Eight Miles Left

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’