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He was an old man by our standards come to our Reude,
A gray grizzled drover lookin like some wild Texas stray,
But it seemed near like I knowed him with that look in his eye,
So I hired him on, out of some guilt that wouldnt go away.
I took him to the bunkhouse and gave him our last spare bed,
Then he stood there starin at a rough old saddle on the rail-
Oh& thats Little Joes, Tater Tyler softly said as he looked-
I know, Big Joe numbly mumbled in a voice now old and frail.
You knew Little Joe, the wrangler? my voice asked in remorse,
We cant find any kin to send his belongins to, poor lad.
The old man staggered back like struck, but straightened up again,
Then slowly said with breakin heart, Im Little Joes old Dad!
He asked what had happened to his only child, Little Joe-
If he had suffered and died tryin to do what was right.
When we told him the whole story, it seemed to ease his pain-
Now he would sleep easier the first time in many a night.
Next day we rode out to the hill we buried Little Joe-
And right beside him was the site of old Blue Rockets grave.
Big Joe, the drover, stood there and cried silently for both,
Then thanked the good Lord above that they had died true and brave.
Joe said he wasnt much of a Dad and after Joes Ma died
That hed up and married a woman that hated Little Joe.
Then she drove him from their farm to out here on the range
And why he let her do it, he guessed that hed never know.
But he came to his senses and took off lookin for his boy
And went to drovin while trackin places Little Joe had been.
Then someone said that hed come here after findin work scarce-
That it was here Joe became a wrangler and found a friend.
Then a thought occurred to me and I told Tater to come here
And asked him and Ben to do somethin for Little Joes Pa.
And before we knew it they came trottin happily back
With that now gray and brown little pony that Joe called Chaw.
Wed retired Chaw after Joe had died and he now roamed free,
But we swear that he was plum happy that day to see the drover
And that he was more than willin to go along with him,
Back to Big Joe and that land of fresh water and clover.
When we got back to the ranch, Big Joe thanked us all and one,
But said that hed have to turn our fine job of wranglin down-
Hed reckon he could get on drovin elsewhere out on this plain,
But right here on this ranch hed be too close to sacred ground.
We knew what he was sayin-we was sad to see him leave,
Then I handed him Joes old saddle and other gear to go-
And as he rode away with that pony Chaw trailin behind,
We sat silent round the campfire, thinkin of poor wrangler Joe.
Copyright ©2003 Glen Enloe. All rights reserved.
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