Old Rance Buckley's Trophy Buckle

He always wore that rodeo buckle made of silver and gold, Every day of his life from when he was young till he grew old. It said he was bucking horse champion of nineteen fifty-three, And he told all the cowboys he had been the best that could be. But then one day a stranger comes to town ‘bout as old as old Rance, Who listened to his stories in silence and then eyed him askance. He asked old Rance some questions ‘bout his times in rodeo— Like horses he rode; cowpokes he knew and things he should know. Then old Rance got defensive and asked just who was this cowboy gent That asked him all these funny questions ‘bout days so long ago spent. “Why,” drawled the old cowpoke, “I spent time here in fifty-three or two, Ridin’ in rodeos you mentioned, but I don’t remember you.” “And I don’t seem ta recollect you,” old Rance said and eyed the poke. “Name’s McCall,” the stranger said, “and I ran that rodeo, no joke.” Well, old Rance’s face fell and he knew his jig was up at long last— Trying to pass that buckle off as his own, in one long last gasp. He’d won that trophy buckle at cards from a cowboy on his last legs— Why he started calling it his own, I reckon the question begs. Now the other cowpokes gathered ‘round with wonder in their clear eyes At why old Rance had shot the bull for years and told them all those lies. Then a strange thing happened, as McCall realized just what he had done, “Wait a minute, fella,” he said, “weren’t you the kid nicknamed ‘Young Gun?’” And though he never had such a name, old Rance just nodded and grinned. “I remember you now, you were the best – you rode just like the wind!” Old Rance and McCall became pards, though Rance toned his bragging down, But when new rodeos started, all the young cowboys gathered ‘round. Then right before old Rance passed on, he gave that buckle to McCall And told him he weren’t good at cards, that buckle was his after all.