Massacre on Confusion Hill?

Then there was the hanging
 Of the coward Mort McCall who had shot three Christian men in the back,
 And they took him up to Confusion Hill for the hanging,
 But something happened.
 Something strange in the construction of the gallows,
 That defied the plumbob of every man who'd come out to inspect it.
 It made no sense the way Mort hung there at a 45 degree angle,
 Not feeling a thing although his feet were off the ground.
 And by and by, the ladies of ages got to feeling sorry for him,
 So they brought him soup and a blanket when it got cold at night.
 And during the day the men would untie his hands and let him play checkers
 Which he always won.
 This went on for three days.
 Three days, when finally:
 All the men who lived in town
 Agreed that they should cut him down
 If Newton's law did not apply
 Satan shouldn't need to try.
 When they went to cut him down
 His body burst upon the ground
 Declared the doctor from the gore:
 "Dead three days or more."
 And the blood ran up confusion hill and it rained into the sky.
 And I reckon Possum and I should
 Be held responsible for our portion of it, for you see
 We had been to Confusion Hill,
 For what was supposed to be
 Our final
 Showdown.
 But it didn't happen that way.
 We met up at Confusion Hill,
 One to die, one to kill,
 The banjo picker seeing red,
 Would see the guitar picker dead.
 One with gun,
 One with knife,
 Vowed to take the other's life,
 Stabbed and shot a hundred times,
 Neither of us died.
 But our blood ran up Confusion Hill and it rained
 Into the
 Sky