It was the 26th of April, just four days short of May.
I tell ya my friend, until my end, I'll never forget that day.

Four of us rode out at dawn, headin' west to round up strays;
Rufus, Big Tom, Shorty, and me -- jus' plain old Jim in those days.

A southwest breeze was stirrin'. The grass was green and long.
We rode out jawin' and jokin'. Big Tom was singin' a song.

Shorty headed southwest after we'd gathered up seven head.
Big Tom and Rufus rode off north to see where some fresh tracks led.

I drove the seven to Coyote Ridge and took a long look around.
I didn't spot Big Tom or Rufus, and Shorty just couldn't be found.

So I leaned back in my saddle and idled some time away;
I thought about Saturday coming, and how to spend my pay.

Lost in my idle musin's, I don't rightly know for how long,
I really didn't notice when everything started goin' wrong.

The freshenin' breeze finally stirred me as it pushed across my face.
I knew right then it was trouble; it was comin' from the wrong place.

I looked up quick and jumpy, northwest, where the wind came from.
Those black thunderheads were stampedin' like steers from kingdom come.

I rode out fast to the southwest, which was where ol' Shorty should be.
In just moments it was rumblin' and rainin' and blowin' too hard to see.

And then, my friend, it was snowin', as the temperature dropped like a stone.
In the white-out that followed, I knew I was on my own.

Big Tom and Rufus and Shorty were out there with those stock.
No way I'd ever find them, so I crawled in behind a big rock.

There's a reason folks now call me "Lucky"...cause what really saved my soul
Was my winter coat and the pair of gloves still down in my trusty bedroll.

I kept warm as best I could; wrapped up in my winter gear.
But as I thought 'bout my saddle pals...my eye let drop a small tear.

Out there in that numbin' cold -- blowin' too hard to see --
They were clearly at the mercy of that blizzard of '73.

There was no way I could help them, so I huddled down low and sat tight.
For thirty six hours that wind blowed, and finally dropped off at first light.

I found Shorty a ways away...in a drift about four foot deep.
He'd curled up like a baby and froze to death in his sleep.

Rufus and Tom had the same luck...they was frozen as solid as stone.
But they was huddled up together. They hadn't died alone.

The foreman sent out searchers. They found me round about four,
And warmed me up with whiskey till I passed out on the bunkhouse floor.

We buried Shorty and Rufus on the second day of May.
The preacher said some purty words to send 'em on their way.

We had to wait another week until we thawed out poor Big Tom...
And at his plantin' service they read this letter from his Mom:

"I don't know how many times I told you this very thing...
You just can't ever count on the weather in early spring.

"I'm surely sorry, Tom, you went and got yourself all dead.
But maybe now, just maybe, you finally got it in your head!"

And, my friend, I'll always remember those final words she wrote:
"Don't never go out for a long ride without your gloves and coat."