These cowboys told their stories often and not the same each time. That’s the beauty of oral history. It’s not a static photograph of the past, but a monologue that percolates, evolves, and sometimes digresses through the memory and heart, by the one who lived it. My task: be true to the characters, yet sympathetic to my readers. Spend a morning near the old-timers booth at the local café and you’ll know what I mean.
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