Darius and I were in a motel room in Grand Lake, Colorado, waiting for the weather to come to its senses so we could pack into the high country. We were watching a Roy Rogers movie.
The battle to save the ranch was won. The greedy banker was in the hoosegow. Roy hooked his boot heel in the corral fence, the ranch hands took up their instruments, and they began to croon a eulogy to the western skies.
Darius wore a 36-inch inseam on his Wranglers and was a working rancher. He ambled over to the television and slapped the power button, then looked over at me and said, "You know, J. D., I don't know what I would do if anyone ever actually came up to me and sang right in my face."
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