We were having one last drink when an Englishman stood and began to recite a poem, The Charge of the Light Brigade by a man named Tennyson. That poem, its a good one, and is full of thundering horses and flashing sabers and brave soldiers. The way the Englishman told it, it was like we were there,
charging into the valley of death. It was quite a moment when he finished, and the whole saloon gave him a cheer. That was when Press jumped up and hollered, Nobody rides like Bar T boys, and off we raced to the livery. ...............And that is how we came to be banned from Cheyenne.