I worked for a man that owned a couple sale barns, a long time ago. Once every so often, they would have a "junk" sale, and folks would bring in just about anything. This was in South Coffeyville, Oklahoma. One of my jobs was to load, and unload the bigger stuff, with a front end loader on a tractor. This left a lot of time for bs'ing with the drove of old men that hung around these sales. Man, those were some times. I certainly wish I had recorded each and every one of the stories that these old men told. They were the end of an era, the last remainder of the great depression survivors.
I don't remember how the subject came up, but one old timer says, I have a story. He then proceeds to tell this one, as best as I remember it:
"It was a stormy night. Had been raining all day, and the roads were nothing but mud. I'm eating supper, when there comes a knock at the door. There's a fella standing outside, all muddy and wet, in city clothes. Tells me he ran off the road a piece back, and did I have a truck to pull him out of the ditch? I tell him no, I don't own a truck, but if you'll come in for a minute, I'll finish supper, and get my team of horses and pull you out. He sits down, and eats a little with us, then says he'll go back to his car and wait for me there. I finish my supper, get on my coat, and go get the horses and harness out of the barn. I walk them up the road to where he is stuck, hook 'em up to his car, and pulll him out. He tells me thanks, and stuffs something in my overalls pocket. I get back to the house, put up the horses, and go inside to get dried out. I'm taking off my overalls, when I remember him putting something in the bib pocket. It was a $100 dollar bill."
"Seen that fella's picture in the paper, a day or two later. They called him "Pretty Boy Floyd"
( formerly Cowboy Dan)
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