Blog

"I'm a-layin' around, just spendin' muh time, out of a job an' ain't holdin' a dime, when a feller steps up an' sez, I suppose that yur uh bronk fighter by the looks of yur clothes."  "Yuh figures me right - I'm a darn good one I claim. Do yuh happen to have any baduns' to tame?"  He sez he's got one, uh bad un tuh buck, an' fur throwin' good riders, he's had lots uh luck.  He sez that his pony has never been rode, that the boys that gits on 'im is bound to get throwed.  Well, I gets all excited an' asks what he pays, tuh ride that ol' pony uh couple uh days.  He offers uh ten spot.  Sez I "I'm sure yure man cause the bronk never lived that I couldn't fan; the hoss never lived, he never drew breath, that I couldn't ride till he starved plum tuh death."  "I  don't like to brag, but I got this tuh say, that I ain't been piled for many uh day."  Sez he, "Git yure saddle, I'll give yuh a chance."  So I gets in his buckboard an' drifts tuh his ranch.   I stays until mornin', an' right after chuck, I steps out tuh see if that outlaw kin buck.  Down in the hoss corral, standin' alone was this caballo, uh strawberry roan.  His laigs is all spavined an' he's got pigeon toes, little pig eyes an' uh big Roman nose, little pin ears that touch at the tip an' uh double square iron on his hip.  Yew necked an' old with uh long narrow jaw I kin see with one eye, he's uh reg'lar outlaw.  I put on muh spurs--I'm sure feeling fine, turns up muh hat and picks up some twine.  I throws that loop on 'im an' well, I knows then, that before he gets rode , I'll sure earn that ten.  I gets muh blinds on 'im an' it sure was a fight, next comes muh saddle--I screws it down tight.  And then I piles on 'im an' raises the blind,  I'm right in his middle tuh see 'im unwind.  Well, he bows his neck an' I guess he unwound, fur he seems to quit livin' down on the ground.  He goes up toward the East an' comes down toward the West, tuh stay in his middle I'm doin' muh best.  He sure is frog-walkin'; he heaves a big sigh, he only lacks wings, fur to be on the fly.  HE TURNS HIS OL' BELLY RIGHT UP TOWARD THE SUN, HE SURE IS A SUN-FISHIN' SON-OF-UH-GUN.  He is the worst bucker I seen on the range; he kin turn on a nickel an' give yuh some change.  While he's uh-buckin' he squeals like a shoat, I tell yuh, that pony has sure got muh goat.  I claim that, "No foolin' that bronk sure could step, I'm still in muh saddle, uh buildin' a rep.  He hits on all fours, and SUNS up his side, I don't see how he keeps from sheddin' his hide.  I loses muh stirrups an' also muh hat, I'm grabbin' the leather an blind as uh bat.  With uh phenomenal jump he goes up on high, an' I'm settin' on nothin' way up in the sky.  An then I turns over, I comes back tuh earth, an lights in tuh cussin' the day of his birth.  Then I knows that the hosses I ain't able tuh ride is some of 'em livin'--and they haven't all died.  But, I bets all muh money there ain't no man alive kin stay with that bronk when he makes that high dive."  The original poem, "The Outlaw Bronco," penned by "Curley" Fletcher, today is known as the popular country western ballad, "The Strawberry Roan."