Frank Lindley spring of 1988.
Slim was a bronc rider you bet There wasn’t a hoss around he hadn’t forked yet. Times were ole Slim had nothing but the rough string, But he didn’t mind he’d just whistle and sing. One morning he called for a little roan, he was mean and hardheaded as a stone. He got his hackamore and saddle just right , then stepped in the middle, ready for the fight. Ok’ Roane was terrible, high and wide I just knew he might take Slim to the Great Divide. But he stayed straight up and lined out for the morning, Slim had to watch him all day cause he might blow with no warning. We’s all riding along a bluff fixing to make a morning gather, Roany was still hot and started to lather. Slim decides to roll hisself a smoke, jist drops his hack reins around the old choke. Roany goes along for a ways like he don’t care, then slowly he begins to drop his left ear. ‘Bout the time Slim strikes a match the roan blows up and it’s a time most men reach for a nightlatch. Not ol’ Slim he don’t even own one, he’s lost some of them fights but most he won. He goes high and to the left straight towards the bluff, but Slim just sinks the steel in his shoulder, plumb up to his pants cuff. And over the edge they both did go, it scares us to hell to look below. When we get to look over the edge and see………….well there’s Slim and the Roan in top of a cottonwood tree. Slim looks up at us with a sly little grin, n’ says….. “Anybody got a match mine blowed out in the wind.”