybe cattle broke the wire. Maybe old man Frye just needs reminding Which side he promised to ride. [DREADNOUGHT] Verse 2 — The Party Rob took twelve men from the column. Said, “We'll catch you farther south.” His mother rode beside him, Black veil tied beneath her hat. She'd been quiet since Eli's hanging. Carried one thing in her mind: “When we reach Crown Junction, Robert, Your father's coming home.” Rob nodded. “We'll bring him north.” She said, “All of him they left to find.” [ARRANGEMENT briefly thins] Then she asked about the children. Rob answered what they knew: “Sarah's living. Jack went north. The little one's with Horace. [Pause] Mara...” [PAUSE] Neither finished. Verse 3 — Frye Ranch [2/4, warmer | faint HARMONICA, major/minor ambiguity] Frye Ranch rose beyond the cottonwoods, White house, barns painted red. Old Frye himself rode out to meet them, Hat pushed back upon his head. “Rob! Damn good thing you came here. Been meaning to send a wire. Had sickness through the bunkhouse. Then we lost the western byre.” He hugged Rob's mother like a cousin. Called Eli his oldest friend. Said, **“Come inside. Eat something. We'll have your hundred out by ten.”** [TELECASTER, 4→5→6] Chorus A hundred riders, A hundred guns, A hundred saddles Ready to come. Coffee hot and horses watered, Whiskey poured beside the fire. Old friends talking old-time stories— Nothing wrong. . . at Frye. [VERY FAINT MINOR HARMONICA — ♭3] Verse 4 — Supper [FAMILIAR, comfortable groove, reassuring] Roast beef steaming on the table. Biscuits passing hand to hand. Frye apologized for keeping Winter waiting on his men. Rob said, “Hell, we're all together. That's the only thing I need.” Frye said, “Family counts for something.” Rob's mother: “Yes indeed.” [ONE BEAT SILENCE] Old Frye looked toward the doorway. Stable foreman standing there. Neither nodded. Neither spoke. Frye simply asked: “Cold out there?” Foreman answered: “Cold enough.” [MINOR HARMONICA — ♭5] [BARN DOORS CLOSE OUTSIDE — HEAVY WOODEN THUD] Betrayal [2/4 STOPS] Rob looks up. [ONE FULL BAR SILENCE] [TELECASTER — ♭5, NO resolution] Old Frye lowers his eyes. “I'm sorry, son.” [GUNSHOT] [METER SLAMS INTO HEAVY 4/4 HALF-TIME] Verse 5 [BOOMING DREADNOUGHT — brutal low 1–♭3–♭5 pulse | low drums] Windows shattered inward. Rifles spoke from either wall. Winter men went for their pistols— Half never cleared leather at all. Rob kicked table, drew behind it, Put one Frye man on the floor. Shouted, “Mother, get down!” Another volley blew apart the door. [TELECASTER — vicious ♭5→5 | REFUSE 6] She crawled toward her fallen son. Rob said, “Ma, stay low.” She reached him. Held his face. Said something nobody would know. [GUNSHOT] [ALL DROP EXCEPT LOW BASS] [Instrumental] [HEAVY 4/4 HALF-TIME] [DREADNOUGHT — 1–♭3–4–♭5 ostinato] [TELECASTER savage ♭5→5 bends, repeatedly REFUSE 6] [MINOR HARMONICA — broken fragments of earlier welcoming melody, now distorted] [NO RESONATOR] [THREE SHORT VOLLEYS separated by silence] Verse 6 Smoke hung low across the dining room. Nobody Winter stood. Old Frye stepped around the table, Boots tracking through the blood. Foreman asked, “What about the northern army?” Frye wiped whiskey from his sleeve. Said, **“By morning they'll hear Winter's dead. By noon they'll start to leave.”** He looked down at Rob and mother. Couldn't hold the sight too long. Whispered, “Family counts for something.” [TELECASTER — ♭5] Then turned and walked along. Final Chorus [HALF-TIME | original melody transformed] A hundred riders, A hundred guns, A hundred saddles Were never gonna come. No sickness in the bunkhouse. No fire took the byre. A hundred men were waiting— [PAUSE] Just not to ride for Winter. Outro [DRUMS STOP | night insects slowly emerge] Bodies carried from the farmhouse. Lanterns moving through the yard. Frye men watching every roadway. Two men standing barnyard guard. [VERY DISTANT DREADNOUGHT pulse] Beyond the western wheat field, Something shifts beneath the grass. [PAUSE] No one sees it. No one hears it. [TELECASTER — barely audible 5→6] Then stillness. [FOOTSTEPS inside ranch fade] Darkness settles. [LONG SILENCE] [ONE QUIET FEMALE BREATH] [CUT]

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