With ten more miles of wire,
my horse wants to turn back
There’s dark clouds over the mountain,
just a small tent in my sack
The fence line sits all busted,
from two bulls that went astray
They both missed being neutered,
last year on roundup day
My hands are cold and blistered,
that salve jar all but gone
Two wolves begin to howling,
that lonesome prairie song
The storm clouds all have thickened,
light pulls its covers back
Just one more night on the western slope
—with eight miles left to track
‘From The ‘Searching For Crazy Horse Collection’
‘Read In Elko Nevada Years Ago’
