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Slim
Slim was a bronc rider, you bet. There wasn’t a hoss around he hadn’t forked yet.
As times were ol’ 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.
Ol’ Roan was terrible, high and wide, and…