There's a place out west where the Powder River rolls off the Bighorn Mountains. It's a land of red walls, blue sky, and clean air, where the eagle glides high above the canyons and makes its nest in the rocks that overlook the valleys where the sagebrush and cottonwoods grow. This is ranch country - has been for more than a hundred years.

Well things have changed some since the early days, but there's still a thread of character and tradition that runs true from one generation to the next. You can see it in the way folks out here set a horse; you can hear it in the way they talk. And when the work's all done, there's nothing they like better than to get together at the one room schoolhouse under the red wall for another down home, homegrown, Western Saturday night.