 Life on the Red Horse Ranch. Arizona still regrets his attempt to ride red, Alabama's beautiful roan horse. The Red showed his resentment by throwing Arizona over the corral fence. And today, Arizona's not in too good a humor. As we join them, we're afraid Tex Owens isn't helping Arizona's frame of mind very much. Here they are in the bunkhouse. Here you kind of take the strawberry roans, Arizona, after the way that roan tweeted you. Yeah, especially roans named Red. Go on singing, Tex. Sure, after trying to ride Red, Arizona's too stiff and sore to get at you if you want to do. Go ahead, Tex. Arizona, watch out for your throwing that boob, will you? The next umpire I hear mention any kind of a horse. I'm gonna skin him alive or my jackknife. Ride him cowboy. Yeah, that goes for you too, Bob. Oh, my leg. I'm so twisted up you got brand of calf with me. Well, there's some folks that can't learn anyway, but by experience. And I reckon you are one of them kind, Arizona. Well, I learned to stay away from that Red, if that's what you mean. Well, Red is a one-man horse. That's the way I trained him, and I told you not to touch him, didn't I, Arizona? Come on, Alabama. Let's talk about Indians or stampede. Something kind of sober. I guess they would be, Susan, compared to what Red did to you yesterday. Arizona will never try riding him again. And I advise none of the rest of you two either. You can have him, Alabama. I reckon my pedo is good enough for me without carrying around a keg of gunpowder inside. But say, we was all set to hear Tex sing and tune. Go ahead, Tex and Arizona, you lay off. I hear something for that. Arizona likes turnip greens. Yeah, that's ever good. I dreamed, dreamed the other night. I dreamed that I could fly. I flopped my wing like a buzzard. And I flew out to the sky. At the gate I met St. Peter. He looked at me so neat. Asked me into dinner, and this is what we eat. Turnip greens, turnip greens, good ol' turnip greens. Corn bread and buttermilk and good ol' turnip greens. St. Peter kindly asked me, from what town did I fly? Told him from OKC, I flew up to the sky. He told me with his telescope, I don't know what that means. There's a thousand people there who live on turnip greens. Corn bread and buttermilk and good ol' turnip greens. Corn bread and buttermilk and good ol' turnip greens. St. Peter said from KC, yeah, I only one man. He could hardly live there in that golden happy land. Neither cared for honey, nor wished for milk or cream. Hearts seemed to crave them good ol' turnip greens. Turnip greens, turnip greens, good ol' turnip greens. Corn bread and buttermilk and good ol' turnip greens. St. Peter said this casey man had a heart as black as jet. Used to be an angel and could have been one yet. But his ways they got so crooked he lived beyond his means. He was sent way below for stealing a dish of turnip greens. Turnip greens, turnip greens, good ol' turnip greens. Corn bread and buttermilk and good ol' turnip greens. And now let's hear the whole parcel of your land of one. Well, we gotta have tenderfoot if it's a fiddling tune. Where is he anyway? Same place he's been every evening for the last two weeks. Moaning around up at the ranch house trying to get a look at Rose Carter. Yeah, we'll have to do without him right now. You know, I feel sort of sorry for that young fella. He's plumbed local over Rose. Somebody ought to tell him he ain't got a chance. Oh, forget it, Idaho. Arizona, grab your banjo. No, sir, I'm scared I'd come all apart if I even moved my little finger. Oh, my back. I've got it. Arizona can play his French harp. That don't take much effort. That's good enough. Well, all you fellas get your mouth off and lead them off, take something like Polly Wally Doodle all the day. Hey, Cheyenne, hold this French harp up to my mouth, will ya? All right, let's go. I'm touching me and you'll find out. Hey, tenderfoot, you look like Rose at Dunthold Jow the house. Rose? Oh, I haven't seen her move over. Man, that's a new way to call on a girl. Never even getting a look at her. Oh, lay off of him, Bob. Ain't you got a lick of sense? I don't mind, Alabama. I was counting on seeing her, but I saw Steve Bradford's horse tied out front, so I figured I wasn't wanted. Steve Bradford? Yeah. Is that slicker still shining up the road? Well, I don't see anything wrong in that. Anyhow, he might have come up to see Dad Carter for all I know. Sure, he might have. Well, I'm just like Idaho. I never did like Bradford's looks. If Carter decides it's not the Bradford, well, I'm counting on moving to another range. Well, we're all hoping Carter don't sell to Bradford and nobody else. But, forget it. Sing us another song or two before we hit these bumps. I think tenderfoot'll like this one. Ready, boys? Yeah, we'll. You may talk of the joys of the sweet honeymoon. I'll agree they are sweet while they last. But in most every case, they are over too soon. And are counted as things of the past. For the troubles and trials are sure to begin, though you do just the best that you can. And you want to be away from the glatter and in that falls to the poor merry man. Oh, the racket, the musk, the trouble, the fuss, his face it grows haggard and worn. You can tell by his clothes wherever he goes, that he is a poor married man. He must run, he must walk, he must sing, he must talk, he must go for the water and pad. He must run, he must sleep and go without sleep because he's a poor married man. He's a fool, he's a brute and he never will sue though he does just the best that he can. He would rather be dead or then would be sent. He's at rest, the poor married man. Say, boys, you go right ahead. I promised Mr. Carter I'd come up to the house and talk about some of the work before I turned in. Sure, let's all of us sing just one more. You're in on this, too, Tenderfoot. Oh, what's it gonna be this time, Bob? Cowboy's dream. Ain't a cowboy in the west that don't know that tune. Night as I lay on the prairie and look at the stars in the stars. Oh, Steve. Yes, it is, Rose. They're singing the cowboy's dream now, aren't they? Mm-hmm. Every night they sing the same way. Alabama and all the boys. Oh, I never get tired of it. That big moon up there doesn't hurt things at all, either, does it? No, Steve. Oh, it's all so different back here. Everybody told me how I'd like back east when I went to school. How wonderful the big cities were. But, you know, I wouldn't give this up for all the schools and cities in the world. You do love the open range, don't you? Yes, I do. All the time I was in school, I'd have given anything for a gallop on a real western pony. See, that's a handsome horse I saw you riding this morning, Rose, that black one. Oh, yes, Blackie. She's my favorite. But Dad objects every time I ride Blackie. Why? Does he think Blackie's a little dangerous? Well, she's as gentle as any horse in the lot, but she's gun-shy. She almost ran away with me once before when she heard a gunfire. Oh, gun-shy. Mm-hmm. Oh, Rose, about this ranch, the red horse, I wish I could make you see it my way. Well, I... I do appreciate all you're trying to do for Dad, Steve. He does, too. Alabama was a little angry when he heard that you told me about the trouble. Alabama? Oh, yes, the formula. Well, I've made your dad a fair offer for the outfit. He's going to have to sell soon, and he'll lose it all anyhow. But, Rose, I've got to know. Well, I'm afraid I couldn't say much to Dad. He's kind of stubborn. But, Steve, I... I just can't imagine having to leave the red horse ranch after all these years. Well, maybe you won't have to leave it, Rose. Oh, excuse me, Miss Rose. Oh, it's you. Oh, Alabama, I didn't see you coming. You know Steve Bradford, don't you? Yes. Evening, Mr. Bradford. I suppose you'll let your ranch hands pry around the house just as they please, Rose. But, Steve... I'll have to beg you pardon, Rose, if that was meant for me to... I think you know what I mean, Alabama. You didn't know I saw you snooping around over on my bar-dee ranch yesterday. Why, Alabama, what does he mean? That's ridiculous, Rose. I did ride over that way. Some of our cattle strayed into your hills during the winter. There's none of your herd over there. It sounds to me like there must be a reason for someone wanting to spy on your outfit, Bradford. I don't like that. Steve, Alabama... I'm sorry, Miss Rose. I'll talk to you later, Bradford. It looks as though Alabama and Steve Bradford aren't going to get along any too well. Bradford must have some strange motive for wanting to buy the Red Horse Ranch. What can it be?