Don'T Ever Sell Your Saddle

(continued) It had been over ten years since Dad passed away— Stood lookin’ at the stranger, didn’t know what to say. Dad never told us much ‘bout his life out on the range, But he did mention his best pard, a man called Bob Strange. We thanked Bob and asked him to join our Christmas feast, He said no need for thanks, that this was just the least He could do to help out the boy of his ol’ pal And that he had to get back to the North Corral. I was awful glad to see my Dad’s saddle back, When a few weeks later I came across ol’ Zack. Out of the blue I asked if he heard of Bob Strange— He nodded and said yes, then his smile began to change. He wondered why I asked ‘bout someone I never met— I told him ‘bout Dad’s saddle and he began to fret. “Ya understand,” Zack said, “Bob’s been dead twenty year.” That’s when I turned grim and my smile did disappear. “But I just talked to him,” I said, “back on Christmas day!” “You’re wrong,” Zack said, “but I ‘member what he used to say: Don’t ever sell your saddle, don’t quit balin’ hay— When ya give your word, keep it—it’s a real man’s way!”