Muley Bowles is a self-made poet. Something inside that two-hundred-and-forty-pound carcass seems to move him to rime, and nothing can stop him. He’s so heavy in a saddle that all of his broncs are bowed in the legs and run their shoes over awful.

Telescope Tolliver came from down in the moonshine belt, and he’s got some strange and awful ideas of what constitutes a code of honor. He’s so long in the legs that a bronc has to pitch twice at the same time to get him high enough to throw.

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