When I rode up to the buffalo wallow,
I knew immediately why Pa had not been able to follow.
He was lying there with his leg broke and his horse gone.
He had been in that helpless state since shortly after dawn.
I knew immediately that we were in a fix.
Out there on the prairie there wasn’t much to make splints.
Without a second look, I could see that Pa was bad hurt.
That horse did not let him down light when he hit the dirt.

Up until that moment I though the most important things,
Were for a man to know how to ride and use a gun,
But at this time I couldn’t see the value of either one.
Neither was going to make this awful problem undone.
The conflict between me and Pa had run it’s course.
The time had come for me to do a man’s part, without remorse.

Earlier in the day Pa and me had had a mean argument,
And to make things worse, it wasn’t our first bad “fight.”
This one had been coming on all night and longer.
It really started when Pa decided that in my 17th year,
He was going to pick and choose my friends.
He was forever harping on my friends with all his might.
To hear him you would think they had done some awful sins.
And in a disagreement with him, no one ever wins.

Pa, he’d been at me again, the conflict never seemed to end. Why?
Because I’d be dogged if I was going to waste my life, like him.
To look at his old clothes; it was hard to see any accomplishment or win.
In great anger, I told him I was not going to waste my life with him.
Then I rode off to find my friends and to become an outlaw.
The first two miles of the way, I felt good. I had had my say.
For the next three miles I was still growling some.
Before  I reached ten, I knew I needed to go back and help him.
He had a far piece to go, and it was going to get old,
With him leading a pack mule, carrying twenty thousand in gold.

It was afternoon of a hot day; something was wrong up the way.
When I came up to that buffalo wallow, at the foot of a hollow.
Pa had been laying there for four or five hours in the sun.
His canteen was on his saddle when his horse decided to run.
I got down and gave him a swallow, or two of mine.
It was then I realized that self pity is for fools; I felt fine.
All that argument was gone and my wild friends were forgotten.