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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required When strollin' by the ol' saloon, on chairs they kept outside, I spied a dried up, lonsome sort folks walked by, but eyed. He had a faithful doggie with head laid on his knee. The ol' man stroked him softly, kind, devotedly. I stopped an' took a seat nearby, then shared a cut of chaw. I thought his story might be good- he reminded me of Pa. I asked just where he hailed from, he didn't bat an' eye- looked off in space, took one deep breath, prob'ly thinkin' up a lie. Come from ever'where, Son, been places you ain't dreamed. I settled back to listen. He relaxed a bit it seemed. An Indian fighter, I once was, rode with the Cavalry. Met ol' Yeller Hair himself in eighteen, sixty-three. Was wagon master for some folks seekin' land to claim, leavin' homes an' fam'lies east- thought the West they'd tame. Had a wife I sure 'nough loved, two daughters an' a son, the cholera took 'em all one year, my driftin' then begun. Did some drovin' 'hind the herds, eatin' miles a dust, catchin' strays, an' keepin' watch for rustlers we could bust. Owned a ranch in Texas but never got no rain, the drought, it lasted six years, no reason to remain. I killed a man in Denver, the bugger had it comin', he kicked my dog, stole my horse, broke the guitar I was strummin'. Cut trees out in Wyomin', lumber-jacked a bit. Camp bully always threatnin', my throat he'd like to slit. I rode the rails a piece back then, an' dern near froze my tail, sittin' in them boxcars thru' rain, an' wind, an' hail. Now, I'm nigh on eighty, an' comin' to my end. I thank ya Son for listenin' , ya seem 'most like a friend. I reckon that I've lived some, an' ain't sure now I'm done, I just take one day at a time 'cause life ain't easy, Son.
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